Alice: The Girl From Earth

by Kir Bulychev

  The next hotel in line was the ‘Skillet,’ its walls showed signs of burning and were untouchable, despite the nearly hundred layers of insolation. The Skillet’s customers were the inhabitants of stars, for whom bathing in molten lava was comparable to us swimming in a lake on a summer’s day.

  All the hotels, those hanging in the air and those plunged into the ground, had their entrances on the roofs and, generally, were without windows or doors to the surface. And then we saw a smaller building fronted by columns, with utterly ordinary windows, and a throughly typical door. The sign over it read “Mother Volga Inn.’

  “Look da, that has to be for Earth people!” Alice said.

  We stopped in front of the hotel to get a good look at it, and because of the chance we might meet people we already knew.

  A tall man in the uniform of the merchant space fleet came out of the building. He nodded in our direction, and I said:

  “Hello. What brings you to Blooke?”

  “We carted a load of atmospheric regenerators out from Earth.” He said. “You might have heard about the late unpleasantness here? They very nearly lost their atmosphere.”

  While I was talking with the space man Alice was standing beside us and looking the hotel over. Suddenly she grabbed me by the hand.

  “Papa! Look at who’s there!”

  I looked, and saw Doctor Verkhovtseff looking down at us from a window on the third floor. Our eyes met, and he vanished from the window.

  “That can’t be!” I shouted. “There’s no way he could expect to come here!”

  “Let’s go and ask him how he got here.” Alice said.

  The door to the hotel was carved, heavy, with a curved, gilded latch. The reception area inside was lined with mirrors and gilt filigree, with enormous hanging chandeliers made of cut crystal. The surfaces of wall not covered with reflecting glass were decorated with pictures of unicorns and beautiful maidens or knights in armor. Wide benches ran the length and breadth of the room along the walls. It was rather obvious that the Audity architects had seen the famous twenty episode TV miniseries ‘The Sun King.’ In the middle of the nobleman’s chamber I stopped.

  “Wait here, Alice.” I said. “I don’t like this at all.”

  “Why?”

  “Judge for yourself: we just said our good-byes to Doctor Verkhovtseff, we flew here, and the Customs people tell us that he nearly killed this planet with the white grubs he was selling, and right away the first person we see through the hotel window is the Doctor.”

  “Then it’s even more important we go and ask him what’s going on.” Alice said.

  “Maybe.” I agreed and walked up to a long counter where a Audity porter in a white kaftan stood between a stuffed silk swan and a plastic bucket.

  “Tell me,” I asked him, “in which room would Doctor Verkhovtseff be staying?”

  “One moment, young man.” The porter answered, brushed his enormous ears to his back, and opened an enormous book with a leather cover with enormous hasps. “Verkhovtseff…” he mumbled. “Ve-ri-ho-vi-tseff… Ah yes, Verkhovtseff!”

  “And where would he be staying.”

  “In the eighth chamber would he be staying. On the third floor.” The porter said. “And you would be his friends?”

  “His acquaintances.” I answered carefully.

  “It is deplorable,” the porter said, “that such a foul and coarse guest should have such fine looking acquaintances.”

  “Are you saying that he has done something…”

  “Go.” The porter answered. “Suite number Eight. And tell him, that infidel that, henceforth, if he insists on cooking sausages on his bed and breaking the attendant robots when they try to stop him then we shall have to ask him to quit our establishment.”

  “I got the impression that Verkhovtseff was a rather quiet individual.” I said to Alice once we were walking up the stairway.

  The people who came downwards to met us were humans, Lineans, Fyxxians, and other beings who live on planets where the conditions resemble those of Earth. Some of them carried cages in their hands, others small aquariums, stamp albums, or just bags. They were hurrying to the bazar.

  Room Number Eight was located at the end of a long corridor covered by vast numbers of Persian carpets. We stopped in front of a painted plastic door set in a sold oak wall and I pressed the call button.

  There was no answer.

