by Craig Allen
After breakfast and a shower, she dressed—or, rather, attempted to dress. The bra fastener didn’t quite reach, not comfortably. Wonderful. It was bad enough the bliss was trying to kill her. Now she’d go to her grave overweight.
She still looked trim in the mirror reflection. Before the approaching bliss, she hadn’t been eating well. But this morning, she had fixed an additional egg and piece of toast, and she didn’t quite feel sated. Perhaps she would grab an orange for the car. Then she’d start gaining weight, for sure.
She caught herself. Why did it matter?
Sasha went through the bottom dresser drawer where she kept her old clothing. She hadn’t worn it in years. She hadn’t needed to. When she pulled out the bra, she shook it off a few times. The dirt-resistant fibers kept it clean. It was a little large for her, at least under normal conditions. The last time she’d worn it was when she was with Andrew, just before their first bliss together.
She put her arms through and latched it. It fit perfectly.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Her waist and thighs were the same as they’d always been. Only her breasts had changed.
Sasha sat on the edge of the bed. The cold that plagued her since she stopped blissing had disappeared. The desire to eat more, the change in her breast size… She hadn’t experienced those symptoms for years. Not since she had last been with Andrew. Not since her last bliss.
And she knew why.
CLOSER
Red or blue?
She’d worn gray and black for years. In the last year, she’d started wearing brown. Colors hadn’t suited her since Andrew died. But things were different now.
White was her favorite, but that wasn’t appropriate until after the bliss. Red was nice, but ostentatious. Pink was a bit too cheerful. Maybe blue, then.
A message popped up on her tablet. Enjoy the picnic. You have to tell me every detail.
Kay was incorrigible. We’ll see.
She swallowed a mouthful of eggs while watching a news feed. It didn’t matter which one she watched, Jester was on all of them. Her pulse quickened whenever she saw him. The pre-bliss symptoms grew harder to hide, but she didn’t care as much anymore.
Lately, he took to wearing local fashions. He looked professional in the suit she bought him. More importantly, people began to accept him. The stories of his doing reconnaissance for a potential invasion, the possible immorality of his people, and many other tall tales had largely disappeared. People cared for him, though perhaps not as much as Sasha did.
“How are you enjoying your stay?” a reporter asked.
The questions had gotten a little better over since his arrival two weeks prior. Regardless, Jester humored the reporters. “Wonderful. Fort Anabasis is a fine establishment. Exquisite food, luxurious accommodations.”
That brought chuckles from the reporters standing just outside the fence that surrounded Anabasis. Even the soldiers near Jester laughed. Sasha smiled. He knew how to handle a crowd.
“In all seriousness,” he continued, “the military has been very gracious and made every attempt to make me welcome.”
The reporters babbled questions at him until Jester pointed at one of them.
“There are still some people who question your motives,” another said.
Sasha frowned. If they knew him as she did, they wouldn’t believe that.
“That’s understandable.” Jester shrugged. “I’m a stranger here. Suspicion is natural. I only hope they’ll change their mind when they know me better.”
The same reporter who asked the first question added, “Did you experience such suspicion on other worlds?”
“It was much worse,” he said. “One world was very primitive. They saw me as some kind of… well, delicacy.”
The crowd laughed nervously.
“I assured them I didn’t taste good, but they insisted. Needless to say, I didn’t share their opinion, so I left. Rather quickly.”
They laughed more loudly this time. Even Sasha laughed. She’d have to ask him for details later.
“Any chance for a ride on your spaceship?”
Jester laughed. “I’d love to give all of you a ride. Unfortunately, it’s a one-man craft. There simply isn’t enough room.”
Another voice spoke up. “Are you excited to see the prime minister again?”
Jester nodded. “Absolutely. He was extremely friendly at our first meeting, and I look forward to seeing him again.”
Jester pointed at someone off-camera, and the individual spoke. “We understand you are also going to a local school.”
“Indeed. I’m looking forward to meeting the children.” He held up his hands. “I’m sorry, I can’t take any more questions. I don’t want to be late.”
“Where are you going?” She almost couldn’t hear the question over the other reporters.
“I’m going on a picnic,” Jester said. “At least, that’s what I think it’s called.”
~~~~
She had just gotten the bread out of the refrigerator when she heard the scratching. Her first thought was the neighbor’s car outside her door, but then someone knocked on the door. Her heart thumped. She put a dab of lotion on her hands and headed for the door, checking her hair in the hall mirror first.
Jester stood there without the usual security. Presumably, they were downstairs waiting. His smile lit up his face. “Your court jester is here.” He bowed ridiculously low.
She snickered and returned his bow with an old-fashioned curtsey. “My lord.”
“You look wonderful.”
She’d decided blue would be best. “Thank you.”
She gestured for him to come in. Before closing the door, she took a quick look up and down the hall. Nothing.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No, I just thought I heard something scratching at the door.”
He grimaced. “Ah, that was me. It’s a custom on my world to scratch at a door. I did it before I remembered your people prefer knocking.”
