Happy Snak

by Nicole Kimberling

  “Hooray!” Wave cried. “Two treats for one.”

  “Now, since I want to make a good impression on our Kishocha customers, I’ve taken the liberty of getting these.” Gaia reached into her pocket and pulled out four velvet bags. She handed one to Wave and two to Roy. “One of those is for Cheryl. I decided that Mickey Mouse wasn’t exactly to my taste.”

  Roy opened his bag and slid the official Happy Snak pit guard out onto his palm. The main body of it was a replica of the Happy Snak jester logo, suspended on a half-inch-thick, flat serpentine 24-karat-gold electroplate chain.

  “Oh fabulous heaven! I am blessed by the god!” Wave shouted, then sank into dull repose. “But I cannot wear gold, Gaia.”

  “I’m afraid this is part of the official uniform now, so…” Gaia shrugged. “If Sharkey bothers you about it, you just send Sharkey to me.”

  “These are great, Gaia.” Roy awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re welcome.” All her attention was focused on Wave’s shaking fingers.

  The Kishocha opened up the bag as if it was opening up the Ark of the Covenant. When Wave finally got the pit guard on its neck, Gaia could have sworn that the alien grew six inches. Its face was stern, but its cranial tendrils fidgeted like exited schoolchildren on a crowded bus.

  “Gaia Jones? Roy?” Wave addressed them. Both humans regarded Wave expectantly. “I, Wave, have arrived.”

  Then the Kishocha walked off to its room, leaving she and Roy to ponder what it could have meant.

  Chapter Sixteen: Muzzlers

  After weeks of nothing, a few Kishocha had finally begun to regularly attend the shrine. The Kishocha had been terrified of her at first but devoted enough to Kenjan to brave her scary presence.

  To seem more casual and because the floor was hard, Gaia had purchased a lawn chair for the shrine.

  Now Gaia dozed. She’d been sleepy around dinnertime and the prospect of staying up till midnight to oversee Kenjan’s feeding was proving to be difficult.

  Tentatively, a skinny, asymmetrical Kishocha ducked in the Kishocha-side door. It hunched, still dripping wet from its trip through the waterway. Then the Kishocha padded across the polished shell floor to the edge of Kenjan’s pool. It didn’t look at Stinger or Sharkey.

  By now Gaia knew the drill. Kenjan would not appear. She didn’t know why—the Kishocha was chatty enough when they were alone together. But to its loyal disciples Kenjan remained aloof.

  The skinny Kishocha knelt and placed its offering to Kenjan (which looked like a large, ragged chunk of fish head) in the special ghost-feeding basket. After saying a prayer, the skinny Kishocha surprised Gaia by scampering over to Mini-Snak and buying a Stunned Snake Snack with Orange and Pickle. Then the Kishocha scurried away, leaving a soiled paper boat in its wake.

  Mini-Snak was catching on. Maybe it only had one or two customers a day, but the business was growing.

  Over the next five minutes at least ten more Kishocha pulled themselves out of the water. Kenjan was going to get a real feed.

  Gaia cracked an eye and regarded the Kishocha with vague curiosity. They were a strange bunch. They were more symmetrical than usual, and rather than giving their offerings right away, they gathered together, talking. Over time, she’d come to recognize a few of the Kishocha who regularly fed Kenjan. This bunch was new. A spark of hope woke Gaia up. Maybe they weren’t here for Kenjan at all. Maybe they were here for the concession stand.

  Until just now, only a few snacks had been sold, and all to soldiers via Stinger. Stinger itself had become their first regular. The guard ended each night with a Stunned Snake Snack with Orange and Pickle, purchased with one of its many gambling pieces.

  Wave stood behind the concession-stand counter, unlidding the ice chest, which was sunk into the countertop. With a flourish, Wave produced a case of fresh Real Human Clams. It arranged the bivalves carefully, standing them up on their sides as if they were a series of soldiers at attention. Wave admired its handiwork for a moment, and then seemed to suddenly notice the crowd that had assembled.

  Wave clapped its hands. “Please everyone! I’d like you to know that you can trade gambling pieces for snacks.”

  The small crowd of Kishocha seemed startled by the attention.

  “You, oh Honorable Scholar!” Wave called. “Would you like to try a treat? It’s two for one piece today. A special day. I have a delicious snack called orange. Would you like to try?”