  Then I knocked on the door. From a light impact of my knuckles the door opened wide. The small room beyond had been furnished and decorated according to the illustrations of historical romances from many parts of the Earth. Overhead hung a crystal chandelier, on the table a kerosine lamp without a wick, a tungsten samovar and a decorated Japanese silk screen. Of Verkhovtseff there was no sign.

  “Doctor!” I called. “Are you here?”

  There was no answer.

  Alice entered the room and looked the silk screen over. I told her from the entry way:

  “Come back out here. It’s impolite to enter someone else’s room…”

  “In a moment, Pa…” Alice answered.

  I heard rapid breathing behind my back. I looked around. A very fat man in a black business suit was standing in the doorway. He had blubbery lips and several chins which lay on his collar.

  “And who are you seeking?” He asked in a very high, soft, almost childish voice.

  “We’re looking for an acquaintance.” I answered.

  “I beg your pardon, but I’m staying in the next room.” The fat man answered. “And I believe I heard the fellow staying here leave about five minutes ago, and I thought I should inform you.”

  “And where is he off to, would you know?”

  The fat man rubbed his chins, thought a moment, and said:

  “To the bazar, I would say. Where else would anyone ever go?”

  We left the Mother Volga and headed for the bazar. “A strange fellow indeed, this Doctor Verkhovtseff.” I thought.

  We passed a hotel constructed in the form of an aquarium that provided hospitality to the inhabits of planets covered entirely with water, and a hotel similar to a tea kettle. Steam rose from the tea kettle’s spout; it was inhabited by Infernoids from Paracelsius. The planet was so hot that water boiled and it was covered with superheated steam.

  A stream of customers flowed from the hotels; many were in environmental suites, many different kinds of environmental suits. Some crawled on the ground, some flew over our heads. We had to be careful where we walked because of the collectors about the size of ants who got under foot, and hoped those the size of elephants would be equally considerate of us.

  The closer we approached the bazar, the thicker became the crowds, and I grasped Alice by the hand to keep her from unwittingly trampling anyone underfoot or unexpectedly being trampled by someone else.

  The bazar was spread out over a vast plain for many kilometers. It was divided into a number of sections. At first we passed through the shell collectors department, then we cut right through the book collectors, struggled through an area filled with mineral and gem collectors, but after that it was more or less clear sailing through lines of flowers, except where I had to grab Alice by the hand and keep her from getting the vile smell of a Fyxxian rose on her.

  But when we found ourselves in the philatelists’ section Alice asked me, “Wait a moment.”

  A square a kilometer on a side had been filled with folding tables. There were more cases than, as the old saying went, you could shake a stick at. The philatelists sat mostly in pairs, but in some places four to a table as well. They were trading postage stamps. Those who had no tables traded them on the run or were just walking around. Alice bought a packet of stamps in bulk, one with the illustration of a Sirian bird, a Montenegran stamp from 1896, an album for Fyxxian stamps which arraigned the stamps in the right spot themselves, and two stamps from the planet Sheshineru.

  “I got these for you special, Pa.” She told me.

  One stamp was entirely white, on the
second all that could be seen was a notation in tiny letters “A Young Skliss in Pasture.”

  “You wanted to know what a Skliss was, Dad.”

  “But where is the Skliss?”

  “You get the Skliss tomorrow.” The fat man from the Mother Volga Inn said. He had overtaken us.

  “What do you mean ‘tomorrow.’“

  “The illustration does not appear every day on these stamps, only one even numbered days.” The fat man said.

  “And what about the second stamp.”

  “On the second? There won’t be anything on the second. It’s been cancelled.”

  “Then what’s the use of collecting it?” I was astonished.

  “That is a very rare stamp. The inhabitants of Sheshineru don’t like writing letters, so very nearly all the stamps from their planet turn out to be unused. But empty stamps are very rare. Your daughter did very well in getting such a rarity.”

  Having said that the fat man waved his hand and hurried off into the maze of collectors.

