Constance Verity Saves the World

by A. Lee Martinez

  They didn’t reply, instead glancing to one another.

  “No need for telepathy,” she said. “I don’t care. Just as long as you aren’t here to cause any trouble. Please, tell me you aren’t here to conquer the Earth.”

  “I can assure you, we have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Luke.

  “Have it your way. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that my boyfriend likes this place, and if I’m going to be living here, I thought it might be better to start out with everything in the open. My mistake. Let’s just pretend like this conversation never happened.”

  “Yes, let’s,” said Luke as he and Vance turned back toward their apartment.

  “Wait,” said Connie. “I think I might have screwed up here. I’m cool. We’re cool. You’re aliens. I know lots of aliens. Some of my best friends are aliens.” She shook her head. “Never mind. We’ll never talk about this again. Nobody here but us Earthlings, am I right?”

  “Yes, if you’ll excuse us—” said Vance.

  They quickly disappeared back into their condo before she could say anything else.

  Connie thought she should knock on the door and straighten things out, but that also might make things worse. Most aliens weren’t out to cause trouble. Most were living their lives. Probably best not to poke at it for the moment.

  The decision was made when the realtor showed up. She apologized for the delay and led Connie inside. Sven was shoved out the door, and the tour started again.

  Annie Stein was a short, plump woman who had a weird obsession with fixtures. It was always the first thing she pointed out when showing them a new place.

  “Great fixtures,” she said, pointing to the open ceiling dome hanging above their heads.

  Connie knew it was an open ceiling dome because Annie had pointed this out multiple times with the other properties they’d seen. In the course of the two weeks since contacting Annie, Connie had become something of an expert on light fixtures. She had a tendency to pick things up fast and remember them on the off chance they might prove useful during an adventure. She didn’t imagine knowing the difference between cove and troffer lighting would be vital information, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  Annie led them through the unfurnished condo, indicating various fixtures as they passed by. “Now, it’s a new condo in a nice neighborhood—lovely pendant light there—so demand is high. But the investor of this unit backed out—exquisite sconces here—and they’re eager to get it sold. Of course, with your colorful history—never mind the track lighting here, we can always rip it out—there will be some concerns. You might pay a little more, but it’s in the neighborhood you—check out this chandelier—wanted, and I’m sure we can make arrangements suitable to the condo board.”

  They arrived at the master bedroom, and while another realtor might have paused to allow them to enjoy the view, Annie drew the curtains and switched on the lights.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Beautiful.” Connie parted the curtains and looked down at the neighborhood. It was all very pristine and carefully arranged. Upper-middle-class people milled around the streets with the faux quaint shops with the faux quaint architecture. Gentrification at work, though even that was faux, as this had never been a downtrodden neighborhood in need of fixing up.

  The view was nice, though.

  Annie rattled off more details: the square footage, the number of bathrooms, gym access, access to good schools. She always brought up the schools last with a knowing wink. She was further along in their relationship than they were.

  Thankfully, she would always return to some other topic with a little prodding.

  “What about the low bay lighting in the bathroom?” asked Connie.

  Annie’s face screwed up as if Connie had suggested they all eat worms for lunch. “Oh, I know, I know. Ghastly. But fixable.” She walked out of the bedroom, ostensibly talking to them but more to herself because she kept talking though they didn’t follow.

  “What do you think?” asked Byron.

  “It’s nice,” said Connie.

  “You always say it’s nice.”

  “I travel a lot,” she said. “I won’t be spending as much time here as you.”

  “I know, but whatever place we get, it’ll still be ours. Though this place is a bit pricey.”

  “We can afford it.”

  “No, you can afford it. The doorman would’ve probably shot me in the foyer if I’d dared enter alone.”

  “We can find a cheaper place.”

  He laughed. “That wasn’t my point. I’m glad you have money. It makes this easier. And this is a really nice place, and it could be our place.”

  She took his hand. “You should just pick, then. I’m good with anywhere. Just as long as you’re there whenever I get back from wherever.”

  “Then let’s do it. Here’s as good as any.”

  “Annie will be overjoyed.”

  “Good,” he said. “I live to make Annie happy.”

  They joined their realtor in the spacious living room. She was chatting with the walls about the virtues of the mid-grade marble flooring and the natural light from the north-facing windows. Byron informed her of their desire to purchase, and she smiled.

  She never smiled. They’d assumed she was some manner of real estate–selling cyborg.

  “Wonderful, wonderful,” said Annie as she shook Byron’s hand. She started going on about paperwork and calls, and Connie stopped listening.

  She hugged Byron. “Our new place.”

  He grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

  So did she. She needed this. Worlds might collide now and then, but they’d make it work. She wasn’t worried. Much.

  A boxy silver robot with four arms burst through the wall.

  The robot stomped forward. Vance and Luke stepped through the hole left in its wake. Both were clad in battlesuits as polished and catalogue-fresh as their previous outfits. The manner in which they held their blaster rifles indicated they didn’t have much experience with the weapons.

  “Oh, goddamn it,” grumbled Connie. “I think this is all a big mistake.”

