Jews vs Aliens

by Naomi Alderman

  ‘Glibbleurllp?’ inquired the tentacled thing.

  Joseph glanced down at the quick crib sheet he’d created on his pad. ‘Shalom.’

  The alien, ignoring him, fished around on the table for the pile of yarmulkes, and stuffed one in what appeared to be its mouth.

  ‘The matzo might be tastier,’ Joseph said. After a moment’s consideration of the unfathomable composition of tentacle monster diets, he shrugged. ‘Or maybe not. Want another one?’

  Joseph had tried to appeal to the ship’s counsellor, ‘Call me Carmen’ Madrona.

  He’d started with, ‘I’m pretty sure there’s something in regulations about no racial, ethnic or religious profiling.’

  She’d looked up at him, abstracted, from whatever work she’d been doing. Sculpted blonde brows raised in inquiry. ‘Mm?’

  ‘Lieutenant Breaker has imposed involuntary duties on me due to my ethnic heritage,’ Joseph said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. It irritated him that he was stuck there standing, like a kid being brought before the principal, while the counsellor reclined in her chair. ‘She’s forcing me into a religious role because of my ancestry. That’s discrimination.’

  Carmen’s tiny mouth drew into a pout. ‘Ensign Lorde, you know how hard first contact situations are for everyone. Don’t you want to do your part?’

  ‘But I’m not Jewish!’

  Carmen’s sympathetic/pitying expression vanished suddenly into the predatory keenness of a psychologist sniffing a disorder. She grabbed for the tablet behind her and began keying up what was obviously his crew profile. ‘Why does it bother you so much that you might be Jewish?’ she asked, scrolling through his medical and psychological history. ‘Judaism is matrilineal, isn’t it? Do you have problems with your mother?’

  ‘What? I don’t – you just –’ Joseph’s frustration dissolved into incoherent noises of frustration. ‘Never mind,’ he said, and left.

  Next up: two Tentacle Heads, one brown and one orange-green. Neither appeared to have eaten a yarmulke recently.

  Bored, Joseph had decided to make up random facts. For one thing, he was pretty sure most of the aliens had no idea how to understand human languages.

  ‘Have you read about Judaism in our archives?’ Joseph asked. Receiving the predictably incomprehensible gargled response, he continued, ‘The information in our library is frequently partial and out of date. What you really need to know about Jews is that they can walk through walls. And we have heat vision which is useful when you need to fry an egg. And we, uh, secretly have three heads, only two of them are invisible. And we feed exclusively on diamond dust ground between the thighs of lusty women who live in the Caribbean.’

  The aliens, paying him no attention, each grabbed a yarmulke. Brown placed his over orange-green’s closest protruding eye. Orange-green, indifferent to brown’s ministrations, juggled his yarmulke from tentacle to tentacle.

  Frowning, Joseph said, ‘I have the feeling you’re really just screwing with us.’

  Brown took another yarmulke and proceeded to spin it like a basketball on a tentacle tip.

  ‘Are you just screwing with us?’ Joseph pressed.

  ‘Grrrblllppp,’ said brown.

  Joseph was working for the Space Steps Corporation because he had a degree in engineering, liked spaceships, and didn’t want to be in the military. In Space Steps, you had to follow all the hierarchical bull hooey, but if someone started shooting, the engineers could go hide in a bunker with the beer.

  The primary reason most people joined up with Space Steps was to get to see all the aliens. Joseph thought aliens were fine, although not nearly as interesting as spaceship engines. By contrast, most of Joseph’s crewmates thought that spaceship engines were fine but boring, and that Joseph was a lot less interesting than that.

  Of course, apparently Joseph was a Jew now, which might have novelty value. There weren’t many followers of the Abrahamic religions anymore. Some philosophers put it down to the existential void that had entered humanity’s heart as their race continued to explore the ever-expanding universe, finding no sign of its unique importance. Others put it down to history. Religions were like empires. They rose. They fell. People had gotten bored with Moses.

  Joseph didn’t blame them for losing interest. Moses was a person, after all, or possibly a prophet. At any rate, he definitely was not a starship engine.

