by Eric Juneau
“My heart, my bones. They can’t take the stress of being so large, the pressure. My heart has to work so much harder to pump blood all around my body.”
I knew there were problems with her size. If she accidentally fell, she’d crush herself under her own mass. She couldn’t even jump. But I didn’t think of this...
“So... what did they give you? Months?”
She shakes her head. “Weeks. And not many. I wanted to help out as much as I could before...”
There’s a sour taste in my mouth and my cheeks burn. I have so many emotions I’m not sure what to feel. But then one shines through, a ray of sun through the clouds of inevitable fate.
I want to put my hand on her shoulder, embrace her in a hug, but I can’t. So I settle for placing my hand on the meat of her thumb holding me up.
“There’s always going to be work to do,” I say. “You shouldn’t spend the rest of your life cleaning up humanity’s messes. Life should be full of memorable experiences. And we’ve only got a short time to fill yours.” I smiled. “You’ve already filled mine.”
¤
Some of the conservative army generals griped. They wanted to squeeze every last drop out of her. She needs to stay in our employ, they said. She can serve a greater purpose by maximizing her potential. But no one ever went to their grave wishing they’d worked more.
Everyone else was very nice and accommodating, once they knew the situation. Right down to the barge captain who sailed us across Upper Bay to the island.
“You know,” she says. “I lived in New York for a while. But I never went to see it.”
“You know, neither have I,” I say.
“Isn’t that funny? And then afterward, I thought going would look too... you know... cliché?”
“That’s exactly why we’re here,” I tell her.
There aren’t too many things taller than Jessica that she could still make eye contact with. She sets me down in front of the statue’s square platform and looks into her blank, teal eyes.
“She’s kinda ugly,” she says. Then she laughs.
I take out my camera. “Stand up in front of it.”
She turns to me, with a huge grin on her face.
“Do the same pose,” I say.
She lifts her arm and puts her hand on her hip, countering the statue’s grim countenance with a cheesy smile. I click the shutter.
It looks like a before-and-after picture. If I submitted it, it might have won a Pulitzer or a PPA award. But I never would—it was too personal. Her bangs wisped just the right way in the breeze in front of her sparkling eyes. Everything as I envision her in my mind.
“So is this one of your most memorable experiences too?” she asks me, still posing.
I smile. “It’s up there.”
Eric J. Juneau lives in Minnesota with his wife, two daughters, and not-terribly-smart dog. He writes science fiction and fantasy and received an honorable mention in the 2010 "Writers of the Future" contest. He blogs about his journey to become a 'capital-A' Author at http://author-quest.blogspot.com.
RIGEL’S MISSING TAIL
By Antha Ann Adkins
DEE PETERS STARED IN HORROR at Boots Johnson’s body crushed underneath his sculpture of a leaping fastmouth. She felt like she had been sucked into the universe of wrong. In the normal world, the double-life-size sculpture would tower over her, poised on its powerful back leg with its open-mouthed head and two front legs extended forward and its little cape billowing up. Boots would be hanging from the ceiling in his sculpting sling, working on his latest project. Instead, the fastmouth sculpture had fallen face-first onto Boots like it was eating him. Its teeth were scattered around his body, its little cape was violating the law of gravity, and its broomstick tail was missing. All wrong. And most wrong of all was Boots, dead.
“We need to call the police,” Dee said.
Rigel, the grey fastmouth who was the model for the sculpture, hopped over to Boots, lowered his head, and smelled the body. Then he leapt over to smell Boots’ wheelchair.
Dee’s tablet translated his infrared anger into English for Dee and four-part harmony for Tallis, a two-tails. “Our friend is too cold to eat.”
Tallis launched himself into the air. He looked like an albino dragonfly, if the dragonfly had a four-meter wingspan, claws on the ends of its wings, and no head. As he flew to the other end of the warehouse, he emitted a sequence of minor chords.
Dee’s tablet provided a lone word in translation: “Disharmony.”
