Happy Snak

by Nicole Kimberling

  “Only if you want to attract them as customers.” Roy spoke as if this would be the last thing on any right-thinking person’s mind.

  Gaia had to nip this anti-business sentiment in the bud. “Why wouldn’t I want to attract them as customers? They’re a vast untapped market. I own a snack bar. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Roy backpedaled, seeming to realize he’d insulted her pride. “All I’m asking is do you even have anything that the aliens would want? So far they haven’t wanted to trade anything with anyone. Not technology, not personal histories, nothing.”

  Gaia allowed herself a smug, victorious smile. “I’ve got orange. They’ll want that.”

  Wave perked up at the mention of the dye. “Speaking of orange, may I have another orange?”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? You’re getting pretty wired.” Cheryl asked.

  “I am super okay to working at the party.” Wave gave Cheryl the thumbs-up. “Please, another orange.”

  “I’ll get it.” Roy departed to freshen Wave’s drink. Cheryl watched him go, silently shaking her head. Gaia wondered about the two of them. Certainly the strain of living on the space station with absolutely nothing to do would wear on their relationship. Any relationship really. There was always a give and take between everyone. Even the humans and the Kishocha.

  Or maybe not. Fitzpatrick had called humans “Kenjan’s sea monkeys”.

  Well, maybe she had the opportunity to take their relationship beyond that of pet and curious owner. And even though it might be solely based on trading goods, was that so bad? Commerce had worked for human cultures for centuries. She might as well at least try it with the Kishocha. “Your people must have something to trade, Wave. What about shells?”

  The Kishocha seemed aghast, but then its expression cleared. “Shells are sacred things. They cannot be worn by any but priests.”

  “But then what are those things I saw around the necks of the Kishocha who built the shrine?” Gaia asked.

  “What things?” Wave inserted its long tongue into its paper cup to capture the last drops of orange that remained.

  “Those little gray round things on a string. Some Kishocha would have a couple, others had fifty of them.”

  “Those are not shells.” Wave snuffled into its cup. “Those are gambling pieces. Say, do you think Kishocha could trade gambling pieces for orange?”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “So that you can have fun gambling with us?”

  “No, I just think they’re neat looking and exotic, and humans might want to wear them as jewelry,” Gaia said.

  “Gambling pieces are not precious,” Wave warned.

  “Well,” Cheryl said, “maybe not to you, but there’s nothing like them on Earth. So on Earth they’re valuable.”

  “The law of supply and demand! Scarcity equals expense, yes?” Wave leaned forward, expecting praise.

  “You play this capitalism game well,” Gaia said.

  “I play ‘working’ well too,” Wave said. “Cheryl plays it better than me though. You must love to work, Cheryl.”

  “Not usually. You know, when I joined the Peace Corps, I thought I was through working in restaurants. I promised myself I’d never come home smelling like a french fry again.” She made the remark in the same dry, dismissive tone she used on Roy.

  “It’s not like I’m forcing you,” Gaia said. The comment irked her. Making fries and other fatty, salty snacks was Gaia’s vocation—her passion, even. And she wasn’t married to Cheryl. She didn’t have to put up with her challenging personality.

  “No, that came out wrong,” Cheryl backpedaled, “I’m saying that you just never know where your life’s going to go. I mean, my husband’s wearing fucking kelp, and I’m actually really glad to be working at Happy Snak.”

  Roy returned with Wave’s drink. He and Cheryl exchanged a warm smile that undermined Gaia’s initial assessment of their relationship. Clearly, they liked each other.

  “Certainly,” Wave said. “One day I am cleaning fungus from the beautiful Kenjan’s flippers and playing democracy and begging for clams and apologizing for Kenjan’s heresy and then I think I’m dead, but then I’m drinking orange and being in the real democracy. There are no clams here.”

  Gaia and Cheryl only blinked. Happily, Roy kept the conversational ball in play with an eloquent, “What are you talking about?”

  Wave sighed heavily. “Because the human sector is dry, clams do not grow here, and I miss them. I am not ungrateful, but when we are in a democracy, I can say that I miss clams. I really do.”

