Chapter Eleven: Free Samples
During the subsequent weeks, business at Happy Snak boomed. For the first time in the company’s history, people waited outside the gate to get in. They were not desperate for a cola. They waited for Wave, A-Ki Station’s hottest new celebrity. At first Gaia let it happen. Every manner of person could be found in Happy Snak asking Wave to pose for a picture. Wave loved to talk and could be drawn into long conversations. The worst offenders were a team of physicists from Boeing Spacelabs who seemed to have developed a unified questioning strategy.
The scientists so lacked subtlety that they openly recorded Wave’s every word, asking the alien to speak loudly and clearly so its voice could be heard above the cold-drinks dispenser. Then they’d begin a series of inquiries.
Scientist: What do your people’s gravitational generators look like?
Wave: Oh, beautiful. You would kiss one if you were allowed.
Scientist: Do they somehow house a singularity?
Wave: No, there are lots of them.
Scientist: But how do they work?
Wave: They are far too important to work!
Scientist: What are they made of?
Wave: The same as everything else, only more holy.
And so on until Gaia called Wave back to its duties. The most amazing thing to her was that people would come in, demand Wave’s attention and not buy anything. At times upwards of twenty people loafed in the dining room and only one or two had any intention of purchasing a snack. She could not believe their deadbeat mentality. At least Roy and Cheryl made a pretense of working while interacting with the alien. These people were just loitering.
She was planning to charge a refundable cover charge when she heard Wave tell a stalwart young lady from Boeing that their conversation was over. She had not purchased any snacks and therefore was undeserving of the attention of a Happy Snak employee. The Boeing woman stood, somewhat stunned, then walked to the counter and ordered a burrito.
When Gaia questioned Wave about its sudden economic enlightenment, the alien responded that it had heard her complaining to Fitzpatrick and decided to take action. Since then the steady stream of information seekers and tourists had been dutifully buying snacks, effectively paying admission for the alien show.
Together, they settled into a routine. Every morning Gaia woke up before seven o’clock and started prepping for the coming day. Wave usually emerged as soon as the alien heard Gaia moving around. Wave was clearly not a morning person and worked in a zombie-like fashion, stocking cold-drink cups and starting the coffee machine. They had learned early that Wave couldn’t handle frozen products. Its skin was very delicate and sensitive to dry cold. Wave had the tongue-on-the-frozen-pole syndrome over its entire body.
About the same time they discovered the freezing problem, Wave contracted an unsightly skin condition that caused it to peel like a molting snake. The Kishocha physician inspected Wave for two seconds and then berated Gaia loudly in broken English. Why had she kept Wave from swimming? Did she hope to kill Wave through bloody red cracking? Eventually they’d established that Kishocha needed to be immersed in their water for a few hours every day in order to keep their skin healthy. Since then Gaia had released Wave for a couple of hours to swim.
So every day, after Wave finished making coffee, the alien departed for Kishocha waters. Then Roy and Cheryl arrived around ten, looking groggy. Gaia would have finished the coffee by then so Roy and Cheryl would argue over whose turn it was to make more.
Cheryl and Roy bickered constantly. It was their way of showing affection. They argued about every detail, from how much salt to put on the fries to the best way to make toast. Initially, Gaia had been going to show them the operations manual, which would settle all these burning questions, but soon she realized that clear-cut instructions would spoil their fun. And since they were working out of boredom, for next to nothing, a good time was crucial.
At ten thirty every morning, Happy Snak opened its doors.
Gaia threaded souvlaki onto skewers. Roy and Cheryl called orders back and forth above the constant dull roar of the exhaust hood. Gaia was comfortable in the noise. The din of people talking, paper crumpling, machines beeping, whirring and buzzing, and thin strains of barely recognizable Muzak blended to form a kind of white noise that allowed her to concentrate. At night there was Wave’s constant stream of talk and a comfortable din of conversation that made speaking completely unnecessary. Increasingly, she thought of Kenjan.
The business outlook at Kenjan’s shrine was less optimistic. During the week following Kenjan’s summoning only one Kishocha visited: Wave. Daily, the alien wordlessly deposited chicken satay with extra toast and pickles in a blue and yellow checked paper boat. Wave always kept its eyes averted.