Dee glanced at Boots, and her stomach lurched. Covering her mouth and choking back bile, she turned away.
She had a job to do: keep the aliens out of trouble. “Come back, guys. The police will want to see Boots and the warehouse as we found them.” She tapped on her tablet to open the cell app. “I’m calling them now.”
The 9-1-1 dispatcher answered her call and asked for her name.
As Dee answered the dispatcher’s questions, she felt like she was returning to the real world. She was a responsible person and could do what needed to be done.
Rigel stood on all three feet in front of her, his head up at the level of her chest. “We have to figure out what happened to Boots.”
Tallis’ upper wings fluttered as he landed on the claws on his lower wings. His wings folded to move his body to the level of Dee’s head. “Something is wrong.”
“You noticed it, too?” Rigel asked.
Dee wanted to get away from Boots’ body. “Let’s go to the front office until the police get here.”
When the glass office door closed behind them, Dee started shaking. Collapsing into a chair, she said, “What did you notice?”
Tallis said, “This wasn’t an accident. Someone has broken our harmony. They must be found and removed from society.”
“They must be found and killed, but not eaten,” Rigel countered.
Dee envisioned the headline: ALIEN REFUSES TO EAT MURDERER. People would not find that reassuring. “In our society, the police investigate deaths and find killers. Then the courts prosecute them. We can leave it to them.”
Rigel shook his head. “Boots was our friend. I would have been proud to consume him when he died. But he was killed away from his friends, and now it is too late. That insult must be avenged.”
Dee envisioned a worse headline: ALIEN EATS FRIEND. Relieved it was too late, she said, “That’s not the way humans react to death, Rigel. It would frighten and disturb people to know you would eat them.”
“So you don’t want to be eaten if you die?”
“No!”
“Would you eat me if I die? Tallis, here, won’t do it—”
“Eating dead things is disgusting,” said Tallis.
“And I might not be near the fastmouth ambassador when I die. Leaving my body unconsumed would be an insult.”
The conversation was spiraling out of control. Eat Rigel? Eat Boots? She didn’t want to think about eating any of her friends. She didn’t want her friends to die. Boots was dead. Her lower lip started trembling. Boots was dead.
Tallis held up a wing. “Stop, Rigel. No one makes commitments when their harmony is broken.”
Rigel hopped next to Dee’s chair and leaned his large body against her. “I’m sorry.”
Tallis sang a rich harmony that the tablet did not translate.
Tears rolled down Dee’s face. The aliens were comforting her in their own ways. “Thanks, guys.”
Flashing lights appeared at the window.
Dee straightened up, wiping her eyes. “The police are here.”
A door slammed and footsteps approached the office.
“Come in,” Dee choked out. She needed to handle this professionally. She stood up, brushing off her skirt and pulling her wavy brown hair away from her face and into a makeshift bun before retrieving her tablet.
A small woman who would be even smaller without the bulletproof vest bulking up her police uniform strode through the door. “I’m Officer Zavala. You report
ed a murder?”
“We found our friend, Boots Johnson, in there.” Dee pointed through the door to the studio.
“Stay here,” Officer Zavala commanded as she walked into the studio. After looking at Boots and calling for backup, she returned to the waiting friends. “I’ll need your help with some paperwork. I’ll be recording your answers with my tablet. Can I have your names, addresses, and occupations?”
“I’m Dee Peters, currently staying at the Hotel Icon, and I’m Rigel and Tallis’ assistant.”
Dee’s tablet reported Tallis’ answer first. “I’m Tallis, staying at the Hotel Icon, and I’m a member of the two-tails harmony.”
The tablet followed with Rigel’s response. “Rigel. Hotel Icon. Assistant to the fastmouth ambassador.”
“What was your relationship to Boots?”
“We were his friends,” the two aliens said.
“They’ve been modeling for Boots’ sculptures for over a year,” Dee added. “Perhaps you saw their meeting on the Art for Aliens reality TV show?”
“I don’t watch reality television,” Officer Zavala said. “Dee, what was your relationship to Boots?”
