by Alechia Dow
I creep down the stairs.
When the Ilori took over our building, my parents and I cowered in our apartment, unsure of what to do. After a few days of nothing but fearful whispers, the Ilori rounded up the adults. Mom and Dad left while I remained pacing in our living room.
A few hours later, they stumbled through our door with wide eyes and sat me down.
“Ellie, you’ll be going downstairs every day. There’ll be school for you and the other older kids to complete. They’re going to keep you busy so you can’t fight back.” My dad spoke calmly, but there was a waver in his voice. Nerves.
“What about you and Mom?” I sat on the edge of my seat, the reality of our loss of freedom setting in.
“They’ll be taking me upstairs tonight to talk about that.”
I wanted to press more, to ask him if he was scared, but I could tell by the way he kept looking away that he didn’t want to talk about it. “Your mom volunteered to work upstairs with the Ilori during the day.”
“Why?” I turned to Mom. “What will you do up there?”
“I’ll learn what’s going on.” That’s all she said. As if it was no big deal, not worth discussing. But she had that same shell-shocked look as Dad. They withheld the truth because they were protecting me, or they were too afraid themselves.
Since then, Dad got vaccinated and put on patrols with other guards and Ilori. Mom? I’m not sure some days. All I know is that she cries most nights and drinks every chance she gets. Her mind is addled, and she has irrational fears that can be appeased only by a sip, she says. Just a sip.
I have a lot of ideas about what she and other adults are doing up there, but nothing concrete. I know sometimes they work with chemicals, because they come back with impressions of masks on their faces, and some parents talk to their kids about it. But I don’t push my mom to tell me. What if it makes it worse for her?
In the beginning, I asked her if she was afraid. She replied, I’m afraid every day. But I have you, and you keep me together. As long as I have you, I’ll keep holding on.
Guilt floods me as I descend to the final floor. If I die for my library, I’m killing her, too.
I knock once on the door and wait for a prompt. The response is always the same. The grate opens and a mouth appears.
“We are the descendants of poets and prophets.” The voice is deep, mature.
“We are the keepers of time and tales,” I respond.
“When the story ends.”
“We die.” We answer together.
They open the door and give me a small grin. Their name’s Angel, an enby from the ninth floor. They’re maybe three years older than me, blond, skinny as a rail, with blue eyes that dart back and forth like they’re expecting something, but that might just be their normal expression. I follow them down the dark hall to the former laundry room, my suddenly sweaty hands sticking to my sides, as we approach the music, light but audible. It’s some classical music, most likely from a record player. It’s only classical or oldies now, since none of us had physical versions of more recent music. I have a soft spot for cheesy lyrics and addictive hooks, but I enjoy classical music.
I used to play the cello. I started when I was nine. My mom said she just knew I was meant to play, and one day, I came home and found one in our living room, leaning against a chair. Two years ago, it was confiscated and burned outside in the courtyard. I was fifteen, and we had just lost control of Earth. The strings popped and the wood blistered. I try not to remember it. My heart breaks when I think about all we lost in the ashes of our dwindling human existence.
Soon, the Ilori will cure us of our humanity.
Another vaccine. It won’t be like the half-solutions program, although same principle. They’ve been up in the sky perfecting it, making it more powerful and potent. They’re going to take away our minds. Just like they did with Dad, only somehow worse.
I asked my mom about it before she lost herself.
“It’s true,” she said. “They’re creating a new vaccine. They promised there’d be no deaths. That it’ll be safe. Painless.”
She refused to answer my other questions, saying only that “knowledge is a burden.”
But I’ve overheard conversations in the cafeteria and gym, and formed my own conclusions.
Our building contains one of the biggest human populations left in Manhattan. That I know for certain. Once, in May of last year I think, there was a bus that stopped in front of our building. I peered down at it from my living room window. Families stumbled out carrying small garbage bags of their things. None of them cried; they looked...numb. They moved into the empty apartments and adjusted to life here. A few days passed before we all knew the rumors they brought with them; the Ilori were consolidating the humans. Moving most like the elderly and parents with babies to permanent housing, and keeping everyone else here.
The biggest rumor: they need us alive. At least, some of us.
And because of this, we started to break the rules. There can’t be much time left before the vaccine. Erica Schulman knew it, Alice knows it. My mom drinks to it, and my dad kills for it. Our time is running out. That’s why we party and I hand out books to those I find trustworthy. It’s my hill that I’ll die on. If, of course, I can choose to die instead of losing myself like Dad and Mom.
Angel pats my arm, bringing me back, before they stalk down the long hallway again. I hum “Fairy-tale Girl” by the Starry Eyed to soothe my nerves while I look around.
“You’re Janelle, right?” The boy’s eyes are blue in the candlelight, and he smells like beer.
I nod, gulping, my poor throat suddenly dry. My gaze searches for Alice. “And you?” But I know his name, I’m just trying to be polite.
“Dallas.” His eyes take in my curves and hair, my breasts. Before the invasion, I remember Alice telling me that Dallas had a thing for black girls. Gross.