  Gaia frowned. She didn’t know Wave was still trying the two-for-one thing.

  The Kishocha whom Wave addressed pulled a fist-sized glob from under its vest. Gaia shuddered to think of the size of cleaner that had laid that monster. Wave scowled and waved its hands. “No, Honorable Scholar, we don’t accept rocks. Gambling pieces only. I see you have many. Please trade me for some orange.” The scholar shifted so that its back was to Wave but kept looking over its shoulder at Mini-Snak.

  Gaia smiled to herself.

  Wave took the job seriously. Since it had received the pit guard, there had been a change in Wave. Gaia caught the Kishocha deliberately not groveling on three separate occasions. She could tell when Wave was resisting the urge to grovel because Wave always stood extra straight.

  As usual, Wave wasn’t wearing its pit guard. It never wore it in front of any other Kishocha. Should she make Wave go get the thing or just forget about it once and for all? After one moment’s thought, Gaia decided to be cruel.

  “Wave?” she called. Her voice upset one of the offering-bearing Kishocha so much that the alien dropped to the floor. Gaia tried not to notice.

  “Yes, Gaia Jones?” Wave said.

  “You aren’t in uniform.”

  “Oh, really?” Wave tried to act casual, but its hand instantly went to its throat. Caught.

  “Go get it.”

  “Yes, Gaia Jones.” Wave slunk quickly out the side door. Gaia took a long draw on her Frosticcino and turned to Stinger. For the last couple of weeks Gaia had focused on befriending Stinger. Unlike Sharkey, who was alternately sarcastic and formal, Stinger had grown willing to share its thoughts with Gaia. She knew, for example, that Stinger was chosen to be a member of Oziru’s household chiefly for its looks. It was apparently quite good-looking for a soldier. Stinger pointed out that though its markings were solid, with no swirls, they were symmetrical. Also, Stinger’s lighter orange eyes were a sought-after feature.

  Stinger’s soldiering career had been lackluster, and mainly focused on gambling and spitting red kelp. It had only been in one fight, and that was with a band of raiders it called “The Squids”. Once, when Sharkey was on an eating break, Stinger had confided that it found Sharkey rather pompous and conceited, and didn’t agree with it at all about Gaia’s concession stand. Stinger insisted it wanted the concession stand, especially for the orange and the Snakes on Jell-O with Orange. Gaia felt she’d made a major breakthrough.

  Stinger was an amazing gambler. Stinger had strands and strands of gambling pieces hung around its neck. And the individual pieces changed quite frequently, as Stinger lost some and won others. The soldier was a high roller, with Lady Luck on its side.

  Did the Kishocha even have a Lady Luck? Well, that was just one more conversation she could have with Stinger, wasn’t it?

  “Is there some kind of lucky spirit for you guys?” Gaia tried not to look at the newest Kishocha who’d come to give Kenjan its offering. It crept along, clearly making an effort to not be heard. “You know, for gamblers?”

  Stinger frowned at her. “I do not understand.”

  Sharkey stepped over. “Gaia means who is Lucky Bones.”

  “Lucky Bones.” Stinger smiled. “Lucky Bones is on my side.”

  “I can see that.” Gaia indicated Stinger’s pieces.

  “Lucky Bones is all white and glows like a jellyfish in the dark,” Sharkey said.

  “Lucky Bones likes me because my face is all white and my eyes are dice colored, and jellyfish is in my name,” Stin
ger said. “Lucky Bones hates Sharkey. See that gambling piece around Sharkey’s neck? That bellystabber has had the same old gambling piece ever since before we left home.”

  “I’ll show you bellystabber,” Sharkey murmured.

  “Sharkey’s such a bad gambler,” Stinger continued, “that even cleaners have more gambling pieces.”

  “I am not a bad gambler,” Sharkey said. “I abstain from the game.”

  “You abstain because you’re so bad that pond pogs won’t gamble you because they find the game too unchallenging,” Stinger said.

  Gaia snickered.

  At that moment Wave stepped through the open door like a prince entering the camp of his enemy. Wave’s head was aloft. Its new pit guard gleamed in the dim light. Instantly, Sharkey sprang forward but seemed to hesitate when it saw that Wave’s pit guard was made of gold. Sharkey looked appalled.