“Just a friend. I’ve been Rigel and Tallis’ assistant since they came to Houston almost a year ago, and they visit Boots every Monday and Thursday at 10 AM.”
Officer Zavala made a note on her tablet. “What time did you arrive this morning?”
“About 10 AM.”
“What happened when you got here?”
“We came through this office to the studio.”
“Were the doors open?”
“They were closed and locked, but we have a key. Boots always said it was too much work to get out of his sculpting sling to answer the door.”
Officer Zavala looked up after making another note. “Sculpting sling?”
Dee pointed into the studio. “Boots had a sling hung from a ceiling crane to sit in while he was working. You can see it in there.”
“What did you do when you went into the studio?”
Dee’s grip tightened on the translating tablet. “When I saw Boots, I knew he was dead, so I called the police.”
“Rigel and Tallis, what did you do?”
“I flew around the room, listening to what had changed,” Tallis said.
“I could see Boots was cold,” Rigel said. “So I jumped over to smell him, and then I jumped over to smell his wheelchair. They both smelled wrong.”
“How many dead people have you smelled?” Officer Zavala asked.
“I’ve smelled plenty of dead fastmouths. It wasn’t a death smell.”
“What else did you notice?”
“The studio sounds wrong,” Tallis said. “It’s like the furniture has been rearranged. Boots always moved from his wheelchair to his sculpting sling by the door to his apartment. The control for the sculpting sling is still back there, but his wheelchair is in the middle of the room. He didn’t put himself in that sling or move it next to the fastmouth sculpture. Someone else did it. And I think that someone made the sculpture fall on him.”
Officer Zavala looked into the studio. “The sculpture looks pretty unbalanced. Couldn’t it just have fallen over on him?”
“Boots loved to capture a sense of motion with his sculptures, but he always carefully designed them to be balanced,” Dee said.
“Did you notice anything else about the sculptures?”
“The fastmouth sculpture is missing its tail and some of the golden grass from its base,” Tallis said.
“Real gold?”
“Yes. Boots liked to work in metal as well as stone.”
More flashing lights appeared in the window, and several car doors slammed.
Officer Zavala tapped on her pad. “Thanks for sharing your very perceptive observations with me. I really appreciate your assistance. If you’ll wait a minute or two, Detective Martinez may have some additional questions for you.”
Officer Zavala walked over to open the front door. As each person walked through the door, she scanned their badge with her tablet before they went through the office and into the studio.
Unsure about what to do, Dee sat down. She started to shake. Her anchor into normalcy had abandoned her.
“What do we need to do, Dee?” Tallis asked.
Dee felt like the two-tails had tossed her a life ring, and she clung to her responsibility for the two aliens. “Wait for the detective. Since you’re ambassadors, he’ll probably ask to interview you at home.”
“It is our duty to find out who killed Boots,” Rigel said.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said a serious, middle-aged man wearing a blue suit like he was wearing a uniform. Flashing his badge, he said, “I’m Detective Andreo Martinez. I understand that, as ambassadors, Rigel and Tallis have diplomatic immunity.”
Dee stood. “That is correct.”
Detective Martinez looked at Rigel and Tallis. “I would like to get a statement from each of you when it will not interfere with your duties. When and where can I meet with you?”
Dee tapped on her tablet to pull up the aliens’ schedules. “Rigel and Tallis, you both have meetings scheduled with the ambassador candidates at NASA this afternoon. Do you want me to cancel them?”
“I can’t meet with them today, Dee,” Tallis said. “When a two-tails dies, all his friends gather to sing to restore harmony, so I need to sing this afternoon.”
“I can’t meet with them today, either,” Rigel said. “When a fastmouth dies, his friends immediately eat his body as part of a giant feast, so I need to eat.”
Dee tapped on her tablet. “Let me send them a message to cancel the meeting. Then we’ll go home where you can eat, sing, and rest. Perhaps Detective Martinez can come over late this afternoon?”