Somehow Gaia had to attract the Kishocha to Kenjan’s shrine. She knew from Wave that Kenjan had followers. Where were they? Did they even know that it had died? Was the alien so disgraced that its disciples were gone forever?
That Sunday’s food went uneaten, except by cleaners who seemed to regard the main course as toxic. Although they ate the paper boat, lemon and pickle, they left the Cajun clam strips in a little soggy heap. Monday’s chicken satay didn’t attract Kenjan’s attention, but had been more interesting to the cleaners, who ate everything, including the bamboo skewers.
She needed to get the followers in here, and not just for Kenjan’s continuing existence. If the Kishocha were to become her customers she first needed to attract them to the shrine. As far as she knew, the aliens had no mass media so advertising was out. She’d have to go on word of mouth.
Gaia thought the lack of shrine traffic might also be related to the pair of Kishocha guards who arrived in Kenjan’s shrine the day after the grand opening. She didn’t know what had prompted their deployment. Kenjan hadn’t spoken to her since the guards arrived.
One of the guards was the much-beaded soldier from the grand opening. This pleased Gaia and formed a nugget of an idea. She decided this guard would be her first customer.
It was Tuesday night, nine fifty-nine p.m.
Gaia prepared to launch her word-of-mouth marketing scheme. She decided to treat the taciturn guards to some free samples.
She glanced to Wave as it punched buttons on the cold-drinks dispenser and handed a corps woman her fizzy drink.
“Thank you and please have a nice night,” Wave droned, carefully forming each word, as though the phrase was a mantra that had lost all meaning.
Ten o’clock.
A series of chimes burst from overhead, and a sultry woman’s voice broke out over the carnage of the Happy Snak dining room.
“It is now ten p.m., and Happy Snak is closed for the night. We hope you’ve enjoyed your visit. Happy Snak will be open again at ten-thirty a.m. for all your snack food needs. Have a pleasant evening.”
The last few stragglers stood, stretched and lumbered out. Mechanically, Gaia bid them good night.
She walked back through the kitchen to her room and opened the shrine door.
As usual, the guards flanked the door to the Kishocha waters. The guard on the left wore the impressive array of shell and bead necklaces heaped around its neck like leis on a Hawaiian tourist. The one on the right wore a single, but exquisite bead on a string. Both held spears.
Each guard sported short cranial tendrils and broad, nearly symmetrical facial markings. The guards didn’t look at her, not even when she stood directly in front of them and began to speak in the Kishocha she’d been practicing with Wave all week. “Good work today. You two have done so well that I thought I’d treat you to a little snack. Wave?”
“Yes, Gaia?” Wave lurked by her bedroom door.
“Could you bring a couple of glasses of orange for our stalwart guards?”
Wave softly padded over to her.
“Gaia, they won’t ever have any money pieces,” Wave said quietly, in English. “There is no point in giving them a sample.”
“I know. I
just thought that they might like a snack. They’ve been standing, doing nothing, for hours. And we can work something out with the money if they should happen to want more.”
“They are guarding. No treats on guarding duty. Are you sick or possessed?”
“Wave,” Gaia said through gritted teeth, “I think it’s important to get these guards to like us, and I think giving them a little treat right now would be a good start. Maybe they’ll like us so well they won’t spy on us all the time.”
“You are so brilliant,” the alien said, “and so evil. It is so wrong to tempt the mighty warrior caste and bring them low with desire for beautiful orange. To ensnare the noble warriors, who are so clean and pure, it is certainly an outrage to the correct order. It is sneaky, like begging clams from noble children when you already have a clam of your own hidden behind your back.”
Gaia wondered how much of Wave’s life was devoted to the singular pursuit of clams. Wave wore a bizarre expression, somewhere between mad scientist and ecstatic martyr. The alien surreptitiously glanced at the two warriors. Its cranial tendrils lay flat against its head. “I will get the orange.”
If the guards had heard Wave, they gave no evidence of it.