  Gaia preemptively jumped in. “Before you even start, Sharkey, that necklace is part of Wave’s official uniform, and I’ve ordered Wave to wear it, so you just keep your comments to yourself, okay?”

  Sharkey spun around, startling three timid Kishocha servants who were hesitating near the door. “This is heretical.”

  “It’s not heretical, it’s human,” Gaia corrected.

  Sharkey snorted. “All the same.”

  “You have to admit though, Wave looks blasphemously beautiful in that pit guard,” Stinger said. “It’s too bad you’re a red-yellow orphan-servant, Wave. Your cranial tendrils are so beautiful I’d share my pit with you. What color is your tongue anyway?”

  “You are so vulgar,” Wave said, though it clearly responded to the flattery.

  Sharkey stepped between Wave and Stinger. “You need to try your hunt elsewhere.”

  “I don’t need to hunt at all. I had a harpooner last week. We should all three share sometime. This harpooner’s pit was so deep. You could have fit your whole muzzle into this pit. And fragrant! You could—”

  “Do you want a free orange?” Wave broke in, derailing the conversation. Gaia was annoyed. She was curious about Kishocha sex and thought Stinger’s tales of conquest would be an excellent way to learn about it. Fortunately, Stinger ignored Wave.

  “Do you have a muzzler, Gaia Jones?”

  Before Gaia could answer, Wave stepped forward. “Stinger means, do you have an object of your affections?” All three Kishocha stared at Gaia expectantly. “Humans have objects of their affections, yes?”

  “Yes, but I don’t.”

  “So you have a dry throat?” Stinger shook its head. “Its painful to have to always prod your own throat like an ugly.”

  “I don’t prod my throat.” Gaia didn’t know if she was claiming to never masturbate or trying to explain human anatomy. Maybe both. “And I’m not ugly.”

  “No,” Wave hastily put in. “You’re very symmetrical.”

  “You never prod your throat?” Stinger couldn’t believe this. “Why not?”

  “Because there’s nothing to prod,” Gaia said. “Human…love parts aren’t there.”

  “I knew that!” Wave turned to Sharkey. “See! Gaia Jones is not a no-sex.” Sharkey shrugged and looked away.

  “Where are they?” Stinger asked.

  “They’re between my legs,” Gaia replied. All three Kishocha looked directly at her crotch, Stinger and Sharkey in puzzlement, Wave in triumphant glee.

  Stinger cocked its head. “Then where is your excrement hole?”

  “It’s down there too,” Gaia said.

  Stinger recoiled. Sharkey looked disgusted, and Wave looked sad and embarrassed.

  “Right by your love parts?” Stinger’s horror could not be masked.

  “Exactly.” Gaia was growing more and more uncomfortable with this conversation, and with the aliens’ shameless crotch-staring.

  “But how can you tell an egg sac from a piece of filth?” Stinger persisted.

  “Humans don’t have egg sacs. They have babies, you know, live young?” Gaia said. The group of Kishocha who had come to make offerings to Kenjan was about twelve strong now and had gathered at the edge of the water, but weren’t sliding their offerings into the basket. They seemed to be just standing there, whispering and glancing over at her. She wondered if they, too, were marveling at the disgustingness of the human reproductive system.

  Sharkey asked, “You mean the young grow inside you?”

  “Yes,” Gaia answered.

  “The pogs are protected by your body?”

  “Usually only one pog at a time is born. But yes, that’s how it works. I’ll check out a media disc and show it to you, and you can see how it happens, okay?”

  Sharkey quickly raised a hand in refusal. “It sounds like a good way to protect pogs, but I do not care to see.”

  “I do,” Stinger jumped in.

  “Good,” Gaia said. “So will you ever make pogs?”

  “I am not a breeder,” Stinger said matter-of-factly. “I will never have permission to lock my stamen with another. So I will express no egg sacs. Too bad, I like little puddle jumpers.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  A Kishocha inched curiously toward Mini-Snak. Gaia nudged Wave. “Shouldn’t you be over there?”

  “I will tend the store at once.”

  Sharkey stared after Wave with a predatory fascination that discomfited her. Was this what she’d call love or what she’d call stalking? The soldier watched Wave load a fresh gallon of orange into the dispenser gun and set the portion at one fluid ounce. Sharkey drifted nearer while Wave inspected the snakes for vigor, discarding two limp floaters on the surface.