I step back. I’m not desperate. In fact, since I’d rather die instead of becoming a zombie like Dad, I’d rather die a virgin, too. The idea of doing something intimate, of being naked, being touched, held...by a stranger like Dallas, gives me goose bumps and turns my stomach. I know I’m ace, or at least on the spectrum of that, but still, a voice in me whispers: You’re going to die anyway, why not try something new?
I ignore that voice. “Have you seen Alice?”
He turns away. “Alice is in Wonderland.” He cocks his head, and I follow the direction to where Alice is on Jackson Hughes’s lap, kissing him like her life depends on it and grinding as if her body requires it. I shrug. I can wait.
“We can join them?”
I make a face and shake my head, moving away from him. He doesn’t seem all that disappointed either; a moment later, he’s crossing the room and picking on a new girl. At least Dallas has seen me and can tell Alice I was here. But I need to ask her if she’s spoken to her friends. If she has any leads on the missing book.
I take a seat on the floor close to the music. I glance at Alice and Jackson quick before my gaze falls to the scuffed linoleum.
I don’t love the idea of Alice and Jackson together. He’s sorta the worst, and his father hates my family. I would have cautioned her to stay away from him, but Alice does what she wants. For better or worse.
My eyes close as my head falls back against the wall. The music is nice, and maybe I won’t mind getting out of my room and head for a bit.
As soon as that thought creeps into my mind, a voice joins it. Come here, it says warmly.
The air freezes in my lungs.
I gulp like a fish out of water, my head whipping around to find who’s talking to me. One of them is here, at this party. Calling me. Calling me where?
Come here. To your library.
The voice is quiet but demanding. My gaze flits to the others as they dance, laugh, kiss... They don’t know there’s an Ilori i
n my mind, about to wreck my life or end it.
Calm, human, calm.
It has to be a strong one if it can speak into my mind, right? Or can they all do this? We know some of them use this ability, that they can destroy us from the inside out, or take whatever they want from the farthest reaches of a human’s mind. I even know some of my neighbors experienced it briefly. I just never expected or wanted to have the experience.
Come to me.
I have to go. Even if it kills me. The voice is insistent. If I don’t do what it asks...I don’t know what will happen.
Oh God.
No one notices me internally panicking. I leave before I can even make eye contact with Alice, but then it probably doesn’t matter anymore. One of them is here, one of them knows. I’m walking toward my own death.
As if in answer to the voice, my knees buckle and a strange calmness settles over me. I’m not sure if I feel relief because the future is bleak and I don’t want to live it anyway, or if I’m simply afraid.
Maybe both.
Silence greets me as I take the flight of stairs down into the storage basement.
Come here.
I unlock the door and follow the light the Ilori must have left on for me. Beads of sweat prickle along my hairline as I cross through the hall to the storage unit.
My hands are shaky as I swing the door open. And there it is. It waits for me, leaning against a broken desk, facing the door.
When they first arrived, we didn’t know what to expect; green-skinned creatures like we’d seen in movies or something else entirely. But behind their metallic battle armor, they look like us. They have the same anatomy as us. They could pass for human, if you ignore the silver panels backlit with blue light that extend from behind their right ears to their jaws, and their otherworldly glow of optimal health. Beyond that, they come in all shapes, sizes, skin tones...like us.
This one looks a little distracted, probably communicating with other Ilori using their minds. The Hive. I remember scientists explaining it on TV, pointing at this one little switch on the panel of a dead alien and saying, “This is something we’ve never seen before. A hive-mind mentality.”
It looks at me through its long eyelashes, hazel eyes seeming to pierce through me. Black hair curls around the sides of its face, and its skin glows in the minimal light of the storage room. It’s darker than olive-skinned but lighter than black. If it were human, I would guess it’s Latinx, but that’s just my attempt to label it, make it familiar somehow. It’s beautiful. Alluring.
Dangerous.
“Please come in.” Its accent is nothing like any human one either. Its words are staccato and precise. “I apologize for entering your mind without consent. I hope you can forgive me.”
My gaze darts around the small space. It’s alone.
“My name is—” It sounds like beeps and clicks. “I suppose to humans, that doesn’t sound like much. I’ve noticed that when written using your language, it could sound like Morris. Please call me Morris.”
I can’t say anything.
“I must ask you to close the door.”
I stumble slightly as I comply.
“I have your book.”
My gaze shoots up and my heart feels like it could stop any moment. Most likely it will.
“I put it back inside the mattress.” It stares at me hopefully. “I’m not going to hurt you. I will not speak of your library to the others. I’ve come to ask for help.”
I step back into the door. “I...I don’t—”
“Calm, human. Calm.” It steps closer. “I will not hurt you. Not you. Not anyone.” It looks away, back to the library. “Do you love books? I’m afraid I haven’t had enough time to read them. But I read the one I took. I liked it very much...” It rubs its arm, as if it’s uncomfortable or cold or uncertain. “You like books. We have books in Ilori. Not stories like these.”