Gaia looked for Kenjan, but the alien wasn’t in sight. It was probably underwater again. She stepped between the guards and commanded the Kishocha-side door to dilate.
Outside, the tunnel was half-flooded. It was made of smooth shell and dimly illuminated every few yards by glowing bands. A small promontory directly outside the door had a couple of curved steps leading down into the water, but no other walking surface was evident. Gaia supposed the Kishocha just swam everywhere.
Gaia stepped back.
“Tell me,” she inquired of the much-beaded guard, “what are your names?”
“I am Fucha, servant of Oziru’s house, and this is Kooli, who serves the holy Seigata,” replied the guard with the necklaces of gambling pieces. Both the guards’ names seemed to have multi-tonal elements that Gaia didn’t think she would be able to say correctly and while she was happy to fudge some Kishocha words, she didn’t want to mispronounce anyone’s name.
Wave seemed to grasp her conundrum. It sidled up beside Gaia with two paper espresso cups and a half-full jug of orange. “The names mean Stinging Jelly and Little Shark.”
“Do you mind if I call you Stinger? That would be your English name.” Gaia told the guard from Oziru’s house.
Nonplused, the Kishocha replied, “You may address me in any way you see fit.” Stinger was taller than the other guard and more sinewy. Its nails, long and black, glinted. Stinger’s copious beads clicked together gently as the alien spoke.
“I also will respond to any name of your choosing,” Seigata’s guard said colorlessly. “But please inform me of the name in advance, or I may not understand that your exalted personage is speaking to me and thus inadvertently disobey your orders.”
Gaia had never experienced arrogant subservience before. The guard seemed resigned to following her orders, no matter how stupid they might be. Gaia immediately warmed to the Kishocha for it.
“Wonderful, I’ll call you Sharkey then.”
Sharkey had broad shoulders and thicker limbs. Guards, Gaia noted, seemed to have more body fat than the servant class. Gaia could picture Sharkey stalking the Hawaii shoreline looking for unsuspecting swimmers to bite. Sharkey was even colored like a shark, its back a deep gray and its stomach white. Sharkey’s teeth gleamed and the two broad markings on its muzzle were nearly symmetrical, except for a slight downturn on its right side that made the alien appear to smirk.
Or maybe the alien really was smirking. Gaia still hadn’t fully deciphered Kishocha body language yet.
She took the two tiny espresso cups from Wave and handed one each to Stinger and Sharkey. No more than a couple thimblefuls of orange sloshed in the bottoms of the cups. Wave was being stingy. Gaia gave her employee a silent approving nod. “Why don’t you get a cup of your own, Wave, and a cola for me. Then we’ll have a toast.”
Wave zipped out and returned with three super-slam cups. One was two-thirds full of cola, one was empty, and the other full of ice. So entertained was Gaia by watching Wave dump at least a pint of orange into its cup that she failed to notice the slight shuffle of Kishocha feet. Gradually, though, the shuffling grew too loud for her to ignore.
Five Kishocha lurked on the narrow promontory just outside the door. As Gaia watched, an entirely black Kishocha pulled itself up out of the waterway, greeted the others then gazed furtively inside.
“Wave, why aren’t they coming?” she murmured.
Wave glanced up from its orange cup and shrugged dismissively. “I do not know.”
“They’re coming to give the offerings, right?” Gaia asked.
“Maybe. The glorious Kenjan had many disciples, but also many enemies. Now, here I have dispensed your cola. Let us do a toast.”
“I wish they’d just come in.” Gaia watched the huddled, nervous-looking Kishocha gathered at the shrine’s entryway. “Enter freely!”
The Kishocha stepped back. Three of them dived into the waterway.
“They are probably too afraid to come inside. I was afraid of humans before I walked among you.” Wave methodically dropped piece after piece of ice into Gaia’s cola.
“Really?”
“Yes, you smell scary,” Wave said.
“Do we humans smell scary?” Gaia asked Stinger and Sharkey.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Stinger replied.
“This place smells of death,” Sharkey added.
“Is that true, Wave?”
“Oh certainly, Happy Snak smells terrifying, especially the bits-o-bakun smell,” Wave said. “This is the smell of terror and nightmares.”