  “I think Roy was talking about the heresy part,” Cheryl said.

  “Oh,” Wave brightened. “Such happy days! Since I was Kenjan’s servant, it was my duty to carry Kenjan’s excuses and apologies and rationalizations to the divine Oziru and the noble Seigata. Kenjan was always committing heresy. Every day Kenjan had to apologize. The divine Oziru was always soft to Kenjan because Kenjan was so beautiful, but eventually the god endured enough impudence and struck lovely Kenjan dead.”

  “How did God do that?” Cheryl folded another piece of cigarette gum into her mouth. Roy looked slightly pained at her action.

  “By killing Kenjan, of course.” Wave stared down into its glass again. “At first I was so worried that the god would strike me dead too. But then I remembered that a faithful servant follows its master into the burning dry desert, so I’m okay.”

  Roy’s watch alarm chose that moment to beep.

  “It’s five thirty,” he said. “Blum will be here any second.”

  As if she’d been waiting for her name to be mentioned, Blum appeared, rapping authoritatively on the gate. Even in a cocktail dress and heels, Blum managed to look stiff and businesslike. Several minions cringed behind her, awaiting her commands.

  “I hope everyone is ready,” Blum said. “It’s showtime.”

  Chapter Ten: Grand Opening

  Fitzpatrick arrived one minute after Blum.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late.” Like Roy, Fitzpatrick wore a faux pit guard, but his was eighteen karat gold.

  Gaia could not help but comment. “Nice necklace.”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of acquiring one for you.” Fitzpatrick drew the jewelry out of his pocket. It was made of four strands of blue plastic beads. The brooch that hung down from it was a large white plastic triangle embossed with a smiling Mickey Mouse head.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Gaia said.

  “I thought you liked animals. Don’t you have a pet rat?”

  “Hamster.”

  “Some rodent, anyway.” Fitzpatrick waved the difference aside. “I hope you’re not too sickened by them. They’re the best I could do in twenty minutes. I brought two more for the PCVs but I see they came prepared.”

  Gaia glanced back to see Cheryl fastening a shell choker. It matched Roy’s. Wave watched Cheryl with obvious envy.

  “Actually, I do need one more,” Gaia said. Fitzpatrick tossed her another necklace, which sported Donald Duck’s grinning visage.

  Gaia caught Wave as the alien was slinking to the cold-drinks station. “Here you go, Wave. I’m sorry it’s so goddamn ugly.”

  As Wave took the necklace, its cranial tendrils stiffened.

  “For me to wear?”

  Gaia shrugged. “I guess this is a formal occasion.”

  “But servants aren’t allowed,” Wave said.

  “You’re playing democracy now.”

  “But to wear it in front of the divine Oziru and the blessed Seigata… It’s heresy.”

  “Not if I tell you to. And for the record, I’m telling you to.”

  Wave bounced with repressed mania. “Then I must follow you even to the dry and scorching desert.” Wave ran its fingers over the bas-relief Donald Duck. “So beautiful! I am in heaven!”

  “Good.”

  “Ms. Jones,” Fitzpatrick called. “Can you please assist me?”

 
As Gaia turned, she pulled out her hand-held.

  “Look into getting a box of these cheap pendants.” Gaia watched as Wave fondled Donald Duck’s beak. “And order some clams.”

  The grand opening was not a party Gaia would have chosen to attend, but the embassy was footing the bill. It was loud—and not in the controlled, lunch-rush way Gaia enjoyed. The dining room was choked with people in formalwear, looking inappropriate among yellow plastic chairs.

  The diplomatic team chatted with the corporates, who ushered along choice scientists, as well as their spouses and lab assistants. Gaia overheard hushed conjecture about the recent string of gravity fluctuations. Reporters trolled the fringe. Space Corps uniforms were divided into two groups. Fancy dress uniforms laughed with the corporates while lowly gray uniforms patrolled the periphery. Eager for free booze and a chance to mingle above their station, the maintenance crew and dock techs snaked through the crowd, heading inexorably toward the front counter.

