Happy Snak

by Nicole Kimberling

The servant class, which included artisans as well as laborers, seemed to occupy the largest segment of Kishocha society. Wave cheerfully admitted being at the very bottom of the servant class, and thus being obliged to give respect to virtually everyone.

  “I am very good at bowing. Wouldn’t you say, beautiful Kenjan?”

  “It is only one of your abundant talents,” Kenjan replied.

  Gaia scowled. “How could Wave be really low if it serves someone really important?”

  “Well,” Fitzpatrick answered, “close association does not confer genuine status, even among human cultures.”

  “I guess.” Gaia slumped down in her chair. She felt sorry for Wave, who had to bow to everyone, and mildly irritated by Kenjan’s condescending attitude.

  The last Kishocha class was comprised of cleaners, who apparently mostly handled sewage. The cleaners also disposed of the dead.

  “Cleaners are not very smart,” Wave said, “so you must not be cruel to them just because you can. If you are angry with your master, that is not a reason to kick or torture a cleaner. We need the waters of Ki Island to be even more pure than the Kishocha Ocean. The cleaners prevent—” Wave stopped, perplexed. “My master, what is the human word for shakkiam?”

  Kenjan pulled a slim electronic dictionary out of the desk drawer. It perused the screen for a few seconds, and then said, “Toxicity.”

  “Toxicity,” Wave repeated. “Toxicity, toxicity, toxicity. The word for shakkiam is toxicity.”

  “Or it could be poison,” Kenjan said. “But toxicity sounds more poetic, I think.”

  “Definitely. So you can see that the cleaners, although they are stupid and small, are very important. Be kind to your cleaners. Do not try to feed them rocks or explode them. Do not throw them at targets for a bull’s-eye game. Would you like Oziru to throw you like that? No? Then pet your cleaners and leave them alone. They need to do their job.” Wave’s stern expression softened a little. “But you were not going to do any of these things, were you? That is because you are good humans. Now go outside to play.”

  Wave paused briefly, glancing from side to side, apparently through with its speech but uncertain how to conclude. The cameraman was also at a loss. Finally he said, “Do you want me to cut now?”

  Kenjan cocked its head. “No, but you may extinguish the camera.” The visual ended abruptly. There were no credits.

  “So,” Fitzpatrick said. “How did you like it?”

  “That was really weird,” Gaia said.

  “But you understood the basic information?” Blum barely waited for Gaia to nod her response before continuing. “Insofar as we can tell, the position you’re going to hold is part of the priestly caste. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much more about your duties. All Oziru would tell me was that you would make sure the ghost was fed.”

  “Seigata told me that too, but what am I supposed to feed it? Fries?”

  Fitzpatrick cut in again. “Apparently, that’s just a figure of speech. The Kishocha will bring offerings to the ghost. All you have to do is make sure no one, including you, gets possessed.”

  “Right.” Blum pressed relentlessly on. “The Kishocha fear that the ghost may try to escape from the shrine by possessing the life of another.”

  “You don’t think that the ghost is real, do you?” Gaia asked.

  “No,” Blum said.

  “Just checking.” Gaia slurped her drink. “Do I have to be there all the time?”

  “No, there’s a special period when offerings to the dead are made. It’s from about ten p.m. until around one a.m. You should probably try and be present in the shrine during this time.” Fitzpatrick withdrew a slim case from his inner pocket. “It’s a time based on the Kishocha rising stars, so it varies throughout the year. I had this programmed for you. It’s a Kishocha clock.”

  “It says Made in Malaysia.” Gaia pointed at the label.

  “It’s not a real Kishocha clock,” Fitzpatrick said. “But I didn’t think you wanted a six-foot pillar of water that you couldn’t read.”

  Blum rapped her knuckles sharply on the table. She clearly felt the conversation was going astray.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to be at another meeting in ten minutes, so let’s try to move along.” Blum rubbed her eyes.

  “You look pretty tired. Maybe you should just bag the meeting and take a nap,” Gaia suggested.

  Blum gave her a tight, hard smile. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? But then who would keep this whole place from collapsing around us?”