  Six aliens had gathered now. They represented a rainbow of hues, presuming that the rainbow had gotten terribly ill and was stricken with amorphous spots. Half of them were trying to play yarmulke Frisbee while the other half were having a yarmulke speed-eating contest.

  Lieutenant Breaker chose that moment to wander by. ‘Well, well, well,’ she said. ‘Look who’s popular with the –’ she broke off for that split second that made it clear she’d wanted to say Tentacle Heads ‘– Usgul.’

  Joseph shrugged. ‘They don’t seem to care about most of it. Just the yarmulkes.’

  ‘I’d like to say you’re special,’ said Lieutenant Breaker, ‘but twenty minutes ago, they were all at the Scientology booth, tap dancing on the E-meters.’

  A yarmulke sailed over their heads. A Tentacle Head on the other side of the room caught it, eliciting much excited tentacle waving from all.

  ‘Plllbbrrrggg,’ said the pitcher.

  ‘Yug yug yug,’ said Joseph, giving it a sarcastic thumbs up.

  Ignoring Joseph, the creature splorched away.

  Joseph looked up to catch Lieutenant Breaker’s eye. ‘They’re having us on.’

  Lieutenant Breaker waved him away. ‘They’re just weird. They’re aliens. That’s what alien means.’

  ‘And this is the alien version of a prank,’ Joseph said. ‘Betcha.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ Lieutenant Breaker shrugged. ‘Even if it is, they won’t be laughing once they’re locked into a Space Steps contract. Tsoheq mi shetsoheq aharon.’

  Joseph gaped as his forebrain slowly confirmed what his hindbrain had immediately guessed: Lieutenant Breaker had spoken in Hebrew. He exclaimed, ‘You’re Jewish!’

  The night before the fair, having exhausted all shipboard possibilities for getting out of it, Joseph had made one final call.

  ‘Come on,’ he’d said, running his hands over his exhausted face as he stared into the viewscreen. ‘I need to know.’

  ‘I don’t see why,’ said his mother. ‘What’s being a Jew got to do with anything?’

  ‘Just answer me,’ Joseph said. ‘You’re telling me it’s all female ancestors? The whole family line? No breaks where it’s just men?’

  ‘Is this really a sensible use of faster-than-light communication?’ asked his mother.

  She was standing in the kitchen of her moon-base home, looking red-eyed and irritated at having being woken early in the morning, local time.

  Joseph gave up on getting the answer. It was late, and it was looking inevitable that he’d have to sit at the fair, so he might as well try to salvage something. ‘Can you at least tell me anything about the religion? Did grandma and grandpa do anything Jewish when you were a kid?’

  ‘We went to Israelopalestine once,’ she said, tilting her head to the side as she remembered.

  ‘And…?’

  ‘There was a theme park,’ she said.

  ‘Really. A theme park.’

  ‘What? I was five. We went to some holy sites too, I think, but I remember the theme park. We had ice cream and falafels.’

  ‘Great,’ Joseph said. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘There was a ride with little singing dolls in Biblical clothes…’

  She was lost in recollection now. There was no way he was going to get her onto a more useful track.

  ‘I’d like to keep talking,’ he interrupted, ‘but this isn’t really a sensible use of faster-than-light communication.’

  Joseph’s accusatory finger shook as he glared at Lieutenant Beaker with sour realisation. ‘Jew!’ he repeated.

  She stared cross-eyed at hi
s finger. ‘Are you sure you want to be pointing at a Jewish officer and yelling “Jew” in that tone?’

  ‘You… I can’t believe you made me do this!’

  ‘Hey, hey. I’m not any more Jewish than you are. Parents converted to Buddhism. Besides, it was only my dad who was Jewish. No maternal line.’

  ‘But you speak Hebrew!’

  ‘Ktzat.’

  ‘I despise you.’

  ‘This is different from yesterday how?’

  ‘You knew this was a prank,’ Joseph said. ‘You may be the kind of rat who gets her kicks making other people miserable, but there’s no way you’d just screw up a real mission. You’re in on it!’

  Lieutenant Breaker didn’t even bother to cover her grin as she said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ensign.’