  In its capacity as Kenjan’s silent servant, Wave had already met some of the people at the party. Now Wave had risen to superstardom. Reporters questioned the Kishocha. Corporates reintroduced themselves. Wave lasted ten minutes before it got scared and asked to go hide in its room. The guests reluctantly let Wave retreat, but only in anticipation of Oziru’s arrival.

  As Wave slunk away, three servant-class Kishocha came through Gaia’s bedroom door. Each carried a massive spiraling horn. They rounded the front counter without preamble. They didn’t acknowledge the humans around them, not even when one spilled shiraz on its feet. The humans quieted at the sight of them. Most had never been so close to an alien.

  Gaia moved away. She’d already been too close.

  With no visible sign between them, the Kishocha blew into their horns. Tooth-chatteringly deep notes blasted out, displacing all other sound in the room.

  A column of Kishocha soldiers marched through the kitchen and into the dining room.

  The crowd shrank back from them. Blum and Fitzpatrick stepped forward. Gaia wound through the back of the crowd to find her place between them.

  Gaia stood facing a guard whose neck was wound with a dozen strings of gambling pieces. The silver-gray beads were intricately carved. Some depicted animal or plant forms. Others were carved into latticed shapes. The guard noticed Gaia’s interest. For a moment, their eyes met before Gaia looked shyly away.

  The low reverberation of horns continued as Oziru entered. Two servants walked before the alien. The first poured water out of jug-sized conch shells, and the second laid fronds of kelp. Oziru followed, wearing its robe of red and black pearls. Seigata walked behind Oziru, carrying an oblong box. Water sloshed over the lip as Seigata walked.

  When Oziru reached Blum, the horn players stopped.

  “Welcome, Oziru,” Blum said.

  “I come to bestow my blessing on this place.” Oziru reached into the box and removed six fist-sized shells. The Kishocha laid these out in a line at Gaia’s feet. The alien dangled one of its tendrils in the box. Oziru closed its eyes. Reddish slime oozed out from the tendril and floated over the top of the water like oil. Then Oziru upended the entire box of water. It sloshed forward across the shells and across Gaia’s dress shoes.

  “Awake,” Oziru commanded.

  From each of the shells, thin tentacles emerged. The creatures were like a cross between snails and sea anemones. Some tendrils reached as far as a foot. The snails began to crawl, each taking a separate, random path across the floor or up the wall. There was a puddle in the middle of the floor now. Gaia watched the slimy path of her new inhabitants warily, wondering what the health department was going to say about them. Nothing good.

  “May your house grow as these cleaners grow.” Oziru shook her hand.

  Polite applause followed, though Gaia thought that if it was possible for people to clap in a confused manner, the assembled collection of suits and cocktail dresses was doing it. For Gaia, being confused by the Kishocha was normal.

  Blum spoke next, and at length. A consummate professional, she didn’t seem to notice or care when one of the snails climbed over her shoe and devoured her ornamental buckle.

  Gaia was so astounded by watching this that she missed the cue for her own speech. Fitzpatrick nudged her forward. Never one for the limelight, Gaia self-consciously mumbled her way through six minutes of thank-yous and gave up the floor to the Corporate Alliance rep.

  Oziru departed at the conclusion of the formalities. The alien left as it had come, in a blast of sound and excitement. Once the horns stopped and the horn players withdrew, the humans were silent for a couple of uncertain moments before they erupted into a roar of excited conversation.

  Gaia didn’t know how to approach conversation. She was unused to functioning outside the structured environment of business interaction. Luckily, everyone else did most of the talking, phrasing most of their conversation Q & A style.

  Q: How do you feel about being chosen to be the guardian to a Kishocha spirit?

  A: It’s all right.

  Q: Does your new position conflict with your own faith?

  A: No, I’m an atheist.

  Q: How do you feel about the Kishocha?

  A: They’re all right.

  Gaia glanced at Fitzpatrick and sensed she was letting down the embassy. Fitzpatrick was actually chuckling down his sleeve. He pushed his way into the little clot of media people and drew her away.

  “Why are you laughing at me?” Gaia demanded.