  Gaia was about to answer when she realized the question was rhetorical.

  Blum continued, “You have no idea how much bureaucracy is involved in keeping this station running, Ms. Jones. The amount of paperwork is absolutely voluminous, not to mention the meetings with the Kishocha, which can take all night and accomplish absolutely nothing. All I want from you is your solemn vow that you won’t become a source of pain to me.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Fitzpatrick cleared his throat. “I think CPO Blum is asking you to take this job seriously. You’ll be subsidized by the embassy for your time, so please make sure that you’re actually there, on time, to accept the offerings.”

  “That’s really all?” Gaia asked.

  “Were you hoping for something more exotic?” Fitzpatrick asked.

  “No, I just don’t know why someone else can’t do this.”

  “The deceased asked specifically for you to be its guardian,” Blum said. “The thing you have to understand about the Kishocha is that Oziru really is all-powerful in their society. Kenjan was Oziru’s lover and also some kind of visionary. So if Kenjan asked for you, then Kenjan gets you. The Kishocha don’t understand free will. They believe in absolute obedience. They wouldn’t understand if we said that you just had other plans. You’ve been a good sport so far, and we do appreciate it, but I simply must demand that you take this duty seriously. I don’t think it’s melodramatic to say that every human on this station could be affected by your actions.” Blum regarded Gaia with deep weariness.

  Gaia had so many questions. What if she got tired of this job? What if she wanted to take a vacation or go home? She considered demanding answers, but suddenly knew she didn’t really want to know. For the time being she’d continue to be cooperative. Maybe later an escape plan would present itself. When she needed it… If she needed it.

  “Could you at least tell me about the summoning ceremony?”

  “Mr. Fitzpatrick has been looking into that, and so you may address your questions to him. I need to be going. Have a good day, and good luck tomorrow night. We’re counting on you.” Blum collected her things, shook Gaia’s hand, and left.

  After she was gone Gaia turned back to Fitzpatrick.

  “Another round?” She shook her cup and rattled her ice at him. He accepted her offer, visibly more relaxed now that Blum had gone.

  He straightened his tie, seeming to come to some inner decision. “You know, I feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot.”

  “That’s probably because you called my store Crappy Shack,” Gaia said.

  Fitzpatrick’s eyes opened in amused surprise. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You hold a grudge because of that?”

  “I also don’t like your cologne.” Gaia couldn’t believe how petty the words coming out of her mouth sounded, but there it was, the truth.

  “I’ll try to find a different brand.” A smile tugged at the edges of Fitzpatrick’s mouth.

  Now that she’d stated her reasons for hating Fitzpatrick, she felt stupid. It did sound petty, but then badmouthing her store was equally petty.

  “I’m really, truly sorry. I know you and I haven’t been on the best of terms, and I do sincerely apologize for offending you. I think I’m just more used to dealing with corporations than I am with entrepreneurs. I didn’t realize you had put so much of your heart into Happy Snak.”

  Gaia thought of deflecting both Fitzpatr
ick’s sentiment and his apology, but she realized that he was sincere. More than that, he was that most rare of creatures—a man who really knew how to apologize. Professional necessity or not, she was impressed.

  “It’s okay, I’m not mad about it anymore.”

  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find any meaningful information on the ghost invocation ceremony or your duties as a guardian. Seigata did mention that you needn’t worry about being possessed by the ghost because unlike Kishocha souls, which are made from water, human souls are made from fire. Everything else it told me was either oblique or vague to the point of meaninglessness.”

  “What do you mean?” Gaia called from the cold-drinks dispenser.

  “For example, I asked what you were to do with the food offerings. They said that the ghost would eat them. I said, ‘Yes, but what will Gaia have to do after the ghost has “eaten” them,’ thinking that after a while all the dead fish could really be a problem.”

  “I was just wondering what I did with them myself.” Gaia handed Fitzpatrick his refreshed drink.

  “Seigata looked really appalled and replied that you shouldn’t be handling any kind of secretions, especially not that of a kaijamfutan. That’s the term for wandering ghost, incidentally.” Fitzpatrick took a sip of his drink. “How are your Kishocha language skills coming along?”

