She said, “I’m not ready to see visitors.”
And Fitzpatrick replied, “They’re waiting for us in the main conference room. It’s just down the hall.”
Gaia followed Fitzpatrick down the quiet, carpeted corridor to a door flanked by two human guards. The door slid open with only the slightest sound. Fitzpatrick beckoned her to follow him inside.
Like the rest of the hospital, the walls were peach colored. A long table filled up the room.
At the far end of the table, there were seven aliens. Two sat in tube-steel chairs. The other five held barbed, long-handled spears and stood at attention behind the seated pair.
Oziru dominated the room, even sitting down. While the guards’ tendrils resembled sea anemones in their length and thickness, Oziru’s were at least as thick as Gaia’s wrist and hung down its back. The tendrils were striped with thin, perfectly even, black and white rings.
Oziru’s neck was as thick and muscular as a bull’s. Its eyes were violet, like Kenjan’s. Delicate white lines curved across its black skin. Thin white stripes spanned the length of Oziru’s body, occasionally broken as if they were the interrupted strokes of a paintbrush. Where one stroke broke on the left, its mirror image broke on the right in exactly the same place in exactly the same way. Oziru defined symmetry.
The Kishocha wore an enormous pit guard that looked more like an Egyptian collar than a necklace. Strands of black, white and red pearls hung down from the collar, blanketing Oziru’s chest and extending well past its waist. Strands of the same tricolored pearls wound around its forearms. Gaia wondered whether Oziru had matching ankle guards as well, but there was no casual way to glance under the table to find out.
The alien seated next to Oziru was at least half a head shorter and much more slight. Gaia guessed this must be Seigata. Its bowed head made looking at its face difficult. Its cranial tendrils were thinner and shorter, looking almost like tumbling curls of hair. It wore a vestlike garment composed of shells and teeth, wired together with gold.
Gaia had never had the opportunity to view a group of Kishocha from varied castes. Now that she was doing it, the physical similarities and differences between them were very clear. All Kishocha were black with white markings. All had large eyes, and horselike muzzles. All had cranial tendrils. The real difference was in the markings that covered their bodies. While Oziru and the Kishocha seated next to it were perfectly symmetrical, the guards’ markings ran askew. One had vertical, zebra-like stripes across its whole face and body. Another had a swirl that looked like an enormous human thumbprint across its chest. Still another had whorls and stripes that alternated in no real order. The only things the guards had in common, apart from their uniform height, were metallic orange eyes.
On the human side of the table Gaia recognized the stately coiffure and severe red lipstick of Emily Blum, the Ambassador and Chief Political Officer of A-Ki Station. The sight of Blum gave Gaia a nasty turn. Blum appeared only when something important and bad happened. Blum brought endless paperwork, fines and lawyers. No regulation-abiding citizen of A-Ki Station should ever have to see her. Even Fitzpatrick was more welcome a sight than Blum. A deep sense of foreboding took root in Gaia’s stomach.
Five uniformed security officers stood behind Blum. These were the best-looking security officers she’d ever seen, a striking contrast to the surly guards who slouched around the food court eating sticky rice and slurping Frosticcino. They had no weapons that Gaia could see, not even big flashlights.
All the humans looked shiny. Someone had put the room’s humidity up to at least one hundred percent then raised the temperature to an uncomfortable tropical degree to accommodate the Kishocha.
“Divine and Exalted Oziru,” Blum said in a pleasant, businesslike tone, “may I present Gaia Jones.”
All at once Gaia felt the intense heat of the room. Itchy sweat trickled down her stomach.
“Hello.” Oziru spoke in heavily accented English. “You are the owner of Happy Snak.” Its voice was so deep Gaia could feel it tickle her inner ear.
“That’s me.”
“I am Oziru.” The Kishocha inclined its head and brought its hands together in a sign of peace. At least Gaia thought it was a peace sign. It had been so long since she’d seen the informationals that she couldn’t quite remember. The Kishocha’s hands were open, as if miming a book. “And this is Seigata, Kenjan’s first sibling.”