  “I think,” Stinger whispered to her, “Sharkey’s dry for the orphan-servant.”

  “Wouldn’t Sharkey be wet for it?” Gaia whispered back. Stinger snickered.

  “You’re almost as filthy as me, Gaia Jones.” Stinger shifted closer. “Its always the way with the rigid ones.”

  “How do you mean?” Gaia asked. Sharkey leaned on the concession stand and poked at the clams with profound disapproval. Wave stood too stiffly and told Sharkey to stop it at once, if it pleased.

  “Well,” Stinger said, “that one stares at Wave. Do not think I spit at Sharkey for this. Wave is too beautiful to be an orphan-servant. And it is so exotic.”

  “I never knew Wave was beautiful.”

  “Wave’s cranial tendrils.” Stinger yanked on one of its own finger-length tendrils. “They are almost as long as a noble caste.”

  “I see.”

  “And with its pit covered…” Stinger paused to exhale forcefully, its nostril slits widening to big round O’s. “With its pit covered, Wave even makes my throat wet.”

  “You keep your hands off. Wave is too nice to be going with a gambler like you,” Gaia said, laughing.

  “I have a harpooner anyway. So, Gaia Jones, when you have a love object, do you have a boy-type-human?”

  “Yeah, I generally prefer the boy-type-human.”

  “And they are different from you in your love parts, so Wave tells me,” Stinger said.

  “Right.”

  “But girl-type-humans are the same as you.” Stinger held itself as though it was making closing arguments before the Supreme Court.

  “That is correct.” Gaia felt like she might know where this conversation was going. She’d get a human reproduction media disc when she obtained “The Miracle of Birth”.

  “Then why would you have desire for the different one?” Stinger’s simple question derailed her. She had been preparing a brief speech, complete with the usual in-and-out pantomime to explain intercourse.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have the girl-type-human?” Stinger asked. Gaia hesitated and Stinger panicked. “You are a girl-type-human aren’t you? You’re not a boy-type, right? They have the face hair, correct?”

  “That’s right,” Gaia reassured Stinger. “I am a girl-type.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that the boy-types are different? Don’t they look deformed?”

  “No.
” Gaia couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “I mean, they did when I was a little kid, but I got used to it.”

  “Then you can understand how a soldier could adore beneath its caste.” Stinger nodded.

  Sharkey was criticizing Wave’s Happy Snak smock. It covered too much of Wave’s body and that, Sharkey claimed, was unacceptable. Wave stood so stiffly its cranial tendrils were practically standing up, which was a feat for tendrils as long as Wave’s. The alien looked like it had set its tendrils in fat hot rollers. Wave’s yellow and violet eyes glinted.

  “Unless you wish to trade your gambling piece for a snack, I would like to ask you to step away and make room for paying customers.” Wave lifted its muzzle high. Sharkey looked for one moment like it was going to physically attack Wave, then suddenly dropped its head in a half-bow.

  “I exist to serve only you.” Sharkey’s eyes lidded.

  Wave hunched down, its cranial tendrils wiggling frenetically. “You do?”

  “There’s nothing I want to do more in life than obey you. It would complete my life to hear your wisdom as my own gospel as well.”

  Stinger winced at Sharkey’s sarcasm. Gaia felt a small, burning surge of empathy for Wave. Wave was nicer than anyone she’d ever met and didn’t deserve the abuse Sharkey dished out. She didn’t care if Stinger’s love theory was true. Or rather, if it was true then Sharkey was an even bigger ass than she already thought. She watched as Wave’s cranial tendrils sank.

  “I hate you, glorious Soldier Sharkey.”

  “That is your right, most pure and lovely Wave Walker, and yet I serve and love you anyway, like the filth I am,” Sharkey said. “How sad my life is. I may have to sing a mournful song.”

  “Then go sing it to Stinger.” Wave pointed toward them. “Because I do not feel sympathy for you.”

  “I hear and obey.” Sharkey shrugged and padded over to them. “Wave is most certainly not at all egotistical or above itself. In fact, I think that being with Gaia Jones has made Wave Walker more humble and agreeable to its station than Kenjan’s great experiment did. Thank you, Gaia Jones, for steadfastly upholding the tenets of our great society.”