  We were almost lost in the maze of subdivisions and separate markets into which the Bazar had been divided. But then, ahead of us, we heard the cries of birds, the growling of animals and the chittering of insects. We came out into a square covered with cages, aquaria, fish ponds, and other enclosures. We had finally found our way to the section of the bazar which dealt with live animals from all over the Galaxy.

  Even I, an experienced cosmobiologist, had extreme difficulty figuring out what, exactly, we were looking at. The animals and birds were so diverse, and their keepers, handlers, buyers and sellers were just as diverse, that I began our journey with a gross error. I walked up to a dark blue avianoid who stood on three, two meter long legs. A chain stretched from his master an alien completely unknown to me who resembled a multicolored sphere. I asked the sphere how much his beautiful bird cost, and it was the bird who answered me in superb InterGal:

  “I am not for sale. But if you desire I can sell you the multihued little sphereoid. And I trust you will not insult me again.”

  It turned out I had erred as to who was holding whom on a chain. Around us the traders and collectors burst into laughter, which made the avianoid even more annoyed and he pecked me on the head with his long beak

  I backed away quickly; the avianoid appeared to be gathering his anger and getting ready for a second blow.

  “Papa.” Alice said. “Come here. Look, how interesting.”

  I tore myself away from a display of crystal bugs which we had long wanted to get for the Zoo and turned to her.

  Alice had stopped in front of a large, empty aquarium. A little stool stood beside it. On the stool sat a dwarf.

  “Look, papa, this man is selling such interesting creatures.”

  “I don’t see anything at all.” I admitted. “The aquarium is empty.

  The little fellow sighed sadly and wiped away a tear.

  “You’re not the first.” He said. “You’re not the first.”

  “What is it you have in there?” I asked politely. “Microorganisms.”

  “No, that’s a horrible idea!” The dwarf said. “I’m going. I can’t stand it any more.”

  “Papa,” Alice whispered so loudly that she could be heard ten meters off, “he has invisible flying fish. He told me so himself.”

  “Invisible.”

  “The little lady is right.” The dwarf said. “All I have are rather ordinary, invisible fish.”

  “That is very interesting.” I said. “And just how do you go about catching them?”

  “With nets.” The dwarf said. “Invisible nets. The fish fly around all over and they crash into the invisible nets, and I take them home.”

  “And could I hold one?” I asked.

  “Hold?” The dwarf was totally amazed. “And just how would you hold one?”

  “With my hands.”

  “But you won’t be able to hold it?”

  “Why?”

  “Because these flying fish are very slippery. They slip away the moment you touch them. Don’t you believe me?”

  I did not answer. Then the dwarf threw up his hands and exclaimed,

  “Oh, all right. Take a look, as much as you want, let it be on your head! Do whatever you want. Diminish me, insult me!”

  The dwarf raised the edge of a large net from off the aquarium, grabbed me tightly by the hand and put my hand into the aquarium.

  “Well? He shouted. “Is that proof enough? Don’t you understand you’re not going to catch anything!”

  My hands felt only the empty water. There were no fish in the aquarium at all.

  “There is nothing here.” I said.

  “Well, there, you see it?” The dwarf turned to the crowd of curious onlookers who had gathered, tears pouring forth. “He is convinced that the fish are so slippery they can never be caught, yet he does not want to admit it.”

  I pulled the netting back and ran my hands through the water of the empty aquarium when the dwarf started to shout anew:

  “He has released all of my fish! He has let them all escape! How could I have suspected he would remove the net from my aquarium? I am pennyless! Now I am ruined!”

  The surrounding crowd murmured and grumbled and growled in twenty languages and looked at me with severe condemnation.

  Even Alice said,

  “How could you, papa?”

  “Don’t you people understand?” I addressed the crowd that had surrounded us, “There never was anything inside the aquarium, ever!”