  “I’ve been taking the refresher course for the last few weeks. I can say, ‘What would you like to drink with that?’ And I get along pretty well with the simple stuff. I understand more than I can speak.”

  “That’s always the way, isn’t it?” Fitzpatrick said. “I did find out some things about your swearing-in ceremony. You’re getting a tattoo.”

  “Of what?”

  “I don’t know. I apologize. It’s supposed to be a way to mark humans who are allowed in Kishocha waters. Until now the Kishocha never actually marked anyone. Make sure to come see a doctor if you have any pain.”

  “This doesn’t make me feel better about the ceremony. I’m wondering which part of my body you’ve consented to have molested this time, you know?”

  “The Kishocha didn’t mention. Are you very frightened?” Fitzpatrick’s expression became so unexpectedly gentle that Gaia almost nodded. But then she remembered who she was talking to.

  “I’d describe my emotional state as more angry than fearful.”

  Fitzpatrick shrugged. “In my experience I’ve found those two feelings to be rather closely entwined. Much like attraction and irritation.” He leaned back.

  “I’m not that complex,” Gaia said flatly.

  “Before your act of heroism I would have agreed with you and yet here you are, making diplomatic advances that we’ve been working on for years in just a few minutes. Right now you are the most important person on A-Ki Station—maybe even in the entire human race. To say you are not complex is patently wrong.”

  Gaia felt herself blush. Was this—could Fitzpatrick actually be—complimenting her? There had to be a catch. And yet she felt a rush of pride. She was going to be allowed in Kishocha waters.

  She said, “Are you trying to get me in bed?”

  “I am merely attempting to put your current importance and power into perspective.” Fitzpatrick retrieved Wave’s video and slid it back inside his briefcase. He glanced around.

  “Blum didn’t want me to focus on that. She believes that you don’t truly understand what you are doing and that it’s better for you not to.” Fitzpatrick spoke quietly and quickly, his eyes locked on hers. “I do not agree with her position. I think it’s crucial that you understand that all of our hope is with you now.”

  All at once, heady egotism collided with tooth-grinding anxiety. She could, if she wanted to, have Treat Bonanza thrown off the station entirely. But this delirious joy entwined itself tightly with the very basic knowledge that if she made a mistake now, and the aliens left, taking their miraculous technology with them, she would be the biggest fuckup in recorded human history.

  Gaia’s hands felt sweaty. She needed to avoid thinking about uncertainties. She needed to focus on an easily graspable and easily controlled subject. “Do you think they’d like Coke or Pepsi more?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was thinking of switching the soft-drinks distributor, and I’d like to choose the brand they seem to like. Have you noticed that they like one or the other?”

  “You know, I think I did try to give the liaison a cola once.”

  Gaia sat up straight in her chair, totally attentive. “And?”

  “They didn’t like either.”

  “They don’t like cola at all?”

  Fitzpatrick laughed, but Gaia wasn’t sure why. “They said it tasted like poison.”

  A slow realization dawned on her. “These guys really are alien.”

  Chapter Five: Purifying

  When Gaia entered the Kishocha shrine to meet with Seigata, it was the first time a human had stepped into the alien realm. She approached the Kishocha door and it dilated open. She walked through a domed chamber about twice the size of Happy Snak. Light emanated from a ring of luminous spots near the center of the ceiling. The walls were made from shiny, pink shell-like material. The walls flowed seamlessly into the floor.

  The floor of the chamber was comprised of three concentric levels. First was the walkway where she stood. It was about ten feet wide. Next was a twenty-foot drop to a circular trench surrounding a small, star-shaped island. The island was raised slightly above the level of the outer walkway. The gulf around the island reminded Gaia a little of a zoo exhibit—the kind that keeps predatory animals separated from zoo patrons. Gaia edged out toward the drop to see the island a little better. The Kishocha had erected a little hut of black and red scallop shells on the island. The hut had a doorway and a round window, but no furniture that Gaia could see. Inside the shadowed recesses lay a heap of unidentifiable parcels. Offerings, maybe?