“I didn’t mean to...to keep these. I know they are illegal, I know that. I—I just, I love them.” My mind works to formulate something, anything to absolve my sins.
It smiles. “Do not worry. Please do not worry. You have learned that we are enemies, yet I will not hurt you. Your secret is safe with me.”
I begin to shake. Suddenly, it catches my hand and keeps my feet planted on the floor. My heart hammers in my chest. I may pass out. And then the most amazing and weird thing happens.
“Raspberry beret,” it sings, wobbly, and the words sound foreign on its tongue, but its voice is beautiful, and I find myself calming. I half smile despite myself.
“I like music. I like the way the sounds come together and make something so...” It laughs. “I do not know the word for it.”
“Harmonious?” I suggest, trying to swallow my nerves.
“Yes, that’s it!” Its smile is forced, maybe a new effort, but it tries. “Let’s start this again. My name is Morris, I am male and a commander in the Ilori Acquisitions Force. I have a deep appreciation of music. And you are Janelle.”
“How did you—Did you read my mind?” I blurt through quick breaths.
“The Ilori cannot read human minds.” He crosses and then immediately uncrosses his arms awkwardly. “I suppose it’s like a radio. Once I know your frequency—” he points to the identification number on my chest “—I can send messages to it. I cannot receive messages back.”
I gulp, surprised he’s telling me this. “But you can kill us with your minds.”
“We can move energy and electricity.” Morris shrugs. “If you remove the electricity from a living being, they die. I suppose it’s like unplugging a computer from the output.”
I don’t know what to make of that, so I store it away for later and swallow the lump in my throat. “My name is Janelle Baker, I’m female, I have an appreciation for books and I’m about to die for it.”
Morris shakes his head. “No harm will befall you for this, Janelle. I don’t—I can’t see any more death.” He winces. “You humans, we need you. And you will not die...your mind will merely cease to function.” He stares at me, as if he thinks these words will help me understand my situation better. But they don’t. “Do you know why they made us take away books?”
Books speak to the human condition? They give people an escape from their lives? They give people something worth fighting for? I don’t know, not really, so I shrug.
“Ilori leadership say your people used books to communicate and coordinate attacks. It is true that humans did plan some successful attacks that killed hundreds of my kind...” He looks away, as if collecting himself. “But I’ve read your book. I did not see plans of revolution hidden inside. And it is not only books they forbade, but art, music, expression. They want to control you, but I have no desire to do that. I do my job only so that I may...go home with honor.”
“I don’t care about why you banned books and music. You’ve killed a lot of humans—my kind. You continue to kill us. There’s no honor in that.”
“I did not kill anyone, Janelle. If I did not come here, someone else would have. I do not control the Acquisitions Force, nor my planet. Unrecognized fear manifests in callousness.” He rubs his arm, glancing away. “I do not wish to kill anyone.”
My anger rises, and I know I shouldn’t say anything. But I have to. “That doesn’t mean people haven’t died because of your job.”
“It is not that simple.” He makes a small noise, his eyes locking with mine. “There are many reasons why your world has fallen. However, I’m afraid you lack the knowledge to understand them. It is not your fault. You are only human, and therefore limited.”
I roll my eyes, and if he kills me for that, I stand by it. “Humans are smart. Just because—”
“I think that is a discussion for another time,” he cuts in. “What I need from you is help. And I chose you because you could be killed for these books you possess.”
<
br /> “You’re blackmailing me?”
His brows knit together. “What is blackmail?”
“You know something that if other people know could hurt me, and so you think I have to do what you want.”
“I do not want to force you to do anything.” He exhales. “I am asking because I think you understand. Because these books could kill you, and music could kill me. We are both in precarious positions.”
I snort. I know I should be more respectful to him, but I’m so tired of it all. “What do you want?”
“I believe that if you were able to collect all of these books, you might be able to find music for me. No one has turned you in, and no one has come for you—people must trust you. I need to collect all the music from this building in two days, if possible. I’ll provide you with opportunities, but it will require a bit of investigative work from you. It’s just that...music is...” He sighs, staring up at the ceiling as if searching for words. “Everything to me.”
I exhale. I do understand. I feel the same about books. But am I supposed to sneak through apartments in search of beloved vinyl, iPods, phones, USB sticks or external hard drives buried underneath floorboards for an alien? It’s dangerous, risky and illegal. “Is that all?”
He nods with another alien smile. “Yes.”
I rock back on my heels. “What would stop me from telling the other Ilori that you love music? Do you think they will let me live for selling you out?”
Morris’s eyes flash, and in them, I see doubt. “If you don’t—” I take notice of the more informal language as his words come faster “—wish to help me, then there’s no point in continuing the conversation. I will not ‘blackmail’ you, as you say. I just thought that you and I, we appreciate art and we have limited time. We could help each other.”
“You’re asking me to risk my life to get you music. I understand, but I’m the one they’ll kill if I get caught. Not you.” I won’t be cowed into risking myself further. Not for an alien. Not without something in return.
“They would kill me, too, Janelle. Your life has more value than mine.” His voice cracks a little as he looks at the floor.