  “And how would you know that?” A tiger striped, white moustached inhabitant of the planet Ikes asked me. “What if he’s right? What if there are invisible fish that cannot be caught? How can we prove that he is not telling the truth?”

  “That’s right.” An Audity supported him. “Why would someone fly here from another planet with an empty aquarium?”

  “So he can sell its non-existent contents every day.” I said.

  No one at all was listening to me.

  And so I was forced to pay the sad dwarf for ten rare fish. The dwarf hadn’t even waited for my rapid surrender and was deeply moved, overcome with gratitude, and promised me that were he ever to catch another invisible fish he would certainly bring it to me. And when we were getting ready to leave, he said:

  “Little girl, permit me, I have a small gift for you.”

  “Of course.” Alice said. “I would be delighted.

  “Take this.”

  The dwarf reached inside his pocket and withdrew his empty hand, his palm cupped as though it contained something, and showed it to Alice:

  “This,” He said, “is an invisible hat. Take it, but don’t be afraid. I love giving good people priceless gifts. But you must be careful. The hat is woven of such a fine thread that it weighs nothing and cannot even be felt.”

  Alice thanked the scoundrel and pretended to place the gift in her bag, and we went on.

  Suddenly I found that an incomprehensible creature had gotten itself underfoot. It looked like a furry ball on sticks and was about knee high. The being’s remarkable coloring ranged from bright red to whitish speckles, like a toadstool.

  “Hold him, Dad!” Alice shouted. “He’s running away.”

  “I’m not so sure.” I said, finally putting my wallet into my pocket. “Maybe that’s not one of the animals but the collector chasing after an animal that’s got away. If I grab hold of him he’ll call the police complaining that I insulted him because I didn’t guess he was sapient.”

  But at the same time I caught sight of a fat, two headed snake in a shining, flowing space suit who was chasing after the red sphereoid in pursuit.

  “Help me!” He shouted. “The Empathicator’s fled!”

  The red ball tried to hide itself behind my legs, but the snake extended one of a hundred thin extensors attached to its side and grabbed the fugitive. The later immediately changed color from red to yellow and braced itself on its straight little legs.

  “Pardon me,” I said to
the fat snake. “Just what is this animal.”

  “Nothing interesting.” The snake said. “We have lots of them on my planet. We call them empathciators. They can’t talk, so instead tey change their color in accordance with their moods. They have a lot of very interesting shades. Do you have any sugar cubes with you?”

  “No.” I said.

  “Too bad.” The snake answered, but found a cube of sugar somewhere else.

  On seeing the sugar the sphere showed purple highlights.

  “He’s happy.” The snake said. “He is a pretty boy, isn’t he?”

  “Very pretty.” I agreed.

  “We constantly expose them to new sensations on purpose, in order to get unusual colors. If you’d like I can hit him? He’ll become a superb shade of black.

  “No, don’t.” I said. “Would you be able to sell him to us for the Moscow Zoo?”

  “No.” One of the snake’s heads answered, at the time the other was silently hanging down. “Perhaps we can do an exchange?”

  “But I don’t have anything to trade?”

  “We’ll take one of these, this little creature here.” The snake said and pointed a dozen or so extensors at Alice.

  “Can’t be done.” I said, trying not to get angry, in as much as I had myself only recently taken a sapient being for a non-sapient bird. “This is my daughter.”

  “Foo! What a horror!” The snake shouted angrily. “I shall call a Trade Supervisor immediately. This is absolutely forbidden!”

  “What is forbidden?” I asked.

  “It is forbidden to deal in one’s own progeny. Giving them in exchange for animals is also forbidden. Didn’t you bother to read the Rules posted at the entrance to the Bazar. You are a monster and a barbarian!”

  “Nothing of the sort.” I broke out laughing. “I would have as much success selling Alice as she would me.”

  “That would be worse.” The snake shouted, clutching the colorful ball of the Empathicator to its side; the Empathicator, evidently, had become terrified and turned white with red chevrons along its back. “A daughter selling her own father? What is the universe coming to?”