  With an uncharacteristic roar of determination, Joseph thrust to his feet. He shoved over the table, scattering dreidels and menorahs to the floor. He grabbed the whole pile of yarmulkes, stomped over to the squiggling mass of aliens, and began shoving the caps into what seemed most likely to be their faecal orifices.

  He shouted the forbidden derogatory term with all his might: ‘Tentacle Heads! Tentacle Heads! Tentacle Heads!’

  As the rage drained out of him, Joseph finally began to register his surroundings again. Ensign Cho sat stunned. Lieutenant Breaker actually looked impressed. The Tentacle Heads were slurping up the yarmulkes with gusto, indicating that Joseph had probably guessed wrong.

  The aliens waved their tentacles in his direction.

  ‘LLppgggrrr,’ said one.

  ‘Ullrrpgpg,’ said another.

  Then they glupped away.

  Later that evening, Joseph found himself once more rocking uncomfortably from foot to foot as he stood in front of his superiors like a penitent child. It was the Captain’s office this time, although Counsellor Carmen and Lieutenant Breaker were there too, each having been accorded a seat.

  ‘It’s chaos with the diplomats,’ said Captain Vit, a bony, balding man who always seemed to be on the verge of collapsing from anxiety. ‘Negotiators all over the place. Can’t figure out a thing.’

  Lieutenant Breaker eyed Joseph. ‘You were right. It was a sort of prank. They said they wanted to test our hierarchical capabilities if they were going to work with us. They told us to assign our subordinates pointless tasks that they were incapable of doing, give them no time to prepare, and place them in an obviously ridiculous situation. They were going to grade us on how hard our crewmen tried anyway.’

  ‘And then you,’ said Captain Vit, pointing at Joseph, ‘force-fed them hats, and proved that we have no hierarchical control at all.’

  ‘Yarmulkes, sir,’ Joseph said, staring at his feet. ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Well,’ the Captain said, mouth twitching. ‘That’s where it gets confusing. Some of the diplomats seem to think that actually the prank was, itself, a prank, and that the Usgul’s real goal was to see how many ridiculous things they could get us to do before we caught on. The diplomats think there were plans to escalate. Something about marmalade.’

  ‘Marmalade?’ repeated Joseph.

  ‘So it seems best, perhaps, that we cut it off now,’ said the Captain. He frowned. ‘At any rate, you appear to have failed to instigate an interstellar incident. Congratulations. Stay away from aliens from now on.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Joseph, attempting not to sound pleased.

  ‘Now go away,’ said the Captain.

  Joseph nodded. As he turned to leave, Counsellor Carmen’s voice called after him, ‘I’ve booked you into a series of appointments so that we can delve into your mother issues. First one on Monday!’

  Joseph shook his head and let himself out.

  A few minutes later, Lieutenant Breaker caught up with Joseph as he was walking along the corridor. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘I brought you something.’

  Joseph looked up. Lieutenant Breaker was holding a bottle of Manischewitz.

  ‘A little Jewish apology,’ she said. ‘I thought we could drink it together.’

  ‘Fine,’ Joseph said. ‘But thanks to you, I’ve had quite enough of both aliens and people today. I need downtime. You can come with me, but no questions asked.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ll go anywhere as long as I’m following the alcohol.’

  ‘Good,’ Joseph said.

  So far, in his term of duty, Joseph hadn’t spent much time with anyone on the crew. However, as he considered Lieutenant Breaker, it occurred to him that he was a misanthrope and she was just mean. That might not be the worst basis for starting a friendship.

  So he led Lieutenant Breaker through the ship’s arteries, down onto the engineering deck, where they could pass the wine bottle back and forth as they sat with their backs to the coils of the ship’s engines, listening to them thrum.

  TO SERVE… BREAKFAST

  JAY CASELBERG

  Joshua had been contemplating the nature of sin. Not that that was particularly unusual; he contemplated sin a lot, not necessarily the doing, but at least the classification. Was chewing your fingernails a sin? It sat at that uncomfortable grey border where the outcome could fall one way or the other. For quite a lot of the time, some would almost say an unhealthy amount, this was the nature of his life. He had a paper due at the university and, of course, it was that university. His guest lectureships were something, but if it ever came to them naming a place after him, he wouldn’t be like that physicist fellow. No, no, he would accept it with open arms. A true recognition of his scholarship. Of course, all that dabbling with the Encyclopaedia Hebraica had got him something, but not true recognition, which was what he really wanted.