Trying to suppress a chuckle, Gaia emitted a snort.
“After our toast, Wave, go invite them inside to do whatever it is they do. And that’s enough ice, thanks.”
“The Happy Snak manual says that the ice should displace thirty percent of the beverage-cup volume.” Wave added one more ice cube. “Any fewer ice cubes could cause loss to the company in the form of over-poured beverages.”
“You are some kind of dream aren’t you?”
Wave handed over Gaia’s drink and stood at attention. It was time for the toast.
“To our brave guards!” Gaia raised her cup. After a second, Wave raised its, and the guards followed suit. She drank, and, in a kind of domino effect, the Kishocha all drank, ending with Sharkey.
Wave smiled hugely, revealing a full set of jagged teeth stained vivid orange. Stinger stared fixedly into the bottom of its cup. Sharkey looked utterly placid for a few moments, then abruptly crumpled its cup, hurled it to the ground and stabbed it repeatedly with its long spear.
Gaia jumped back, vaguely registering two more distant splashes as the remaining Kishocha loitering at the door dived back into the waterway.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
“Profanely delicious,” Sharkey said. “I will lose my purity if I succumb to the orange. I have rejected the orange for the good of your mighty self and all on Ki Island.”
Stinger was lost in blissful intoxication. The Kishocha’s cranial tendrils stiffened and shuddered, just like Wave’s. Stinger was, in fact, staring at Wave’s huge cup of orange in blank incomprehension, like a man who’d just seen someone give a dog a million dollars and didn’t understand how it could happen.
“I’m glad you liked it.” Gaia eyed Sharkey’s spear. “Do you think those Kishocha are going to come back tonight?”
The three Kishocha stared at her blankly. Sharkey asked, “Which of us are you addressing?”
“Any of you. Just speak up if you know the answer.”
“No,” Wave said. “Soldier Sharkey has managed to intimidate its lessers with a show of unnecessary force. They will not come back tonight.”
“Are you speaking impudently to me, Wave?” Sharkey’s voice lowered.
“I am speaking to Gaia Jones,” Wave retorted. “She is your better.”
Sharkey leaned toward Wave in a manner Gaia found menacing. Wave held its ground.
“I will also speak.” Stinger stepped forward, flourishing its spear dramatically. The beads around its neck clattered. Wave’s nerve broke. The alien bolted back to Gaia’s bedroom. She heard Wave’s door slide shut. Sharkey regarded Stinger with smoldering irritation. Stinger continued: “I, too, think that the disciples of Kenjan have dispersed and will not return tonight, Honorable Guardian. But we should not fear, for they will return again at another tide. We should instead concern ourselves with immediate questions.” Stinger bowed its head then glanced coyly up at her. “Do you think I could beg from you one more taste of orange?”
“No,” Gaia said. Stinger’s muzzle sank. “But I’ll trade you another orange for one of those beads.” Gaia pointed at the array of white, silver and black beads around Stinger’s neck. Stinger considered her offer. Then it unthreaded a black and silver swirled bead, knelt and offered it to Gaia.
“Your will is done,” Stinger said.
As Gaia’s hands closed around the bead, she broke out into a slow smile. A milestone had been reached, an intergalactic barrier broken. She had just made her first Kishocha sale. Nothing could stop her now.
Chapter Twelve: Sacrificial Clams
“Nova Grill-a-Dog Spike! Catch customers’ attention with this ultra-retro-style rotating hot dog rack! Cast aluminum model comes with bun steamer and nostalgic light-up sign.”
Gaia tapped the “next” icon. She rolled Stinger’s bead around her palm and waited impatiently for the next page to load.
“Remote kiosks. New items. Xiao Industries Remote Concession.” A blue and yellow hot dog cart appeared on Gaia’s screen.
The announcer continued, “Capture sales in nontraditional venues. Sidewalks, lobbies, docks, anywhere! Independent power and water supply. American-standard refrigeration. Fully electronic point of sale system with programmable reader board. Durable, lightweight. Comes in three colors or customize with your own corporate identity. Awning sold separately.”
Happy Snak Page 11