  And what were the offerings anyway? Could they be blood sacrifices? Gaia didn’t see anything that looked like an altar. Apart from the hut on the island, the shrine was empty. Seigata had yet to arrive.

  Gaia wished it were Oziru she was going to meet. She felt like Oziru might like her.

  About a quarter of the way around the room, another iris-like door dilated open.

  Seigata moved with absolute restraint. Each of the alien’s steps was a deliberate action. Seigata held its hands up to its black and white chest, keeping its fingers folded into an elaborate geometrical pose. Six attendants followed, each carrying some ritual object.

  Seigata approached with agonizing slowness. When it came within six feet of her, it stopped and finally looked up.

  “You may approach, Gaia Jones,” it said. Gaia walked close to the wall, worried about accidentally falling in the trench. One of the attendants set something that looked like a yellow dog bed on the floor. Another attendant carried a huge spiraling shell. It decanted some pinkish fluid into the dog bed. Seigata lowered itself gracefully into the moist, spongy seat and motioned her to sit.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor, near enough to hear Seigata but not obnoxiously so. From this vantage Gaia could admire Seigata’s amazing person. Its long tumbling cranial tendrils were ringed at the base by thick gold wraps, giving the effect of an elaborate crown. Dangling strings of cut jewels hung down the sides of its face. Seigata wore golden rings on all its fingers and silver on the talon-like tips of its webbed toes. The Kishocha wore the same robe she’d noticed in the medical conference room, a garment made of teeth and blue cowry shells.

  “How are you today, Gaia Jones?” it asked. One of its attendants set a small, low table between them. It placed two half-shells filled with pearlescent white fluid and small transparent lumps on the table.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Gaia said, “and you?”

  “I am feeling well, but sick sorrow lingers in my heart.” Seigata gestured to the shells. “I thought we might do pearl drinking to begin our acquaintance. Do you agree?”
<
br />   “Okay.”

  Seigata handed her a half-shell, then raised its own to its muzzle and slurped the whole mass down. Gaia lifted her own shell. The stench was overpowering. It smelled like the worst part of a rotten fish. Gaia tried not to breathe. She knew she somehow had to get this hideous-smelling item down her throat. As she opened her mouth she caught slight whiffs of armpit and fart. She gagged. Then, in a burst of bravery, slid the gooey mass into her mouth and forced herself to swallow.

  Her stomach considered the pearls. It rolled them around for one indecisive moment before arriving at the conclusion that they should be rejected immediately. Gaia’s mouth began to water.

  “Excuse me.” She swallowed a couple of times to buy herself a little time. “I haven’t brought you anything.”

  “That is excusable,” Seigata said.

  “Oh no! I’ll be right back.” Gaia bolted from the shrine, arriving at her own private toilet at the critical moment. She heaved, projecting the Kishocha “pearls” in the basic direction of the bowl. Pearlescent chunks spattered against the stainless steel. Gaia flushed. She whipped around, rinsed her mouth and dashed to the cold-drinks dispenser. She got a Coke and took a long, desperate gulp. Her stomach resisted briefly, and then agreed that Coke was good. Gaia got a box of Clammi! brand clam juice and made her way back into the shrine. Would she be puking every time she met with the Kishocha? What would they think about that?

  If Seigata thought her actions strange, the alien didn’t let on. It accepted, but didn’t attempt to drink, her box of Clammi! Rather, it handed the Clammi! to a servant who rang a small gong. Another servant entered the room, took the Clammi! and held it reverently.

  “And now, Gaia Jones, to the tasks of the day.” Seigata held up a hand and a servant approached, carrying what looked like a large, flexible sheet of red plastic. It was folded elaborately, like an origami starfish, but one deft tug unfolded the entire thing. Chunky geometric letters covered one side.

  “This is the proclamation and oath of the Guardian of the Shrine of Kaijamfutan of Ki Island under the Divine Guidance of Exalted Oziru. Please repeat after me: Now that the contemptible ghost has come to dwell, humiliated, on Ki Island—”