The Kishocha seated next to Oziru extended a long black hand.
Gaia started forward, her arm extended automatically. “I’m so sorry about your loss.”
As she moved, she heard Blum yell out, “Jones!” Then to her utter annoyance Fitzpatrick seized her by the upper arm and yanked her back. At that same moment, Gaia heard the whoosh of a Kishocha spear cutting the air. The blade slashed across the empty space where she would have been standing.
“Sho!” Oziru’s voice boomed out across the room. Gaia jumped backward into Fitzpatrick. The guard who’d struck at Gaia dropped instantly to the floor. Oziru murmured a long, string of words at the guard, who resumed its previous stance.
Gaia’s heart hammered in shock. She wasn’t sure if she was going to faint or just vomit. Fitzpatrick seemed just as scared as she was. She could feel his heart pounding. His grip on her upper arms was painfully tight.
“I was just going to shake—” Gaia stopped as she held up her stumps. “Shake hands.”
“Ah, no. This is a spiritual gesture,” Oziru replied. “Come, don’t cower from me. My guards will not threaten you again. I have enlightened them. Please consider me to be your friend and take a seat.”
Fitzpatrick eased his grip on her, and Gaia moved forward. “I’m sorry about getting close to you just now.”
“No offense made.” Oziru turned to Blum. “I want to speak with Gaia only, and as her current master you may remain, but there will be no interruptions.”
“As you wish, of course,” Blum said.
With a light hand on Gaia’s elbow, Fitzpatrick steered her toward one of the empty chairs at the human end of the table. He sat next to her, but kept silent.
Oziru began. “I have come here to thank you for your kindness to my beloved Kenjan. And Seigata would like also to thank you on behalf of its sibling. Sadly, my consort, Kenjan, has gone to the waters.”
“I’m sorry.” There was a long pause while Gaia tried to think of something comforting to say. “I hope Kenjan wasn’t in too much pain.”
From beside her, Gaia thought she heard Blum hiss quietly under her breath.
Oziru appeared to accept her condolence. As its long, thick cranial tendrils curled and swayed, it placed a long black hand across its throat and its pearls clattered against each other. “It is important that we read the motions with expedience.”
“Pardon?” Gaia said.
“The motions of dying.” Oziru rose to its full height. Its head nearly brushed the ceiling. “When a Kishocha dies, it secretes the Water of Life. That is what killed your hands and scarred the floor of your dwelling. Its life flows out and carves markings of its final emotions on whatever surface is there. It is important to read these final messages quickly. The words of the gods are changeable and fleeting. Some meanings may fade or be lost.”
One of Oziru’s cranial tendrils was silently tapping itself against its side, moving like the tail of a mildly annoyed feline.
Oziru walked around the table. When it did, Gaia saw that it was, in fact, wearing ankle guards that matched its gauntlets. The pearl garment that it wore fell past its knees. The Kishocha waved Fitzpatrick aside and crouched down directly in front of Gaia. Even crouched, Oziru’s face was almost a foot above hers. The alien was so close that Gaia could smell its sharp fragrance, like roses and battery acid.
“On the official statement, you said that my beloved Kenjan made you its guardian.”
Gaia cocked her head. “I don’t think so…”
“You said that Kenjan asked you to protect it.”
; “Yeah, but I just thought Kenjan was delirious or didn’t speak English very well.”
“My beloved Kenjan was the first Kishocha to master the English tongue. I was taught by Kenjan. So you see, if Kenjan asked you to protect it, then that is really what it intended you to do.”
“And so?” Gaia leaned a little closer to Oziru.
“My beloved Kenjan asked you to guard its spirit. My consort gave itself to you. I must know its final thoughts. I ask you to accompany me to read Kenjan’s last feelings, so that we both may understand what we are to do.”
“Do we have to go now?”
“I have complied with your master’s request to wait until you were better healed.” Oziru gestured to Blum. “But I can wait no longer. Since you can walk and stand it must be done.”