  “You made the mistake, bounty hunter,” said Luke, sounding about as threatening as a country club member upset that someone screwed up his sandwich order. “Now prepare to meet your Sytusk masters in the Fourth Ellipse of Kurturkar.”

  He pointed his rifle at her, but it only buzzed as he pulled the trigger.

  “You’ve got the safety on,” said Vance.

  He helped Luke fiddle with the various knobs and switches on the weapon.

  “Oh, the hell with it,” said Luke. “Robot, destroy her!”

  The robot raised the spiked ball on the end of its third arm and the whirring rotating blade on its second. It took a clumsy swing. She threw herself at Byron, shoving them both out of the way as the ball cracked the flooring and the blade gouged a hole clean through.

  “Hey, now, just one minute!” said Annie, outraged by the damage to the marble tile.

  The robot turned its visor toward Connie as it powered up the ray gun on its first arm.

  “Don’t suppose we can just talk about this?” she asked.

  “Destroy. Destroy,” said the robot.

  • • •

  They laughed about it afterward.

  Luke and Vance’s security robot lay in a shorted-out heap on the floor.

  “Well, this is embarrassing,” said Luke, removing his helmet.

  “I warned you we might be overreacting,” said Vance.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Annie stood to one side. The battle was barely over before she’d started making calls. She didn’t ask if anyone was okay, and she didn’t seem fazed in the slightest that a robot had nearly thrown her out a window in the scuffle. Not while appointments needed to be rescheduled and her assistant rushed her a new jacket. This one had robot smudges on it.

  “It’s my fault,” said Connie. “I shouldn’t have sa
id anything.”

  “Nonsense,” said Vance. “You were very clear. It is we who jumped the gun. We just assumed you were a bounty hunter, though why a bounty hunter would go to the trouble of announcing herself is a question we probably should’ve asked before unleashing our robot.”

  The broken automaton sparked and twitched.

  “Sorry about your robot,” said Connie.

  “No need to apologize. It’s still under warranty,” said Vance. “We’re just glad no one was hurt.”

  “Byron, honey,” said Connie. “This is Vance and Luke, our potential new neighbors.”

  “Oh, and now we’ve failed to introduce ourselves,” said Luke. “How unforgivable.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Byron. “No harm, no foul.”

  The hanging light fixture broke off its chain and crashed to the floor. Several of the windows had been shattered in the struggle, and scorch marks seared a wall.

  “Say, this might be a rude question,” said Luke, “but you aren’t the Snurkab, by chance?”

  “I am.”

  “The Legendary Snurkab?” he asked.

  Vance elbowed him. “What other Snurkab is there? My mothers will freak.”

  “Honestly, we feel just terrible about this,” said Luke. “We know it’s a terrible first impression, but we’ll put in a good word with the condo board by way of apology. And we insist on paying for the repairs.”

  “It’s the least we can do,” said Vance.

  Annie, detecting real estate opportunities, closed in for the kill. “Perhaps we could do something about the bathroom lighting while we’re at it,” she said as she led them away.

  “What’s a Snurkab?” asked Byron.

  “Long story.”

  He rubbed his elbow.

  “Are you okay?” asked Connie.

  “Just banged it when you threw me to the floor the second time. All things considered, it beats being zapped by a robot from outer space. I guess this is a thing that’s going to happen from time to time now that we’re living together?”

  “Probably. You’re free to back out now if you’ve come to your senses.”

  “Every relationship has its problems, Connie. I once dated a woman who liked to pee with the door open. If I can deal with that, I can deal with this. And those guys seem like they’ll be good neighbors. Never lived next door to aliens before. Should be a new experience.”

  Annie reappeared, still holding her phone to her ear, talking half to them and half to her assistant on the other end.

  “Great news. It turns out your neighbors have a lot of pull with the board. We can get you in here in two weeks. Yes, I’ll have a tuna on toast and some mineral water. I’ll put a rush on the paperwork, but it’ll take a few days to get all the repairs done. No, no mayo. I hate mayo. Will you be providing your own furnishings or should I contact my decorator? You’ll love him. He has a great sense of color. Rye.”

  She ended the call.

  “So, what do you say, you two? It’s a great little fixer-upper.”

  Byron nodded.

  Connie plunged heedlessly into yet another adventure, this one weirder and more exhilarating than any before.

  “We’ll take it.”

  7

  Tia came home from work to find Hiro sitting on the couch, watching TV. Again.

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  A few months ago, she would’ve told him. He had no interest in her job. She barely had any interest in it lately. But it was something to talk about, and he’d feign some passing curiosity toward the inter-office politics and breakroom-fridge conflicts. Now, as she leaned in to kiss him, he didn’t even take his eyes off the television and his rerun of The Beverly Hillbillies.

  “Oh, the usual,” she said.

  He nodded and grunted.

  “How was yours?” she asked.

  “Good,” he said.

  It was all he ever said. Most days, he lounged around the house, sleeping in, watching TV, goofing off on the Internet, working out, whatever. She was fine with it. Really, she was. He had more than enough money squirreled away that he didn’t need to work another day in his life. Though he still worked now and then.