  He was engaged in teasing apart his particular little sin conundrum when the aliens arrived in their vast silvery ships to hover above each of the major metropolises in the world. Like many others, he sat glued to the live-action news feeds as reporters speculated. Was this the end of the world? Had retribution descended upon all of them? Aliens had just never figured in Joshua’s worldview at all. In the normal, everyday humdrum, he was more usually concerned with breakfast, although he could not help thinking about how timely was the coincidence of the alien arrival and his particular ruminations about sin. For a fleeting moment, he thought that he might have been the sole cause of their descent, but no, he got beyond that.

  It was a few days before the news channels reported the first physical appearance, the small shuttle craft, silver like the mother ship appearing at the front of the UN Building and the hushed anticipation waiting for something to happen. The reporter’s sharp intake of breath was audible as the front of the small craft cracked open and Joshua echoed it. Slowly, slowly, a ramp lowered to the ground, and then… nothing. Joshua strained forward in his seat, anticipation swelling like a huge hollow inside him – greater even that the large hollow sitting there due to a lack of his morning repast. Barriers held back the waiting crowds. Still nothing… He could almost feel the nervous anticipation in the assembled masses through the screen. After a while, he sank back into his chair. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing.

  A buzz in the crowd: there was movement. Once again, Joshua strained forward expectantly. He shared the collective gasp. Slowly, lumberingly, something was emerging from the front of the craft. It was tall, vaguely humanoid. The light kept it shadowed. Perhaps it was a very tall, fat man. He wished he could have been that tall. Fat, well that was another question. Slowly, the angled light revealed it. First came the legs, in some sort of silvery fabric, and then the paunched belly, a barrel chest, two arms and, oh my god, the head. It looked like a pig! The face was the face of a pig.

  Joshua shook his head. No, no, no; it could not be. The pig face scanned the crowd. People at the barrier drew back. Was it confusion, fear? Joshua’s hand went to his mouth and he started chewing at the corner of one fingernail and then shook his hand away with an exhalation of annoyed breath. He must not do that. Some dignitary on the screen, besuited, walked nervously towards the lumbering beast a
nd stood with arms outstretched, offering words of greeting, he supposed. In the background, soldiers and policemen fidgeted, their weapons at the ready. Joshua smiled wryly to himself. It was classic. All it would take would be a twitchy finger and it would be the start of an intergalactic incident. Or was it interstellar? The creature said something in response to the words of greeting, but there was no sound from the screen. The dignitary gave a slight bow.

  The feed flashed back to the reporter as the alien creature was escorted with its entourage into the building. She looked excited, scared, something. Definitely not the calm, objective commentary that one came to expect from the bevvy of news commentators who littered their screens.

  For nearly half a day, there was nothing, though Joshua kept returning to the screen in hope of seeing something new. Endlessly, they replayed those first few moments of emergence. Over and over came the same speculations, the commentary. Briefly, Joshua wondered if the whole world was sitting there watching the same things repeating. Despite himself, despite the need to get on and do something else, he was constantly drawn back to the screen, checking if there was something new.

  It was not until a few days had passed that the first real breakthrough came. The creature, named Zard – or that was what the media were calling it – was to address the assembled people of the Earth from the United Nations.

  ‘Stay tuned for live coverage of the event.’

  There was, of course, further speculation. What was it going to say? What message was it going to deliver? Apparently, while this Zard thing had been off inside the building, being debriefed, or whatever they called it, the craft it had arrived in had been left unattended. Some hardy soul with more bravery than sense had snuck inside and emerged again, not having been fried by a ray gun or anything else. Nor had killer robots appeared from the walls to slice him into tiny ribbons for his trespass. Instead, he had made it out in one piece, bearing with him a large book, or at least, what seemed to be a book. He was rushed away in a huddle of security, bearing his prize beneath one arm and that was the last they heard of him.