For the first time, Gaia noticed dark circles under Blum’s eyes, even through the ambassador’s makeup. Fitzpatrick also looked less well rested than usual.
She said, “Well, if we’ve got to do it, we’ve got to do it, right? Let’s go.”
Oziru very slowly closed its eyes and then slowly opened them again. Gaia grasped that this meant something, but had no idea what. The alien said, “I most humbly thank you. My reward to you will be deeper than the great ocean chasm.”
Chapter Three: The Motions of Dying
The Embassy Tower’s public concourse yawned cavernously empty at three-thirty on a Monday afternoon. Blum and Fitzpatrick led a golf-cart motorcade that hummed along the gray paving-stone-patterned linoleum at a stately clip. Gaia sat next to Oziru in the VIP golf cart.
Oziru’s guards were in the car behind them.
Given the confines of the seat and the relative size of Oziru, contact was inevitable. As they drove past the Electrical Authority, one of Oziru’s tendrils bumped up against Gaia’s calf. It felt soft and cool, even through her hospital jumpsuit. Gaia tried to scoot away.
“Is something wrong?” Oziru asked.
“I’m sorry, but I think your tendril touched me.”
“Perhaps it is curious about you.”
Gaia felt the blood draining out of her face at the idea of curious tendrils. “But if it touches my skin, I’ll be burnt.”
“We do not always secrete the Water of Life. You could touch me now and be unharmed,” Oziru said.
Gaia felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw one of Oziru’s tendrils had crawled around behind her. The pointy end curled almost like a beckoning finger.
Gaia looked back at Oziru.
“You’re controlling them, right?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“That’s a cute trick.”
“I learned it from Kenjan.” Oziru’s cranial tendril dropped away and the alien plunged into silence.
Though Gaia had only known Kenjan for a few minutes, she still felt a certain loss at its death. It’d been the first alien she or any other human had ever seen.
Only a decade before, the airwaves of Earth had thrilled and vibrated to the all-encompassing and completely unintelligible Kishocha transmissions. Communication satellites went down. Radios could receive nothing but endless throbbing chants and searing wails. All contact with the Mars colony was lost.
Panic ensued. Fear reigned. Corn-dog sales hit an all time low. The populace retreated to bomb shelters and church basements. After a few months, the aural assault stopped and the press releases began. The first of these missives confirmed that there was, indeed, alien life. The beings were called Kishocha. They were tall, bipedal, amphibious and hermaphroditic. The Kishocha seemed nonplused by the existence of humans. During a newsflash the world saw the first picture of that alien who would become so familiar: Kenjan.
Standing about six and a half feet tall, Kenjan became an instant idol. Its long, black muzzle was delicately marked with symmetrical white swirls. In place of human hair, Kenjan had luxuriant cranial tendrils. These black- and white-banded tentacles curled and writhed down Kenjan’s skull, cascading over the alien’s shoulders. Kenjan had glossy black skin, adorned by a white violin-shaped marking which originated at the base of its throat, rolled over the alien’s broad chest, narrowed at its waist and ended at Kenjan’s featureless crotch. The Kishocha’s legs were long and heavily muscled, ending in wide black flippers.
In the newsflash, Kenjan lifted one hand, its six fingers spread to expose exquisite purple-membraned webbing, and waved. This clip played continuously for the next year, accompanied by dubious analyses from scientists, philosophers, rock stars and sports figures.
Sales of popsicles and ice cream cones were steadily rising, but that was to be expected. It was summer, and it was hot. The only difference was that now the popsicles were black and white striped.
The first time Kenjan spoke English, it apologized on behalf of its people for broadcasting their songs so loudly.
“We did not see you living there.” Kenjan’s low voice rolled out of Gaia’s tinny television speaker. “We were talking to someone else. Please excuse.” When asked who they were talking to Kenjan replied, “God.”
More analysis ensued. Wild debates erupted in churches everywhere. The snack-eating public had a brief love affair with black and white fish sticks. Gaia wondered if, reciprocally, sales of flesh-colored popsicles were soaring on the Kishocha ship.