“Oh.” She allowed herself a moment to take him in. He wore the suit she’d bought him as if born in it, and his hair matched local styles. As amazing as it was, he really was more handsome than when she first met him.
“Look what they gave me.” He held up a tablet. “I’ve been using it to watch the news and some entertainment.” He looked at the tablet screen. “Very, uh, interesting.”
“Oh no. I hope you’re not judging us based off that.”
“Well, I’ll admit some of the shows seem confusing.” He folded up the tablet and put it in his jacket pocket. “Actually, they’re similar to what we have back home. Especially the news. There’s very little difference, really. From what I’ve read back home, all human civilizations seem to have something similar to journalism.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He gave a short laugh. “Yeah, me too.”
She watched him smile, feeling her heartbeat grow faster. She could watch him all day. “So how is life on the base?”
He shrugged. “Takes getting used to.”
“I’m sure.”
“Your people do everything public, don’t they?” he asked. “Shower, shave, uh… bathroom.”
“We normally do that in private, but we aren’t offended by shared ones, so long as they’re divided by gender.”
“Interesting. Back home we had a lot more privacy about such things. It just takes getting used to, I imagine.” He scratched his head. “I do have a question, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“What exactly is a sandwich?”
It was a sensible question, but she still couldn’t suppress her giggle. She feared she’d insulted him, but he only smiled at her reaction as he stood watching her with his hands in his pockets. It reminded her of how Andrew looked at her on their first date. The thought of Andrew brought back the last dream she had of him two weeks prior. The dream troubled her even then. It was as if Andrew were saying good-bye forever
. She hadn’t dreamed about him since.
“Did I say something wrong?”
She forced herself to smile again. “No, it’s not that, it’s…” She hesitated. It was not time to relive the past. “I’m still making them—the sandwiches, I mean. I can show you.”
He followed her into the kitchen, looking at every piece of furniture they passed as if it were all new to him. It probably was.
She had everything laid out. “Here, you can help me.” She pointed at the bread. “Take two slices and put them on a plate.”
He did so, examining each slice as he did. She showed him how to stack everything properly. He seemed to recognize the ham, cheese, and lettuce, but other items confused him.
“Tomato? What’s that like?”
“You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”
“I know what that is.” He pointed at the mustard jar, which was almost empty. He sniffed at the mayonnaise. “But not this. What is it like? Wait. Let me guess: I’ll have to wait and see?”
“You got it.” Sasha reached for the mayonnaise and stopped. Something occurred to her. “Can you have mayonnaise?”
“Why couldn’t I?”
“Well,” she said, “your biology is different. I’d think you’d be unable to eat at least some foods.”
“Not so far.” Jester put his hand on his chest. “I have internal nano-machines that can break down anything I digest. I could probably eat foods you could never touch.”
She smiled. “Are you bragging?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
In no time, the sandwiches were ready. She put them in plastic containers and placed everything else back in the refrigerator. She removed the two thermoses of tea she made earlier and set them on the counter. The refrigerator shifted to the side a little when she shut it.
“Is that common?”
“Is what common?”
He pointed at wheels at the base of the refrigerator. “Do you move these often?” He gestured at the pantry. “This has them too.”
She placed the thermoses in the basket. “Oh yes. That’s normal.”
“It looks like they’ve been there for a while.”
She looked at the cobwebs that had gathered. The last time she moved them was the last time she blissed, when Andrew was last with her. “Yes, it has been.”
He nodded and looked back at the sandwiches in their containers. “I can’t wait to taste this.”
She was thankful he always managed to avoid asking questions about what bothered her. “You don’t have sandwiches on your world?”
“No picnics either.”
That made her feel sad. “That’s too bad.”
“I never thought about it before.”
She pulled out a stylus from its holder on the side of the refrigerator. “I didn’t mean anything.”
“I know.”
“Well, I hope you like it. The sandwich and the picnic.” She wrote a note on the refrigerator to buy more mustard. “I’ve always loved sandwiches.”
He nodded, but he didn’t seem to be listening. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving myself a note.” She tapped the message with her finger to save it. “If I don’t, I’ll forget it.”
“May I try?”
She shrugged and handed him the stylus. “You don’t have anything like this back home?”
He shook his head and wrote something down. His handwriting was poor, but legible. I like sandwiches.
“Do you now?”
He gestured at the message with the stylus. “Well, I’m trying to think positively.”
“So you think you might not like it?”
“No, of course not, I just…” He trailed off and stared at where he’d written. “Where’d it go?”
She tried to suppress a smile. “You have to save it.”
“Save it?”
“Here.” She took the stylus and wrote. You better like the sandwiches. She touched it with her finger. “Like that.”
“I see.” He ran his hand across the words. “Why doesn’t it save it automatically?”
“Well, it can, but if I touch it to save it, it helps me remember I wrote down a message in the first place.”
“So it’s a reminder that you have a reminder.”
She narrowed her eyes at him but couldn’t suppress her grin. “Yes. You have a problem with that?”