  He didn’t talk about his work. She didn’t ask.

  While hanging up her coat, she noticed an old statue tucked behind the shoeboxes. For a master ninja and thief, Hiro was lousy at hiding things. She’d found Portrait of a Young Man by Raphael under their bed once, not even covered up. Usually neither of them remarked upon these discoveries, though he had once tried to pass off an ancient Greek kylix as a gravy boat, which then led to him lying about having to return it to the store next day because he decided it clashed with JCPenney’s china.

  He wasn’t a great liar.

  She grabbed herself a wine cooler.

  “Could you get me one while you’re up?” he asked from the other room.

  She plopped down on the couch beside him, handed him his cooler. He put his hand on her knee and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, babe. You’re the best.”

  “What do you want to do tonight?” she asked.

  Hiro shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

  “We could go out to eat.”

  “We could. Any place in mind?”

  It was her turn to shrug. “That new pizza place opened up down the street.”

  “Don’t know if I feel like pizza,” he said. “We could go to Huang’s, get some Chinese.”

  “We got Chinese Monday. You still have leftovers in the fridge.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He focused his attention on the television, on an episode he must’ve seen six or seven times before. She didn’t speak, waiting for him to carry on the conversation. Five minutes passed in silence.

  “There’s the Lebanese joint,” she finally said.

  He frowned, still not taking his eyes off the TV, even though it was only a commercial. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for ethnic food.”

  “Chinese food is ethnic food,” she said, sensing an edge in her voice she couldn’t tamp down.

  “Not really. Not for me.”

  “You’re Japanese.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Japan and China are two different ethnic groups.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Therefore, Chinese food is ethnic food for you.”

  Hiro had mastered the art of ninjaly intuition. He could hear someone walking up to their door twenty seconds before they knocked and had the uncanny ability to find the exact spot in any room, no matter how crowded, where no one was looking. But he remained clueless about her smoldering annoyance.

  “I’m not in the mood for Chinese,” he said.

  “So, what are you in the mood for?” she asked, praying he’d stop this conversation before it reached its inevitable conclusion.

  “Oh, I don’t care, babe. Whatever.”

  Tia closed her eyes. She wouldn’t get mad. They wouldn’t fight. They wouldn’t have this fight again. He’d figure it out this time, and if he didn’t, she wouldn’t take the bait. Not this time.

  “We could always get pizza,” he said.

  She jumped off the couch. “Are you fucking serious? Pizza? Did you just say pizza?”

  He feigned innocence. As if he didn’t know exactly what the hell he did. “I thought you liked pizza.”

  “I do like pizza,” she said, trying to remain calm even as she felt her heart pump harder. “I said let’s get pizza. And you said you didn’t want fucking pizza.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. Like three minutes ago.”

  He scratched his chin. “Yes, now that I think about it, I don’t really want pizza.”

  She thought about opening the closet, retrieving the artifact they both pretended wasn’t in there, and smashing it to bits. Antiquity be damned. It was probably the only way to get his attention.

  “What about that Lebanese place?” he said. “You said you wanted to try that the other day.”


  She expected to explode at that moment. Instead, all her rage abandoned her, draining away as she realized she didn’t really give a shit anymore. She walked into the bedroom, fell into bed, and stared at the ceiling. Hiro came in a moment later and joined her. He ran his hand down her cheek and along her neck. He still had that, whatever that was. He could still do things to her without having to do anything to her.

  She grabbed his hand. “What are we doing?”

  “Ordering in?” he said as he moved closer.

  He wasn’t getting out of this so easily. She pushed him away and rolled off the bed.

  “Not that. I mean, what are we doing? Is this it? The same conversations, the same fights? The same pizza?”

  He put his hand on her shoulder, but not in a way that made her tingle. Not much anyway. “Do you want to talk about what’s really bothering you?”

  “This is bothering me,” she said.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  He smiled, and she wanted to smack him. Or kiss him. Or both.

  “Is it?” he asked. “Because I think there’s something else that’s bothering you.”

  She didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was different than their usual one, so she plunged forward. “And what is that?”

  “I think you’re getting a little antsy. You haven’t been on an adventure in a while.”

  “I don’t have adventures,” she said.

  “Sure, you do. Maybe they’re Connie’s adventures and you’re along for the ride, but you’re still there for some of them. And I’ve noticed you get edgy when you haven’t been kidnapped in a while. And it has been a while.”

  She dismissed the idea.

  She did have a history of getting kidnapped. From the ages of twelve to twenty-one, she’d averaged six abductions a year. They were always incidental. Connie had adventures, and sometimes, the easiest way for those adventures to get started was for the universe to use Tia’s safety as motivation. Not that Tia often felt in danger. Not with the knowledge that Connie was on the case.

  Tia still remembered the first time. She’d been eight and stumbled across a gangster on the lam in her backyard. He’d taken her as hostage, dragging her to some forsaken cabin in the middle of nowhere. She’d thought for sure she would wind up dead. Until Connie, following a series of clues, led the police to the gangster’s hideout.