Then Kenjan was on the television again, speaking almost perfectly comprehensible but distinctly non-native English in a worldwide broadcast.
“I am happy to announce the joyous occasion of construction. It has been decreed that our structures should embrace one another and that we should be allies. The name of our ship is ‘Ki’ and the name of your buildings is ‘A’ so our union will be called A-Ki Station. It is exceedingly poetic. Congratulations.”
A representative from the newly formed Alien Ambassadorial Corps (who Gaia now knew as Fitzpatrick) came on-screen to present a computer model of the proposed A-Ki Station. From above, the human sector looked a little like a bicycle wheel. Six outer towers ringed the central tower. Skywalks and subways connected the buildings to one another. The outer towers were of identical size and height but varied in color: white, red, blue, green, orange and yellow. The central tower, which would house the embassy, was purple. Gaia imagined it was supposed to represent a rainbow of hope. She wondered if she should get some rainbow-colored rocket pops.
Each tower had a corporate sponsor. Coca-Cola Global owned the red tower.
Even at a diameter of five miles, the human sector took up less than one percent of the surface of the Kishocha ship. Fitzpatrick flashed off the screen, replaced immediately by a wild-haired old skinny guy who ranted about the possibilities of technological exchange with the Kishocha. He was obviously a physicist. He continued at length about the Kishocha’s mastery of the elusive art of creating gravitational fields. The physicist speculated on the Kishocha’s willingness to share their technological secrets. Hundreds of scientists would be needed to work on A-Ki Station, he gushed. It was an unprecedented event.
And not just for enthusiastic physicists, Gaia thought. There would have to be maintenance staff and mechanics and diplomats. All those people had one thing in common—they all had to eat. With that thought, her own dream of a future in space had been born.
It had been a beautiful dream and now everything had changed. Everything depended on her.
Gaia looked around at the storefronts of the Embassy Tower’s main concourse. The designers had gone high-class here, giving the entire place a Dickensian Village look. Potted trees grew at even intervals. Exclusive shops and government offices rubbed elbows good-naturedly with each other. At Christmastime, this was where Santa hung around with a couple of robotic reindeer, speaking with an English accent and giving out Christmas crackers to the children on the station.
Happy Snak business occasionally brought Gaia up here. She always felt like the entire cast of 0liver! might jump out and start singing at any second. Today, apart from a couple of security guards, the concourse was strangely devoid of peo
ple.
They turned off the public concourse into Honda Park. This was where the artificial but realistic-looking stream flowed. A wide red bridge arched gracefully across it. Just beneath the surface of the water, koi carp moved like glittering jewels.
“Your water is so pale,” Oziru said. “So light.”
“Yeah,” Gaia said, for lack of any better response. “The fish seem to like it.”
They lapsed into silence again and drove quietly onto the skyway that led to the Coke Tower.
As they entered the skyway, Gaia felt her excitement growing. The Coke Tower main concourse would be packed at this time of day. She could imagine the scene. It would be like a parade. People would cram in on either side to see the aliens, especially the one riding beside her. It would be good publicity. It was too bad she didn’t have her Happy Snak smock on.
They emerged from the skyway into utter silence. It looked like an emergency evacuation drill was taking place. Her heart sank. No one would see her big moment.
The main concourse of the Coke Tower was retro-fifties style. The trees were made of silver tinsel. Colored lights at the base of each tree made them slowly change hue throughout the day. The trees were blue-green. Gaia guessed it was around four by now.
There should have been people—lots of them. Oziru gazed curiously at one of the trees.
“They’re not real, you know,” Gaia said.
“Not real?” Oziru asked.
“They’re not alive. Real Earth trees don’t look like that.”
“They are meant to be trees? Strange.”
They drove along red and white linoleum and came to a halt in front of the elevator leading down to the residential-level food court where Happy Snak was located. Gaia hadn’t been able to afford the lease in the main concourse. No one but the megacorporates could.
Happy Snak Page 2