He held up his hands. “Oh no. Of course not.” He gestured at her note. “So, what if I don’t like it?”
“What, my reminders?”
“No. I meant the sandwich.”
She shook her head at him. “You sure you want an answer to that? You helped make them, after all.”
“Oh, so if I don’t like them, it would be my fault.”
She nodded, wagging the stylus at him. He took it from her and wrote under her note. I claim only partial responsibility for any potential like or dislike of said sandwiches.
“You mean, of course, full responsibility.”
“That depends if I like the sandwiches.”
She put her hands on your hips. “Oh, I see. So if you like them you take full responsibility, and if you don’t, I take responsibility.”
“No, only partial responsibility.”
She tried—and failed—to keep the grin off her face. “Not acceptable.”
“Well, it’s permanent, so you’ll have to…” He stared at what he’d written—or, at least, where it used to be. He’d forgotten to touch it and save it. “Well, that does take some getting used to.”
She took the stylus from him. “We’re going to be late.” She replaced it in its holder and reached for the picnic basket.
“The park’s not going anywhere.” He reached for the stylus, and she held it out of reach. “What, I can’t have the last word?”
“No.” She reached for the picnic basket. “You want your sandwich or not?”
“Only if I like it.”
She slapped him on the arm. “You will like it.”
“Or else?”
She tried to frown, but it came out a grin. “Or else.”
“Does that mean you’re taking full responsibility, then?”
Her jaw tightened. “Let’s go.”
She gripped the basket tightly as they left her apartment. He couldn’t stop snickering, even when they were in the car.
~~~~
Jester carried the basket while she held on to the blanket. He was relieved they’d managed to convince the security detail to remain by the car. The incident from two weeks ago had never repeated itself. Most people kept a respective distance. His people had nearly mobbed the visitor to his world. The people here were much more respectful.
They had walked for about half an hour along trails. Behind him, he could see the megastructure of the city. She’d called this place Blessed Park—the same park where he’d landed his ship, though several kilometers away.
He saw a few oak trees, as Sasha called them. There was other vegetation, some of which existed on his world and some which didn’t. They all had similar characteristics—green leaves, similar branches, similar bark, though sometimes differing in color. He suspected the vegetation here and on his home world all descended from Earth species.
Several people followed the path, always in couples. They nodded and smiled, some of them calling he and Sasha by name. Jester smiled and greeted them back. Not one couple stopped to speak with him, perhaps sensing they wanted privacy or preferring privacy for themselves. At one point, three couples passed them by over the space of a minute. He sensed her growing tense, probably a flashback to the park.
He took her hand and squeezed it, and she relaxed. Jester found he didn’t want to let her go, and she didn’t complain. “It’s beautiful.”
She glanced at him. “What’s that?”
“The park. I like this better than the other one.”
He was afraid it would bring back some nasty memories, but she only smiled. “They keep this area cordoned off so wildl
ife can’t enter. I haven’t been here in years.”
“Why not?”
Her shoulders drooped for a moment and she stared at the ground. She looked up at him with a forced smile. “Just busy.”
He let the comment pass without question. Something happened to her, something terrible. He wanted to comfort her.
“I’m sorry it’s taking so long,” she said after a moment. “Trust me, it’s a good spot.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m enjoying the walk.”
“You like walking?”
He shrugged. “I like walking with you.”
She squeezed his hand, and he felt a pleasant sensation travel up his arm. He almost laughed out loud. Why would such a simple act cause pleasure?
Her tablet buzzed. She reached into the bag she always carried—she called it a purse—and the tablet silenced.
“Just Kay,” she said.
“It could be important.”
“Oh no, she just wants…” Her jaw worked for a moment, and then pointed. “Oh look, we’re here.” She pointed toward a grove of trees. “There’s a small clearing on the other side.”
She guided him off the main path, still holding his hand. There was no obvious trail, but the trees weren’t too close together. The shadows of the leaves above danced across them as she guided him.
After a few moments, they reached the clearing.
She held up the blanket. “Here, help me.”
He set the basket down and helped her lay it out smoothly. It was just big enough for the two of them.
She sat on one edge with her legs lying to one side, as if ready to lay down on her side, but she remained sitting up. “Care to join me?”
“Oh, certainly.” He picked up the basket and set it on the blanket edge before sitting down cross-legged.
“Hungry?”
He nodded, and she reached for the basket. She handed him one of the containers holding his sandwich. He pried the lid open and stared at it. They didn’t bring any eating utensils. He had seen people on the base use them. They weren’t anything like the paired sticks his people often used, though both their peoples did use knives. He wondered if she had simply forgotten, until he watched her pick up her own sandwich with her hands. She took a bite out of one corner.
Carefully, he reached inside the container. The bread felt soft in his hands. Angling it so its contents wouldn’t spill out, he lifted the sandwich to his mouth. He took a small bite. He didn’t expect the bread to have any flavor, but it did. The ham and lettuce—along with the tomato, mustard, and mayonnaise—mixed well with it, creating peculiar sensations.