The aliens and Detective Martinez agreed, and Dee, Rigel, and Tallis headed out the door. Dee opened the limo doors for the two aliens.
As the aliens got into the limo, Yen Lin, one of Boots’ neighbors, rushed across the street to intercept them. “What’s going on? Why are the police here?”
Dee felt like the universe had tilted to slide her into a black hole of grief. Yen had been infatuated with Boots, so learning that he had died was going to distress her. And that would distress Dee. She closed her eyes and bowed her head before looking at Yen. “It’s pretty terrible, Yen. We came over this morning to visit Boots and found him dead in his studio.”
Yen’s eyes widened as she brought her hands up to her open mouth. “What? No! Oh, no!”
Dee was back in the universe of wrong. Neither of Boots’ other neighbors had come out to talk to them. Generally, Barrett Kaas, who lived in the other half of Boots’ warehouse, showed up whenever they did, trying to coax the aliens into modeling for him. And generally Ancelin Minjonet would come out whenever Barrett did. “Where are Barrett and Ancelin?” Dee asked.
A look of horror grew on Yen’s face. “Could they be dead, too? I tried knocking on Ancelin’s door, but she didn’t respond. I don’t want to visit Barrett by myself.”
Dee wanted to help Yen, but she needed to drive the aliens home. She turned towards the car.
The tablet inside the car spoke for Rigel. “Go with her, Dee. Just return quickly. I need to eat.”
“Thanks, guys,” Dee said and turned towards Yen.
“I’m glad you’re coming with me, Dee,” Yen confessed. “Barrett always treats me like a potential conquest.”
“He’s so interested in the aliens he never messes with me,” Dee said. “But I can see why he’d make you nervous.”
Dee and Yen walked around to the apartment door on the side of the warehouse. The plain, gray door camouflaged the psychedelic weirdness that Dee knew lived inside. She knocked.
Barrett flung the door open. He wore only gym shorts, and his tall, muscular body was painted with the geometric designs Ancelin used on her ceramics. He dominated the doorway until he stepped back, shielding his blue eyes from the sunlight. “My lady friends! To what do I owe t
his honor?”
In the room beyond him, Ancelin sat at the table wearing a short robe that revealed she had been painted as well. She had a large mug in her hand.
“Ancelin?” Yen exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Drinking. We’re dying of thirst. It’s not even noon, and it’s already hot.” She shrugged. “Well, that’s Houston in August for you.”
Barrett filled the doorway again. “If you’re thirsty, we made plenty. Would you like to join us? We can paint you, too, if you’d like.”
“No thanks,” Dee said. “The aliens and I found Boots dead in his studio, and we wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“The aliens are here? We’ll be right over.” Barrett shut the door.
Dee looked at Yen. “That was weird.”
Yen grimaced. “That’s Barrett.”
They returned to Dee’s car, where they hugged and said goodbye. Dee was relieved to drive away. Perhaps life would feel more normal once she was physically separated from this madness.
¤
When they reached their suite, Dee warmed up an eight-pound beef tenderloin for Rigel, who devoured it. Having taken care of Rigel’s appetite, Dee kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto a sofa. Rigel lounged on the facing sofa, and Tallis hopped onto a backless curule chair between them, gripping each armrest with the claws at the end of his long wings. He towered over Rigel and Dee.
Tallis sang. He celebrated Boots’ place in the harmony of life. He praised Boots’ sculptures full of the joy of motion. He remembered their friendship. And then, in discordant tones, he sang of Boots’ death.
Dee rolled to the side, buried her head in the pillows, and wept.
Tallis kept singing, and the tone changed again when he predicted the death of the one responsible and the return of harmony. “Just as in the ancient days,” he sang, “when the two-tails established their harmony, the ones out of tune shall be destroyed.” He fluttered the flaps on his wings as he finished.
Dee sat up, her eyes wide open. She had never suspected the reason for the global—even galaxy-wide—two-tails harmony was the destruction of those out of tune.