  “You’re funny.” Completely in his element, Fitzpatrick sauntered from clot to clot of people eliciting smiles and laughter wherever he went. Gaia reminded herself that this was one reason she disliked him, but she couldn’t help wishing she had that kind of easy grace. Or that she could bring herself to drift along beside him, riding the wake of his superior social skills. But she could not.

  Blum was also totally at ease, although her minions followed her like obedient ducklings as she moved among the guests.

  Gaia decided to slink away. She could mingle no longer. She didn’t think anyone would notice if she left for a few minutes. They all knew each other, and though she was the guest of honor, she seemed superfluous. Cheryl kept the hot foods coming. Roy kept the cold drinks flowing.

  Gaia slipped into the back and sat on her bed. Even with the door closed she could still hear the noise. She decided to go farther. Placing her hand on the warm shrine door, she whispered, “Dilate.”

  Heavy, salty air rushed over her. Inside the shrine, strange weak light radiated from the water. Phosphorescent algae? The light that usually emanated from the ceiling had apparently turned off. She wondered how that was controlled. She hadn’t seen a timer or control panel anywhere, but then the whole place was biomechanical. If there was a control panel, chances were she wouldn’t recognize it. She still hadn’t figured out the location of the voice activation switch for the door.

  Kenjan was nowhere in sight. She stepped into the silence of the shrine.

  “Contract.”

  Gaia sat down, leaned against the wall and rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again, Kenjan’s head was just emerging from the water. The alien’s black and white ringed cranial tendrils shook themselves free of the water like independent entities. Kenjan’s skin shimmered, dripping streams of algae-saturated water. It stared into the darkness. Gaia could see its irises adjusting and its nostrils dilating as it sniffed the air. She waited until Kenjan turned toward her.

  She said, “It’s just me. Gaia.”

  Kenjan pulled itself up on the narrow lip of its moat. The alien glowed like an apparition.

  “You are not supposed to come to me except for feedings, you know.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Gaia waved the remark aside as though she could dissipate thousands of years of tradition with a single gesture.

  “Come closer, please, my guardian.”

  Gaia scooted nearer to the alien. She could see Kenjan’s nostrils flare as it took in deep draughts of air. It ope
ned its mouth.

  “Oziru held your hand,” Kenjan breathed. “Let me touch it.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Kenjan demanded.

  “Because the last time I touched you my hands dissolved.” A note of reproach colored Gaia’s voice.

  “I will not hurt you again.” Kenjan raised both hands with its fingers twisted into an arcane sign. “I swear never to eat more of you. Neither body nor spirit will I ingest of you. Now may I touch your hand?”

  With great reluctance, she extended her palm. Kenjan wrapped its long black fingers around her wrist and moved its muzzle across her sensitive skin, inhaling deep draughts of scent, mouthing the empty air. After a moment, Kenjan closed its eyes, head bowed into Gaia’s palm. Its cranial tendrils hung limp and desolate.

  “My last words to Oziru were so angry. Why didn’t I tell Oziru that it was my only true love?”

  “You were probably still shocked from being declared dead.”

  “I shouldn’t have called Oziru a traitor.” Kenjan released Gaia’s hand. “Oziru cannot resurrect me and you should not indulge me. I insulted my beloved and now that one’s feeling for me is killed.”

  Gaia patted Kenjan’s shoulder. After her divorce, she’d been lonely too. But it wasn’t the same, was it? Oziru and Kenjan had not chosen to part. Fate and society had separated them. No, their situation was nothing like choosing to get divorced.

  Kenjan slid down to lie prone on the narrow ledge of floor between the water and the apparently impassible calligraphy line. “When my beloved walked through the shrine tonight it did not even look at me. I feel like my body is hurt inside, like I am dying again. I have never been so full of sorrow.”

  At a loss for any meaningful consolation, Gaia said, “Would you like to hold my hand again?”

  Kenjan reached for her, once more pulling the scent of Oziru into its muzzle, saying, “I am humiliated to be so pathetic.”

  Gaia said, “It’s all right. Take all the time you need.”