by E. M. Foner
“All right everybody, ante up,” Lynx demanded, holding out a hand.
“I want you to know there was no gambling at my shower for you,” Kelly reassured her daughter.
“That’s great to know, Mom. Can I borrow five creds?”
Shaina handed her own five creds to Brinda to pass along and checked her Dolly board. “Two more Mommy answers.”
“Later,” Lynx pleaded. “I want to open my presents.”
“But what about the gift certificate to Pub Haggis?”
“Just collect all the boards and check the answers.”
Shaina sighed and accepted the boards as they were passed back to her, checking the answers as they arrived. “Unbelievable. It’s a tie between Blythe and Molly.”
“It’s a family thing,” Blythe boasted, putting an arm around her newly discovered sister-in-law. “I’ve read Lynx’s personnel folder and Molly’s a good guesser.”
“That one’s from me,” Dorothy blurted out as Lynx began carefully unwrapping the top present from the pile. “Oh, I forgot she was supposed to guess who gave them,” the ambassador’s daughter added, glancing in Shaina’s direction.
“The fabric is beautiful,” the expectant mother marveled, extracting a blue silk garment. “It seems awfully long for a baby, though. Did you order it from a traditional Korean catalog?”
“Were the presents supposed to be for the baby?” Dorothy asked in surprise. “I got it for you. It’s a nightgown.”
The older women all suppressed their laughter, though there were a few snorts as Lynx held up the slinky garment and gaped at the narrow waist.
“What size do you think I am, Dorothy?”
“Well, you’re big now, obviously, but you’ll be back to your fighting weight in no time.”
“Um, thank you,” Lynx said, folding the nightgown and putting it aside in case she fell into a time warp and returned to being sixteen years old.
“What’s in that one?” Kelly asked, pointing at a large box that sat next to the pile. “I picked it up earlier and it jingled.”
“Probably one of those mobiles, to give the baby something to think about,” Brinda guessed. “Make sure all of the pieces are strongly attached so they don’t fall into the crib.”
Lynx worked the lid free and pulled out a bizarre construction that looked a little like an overgrown chandelier. Around the periphery, different lengths of metal chains made out of some super-light alloy hung down, fuzzy balls at the end of each. She held it up and flicked one of the balls with a finger, causing a muffled bell sound.
“Is it a mobile?” Kelly asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“It’s a Frunge Fascination,” Judith explained enthusiastically. “I got it from Tzurkik’s in the Shuk. It’s to help the baby develop the hand-eye coordination to become a great swordsman.”
“Oh, right,” Lynx said, forcing a smile. “That’s great. I’m sure Woojin will be thrilled.”
Judith beamed proudly and mouthed “Told you so,” at Thomas, who had advised his assistant that she was unlikely to find an appropriate baby shower gift at her favorite Frunge weapons dealer.
Lynx reached next for a medium-sized package, gave it an experimental shake, and then pushed the red disc affixed to the top of the ribbon, which released the expensive Dollnick wrapping paper. The box lid popped open to reveal a device that looked like a cross between a small display tab and a handgun.
“Oooh, I looked at those, but they said it wouldn’t work for humans,” Chastity said.
“Is it some kind of game controller?” Lynx asked.
“It’s a Dollnick baby health monitor,” Thomas explained. “You point it at the baby and you get all of his vital signs. I reprogrammed it with Libby’s help, otherwise everything would have indicated a very sick Dollnick.”
“Thank you, Thomas,” Lynx said, genuinely touched by the gift. “And thank you, Libby,” she added, speaking in no particular direction.
“You’re welcome,” the station librarian’s voice responded. “Open more. I want to see if the rest of my guesses are all correct.”
“I’ll do this one next,” Lynx said, picking up the gift brought by Dorothy’s Frunge friend and studying the alien packaging. “How do I open this?”
“Just say, ‘open,’” Flazint told her.
“Open,” Lynx commanded, but nothing happened.
“I forgot, you have to say it in Frunge,” the alien girl added, and then supplied the word herself. The top of the box popped open, revealing a large rock that looked like it suffered from a disease that gave it reddish-orange blemishes.
“What is that?” Dorothy asked her friend.
“It’s bauxite,” Flazint replied. “It’s a traditional baby gift. Don’t you guys give ore? Bauxite is rich in aluminum.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Lynx said graciously, giving the Frunge girl a smile. “And I remember that this one is from Affie.” She loosened the drawstring on the velvety Vergallian gift bag and withdrew a small mask made out of some soft alien material. Painted on the mask was the ugliest baby face any of them had ever seen.
“It’s for protection,” Affie explained in the stunned silence. “Vergallians believe that if a baby is too beautiful, evil spirits will steal it and leave a changeling in its place. The mask fools the evil spirits so they look elsewhere.”
“Well it certainly is ugly,” Lynx finally said. “Thank you.” She reached for the next package and paused, an odd look on her face. “Why does this wrapping paper look so familiar?”
“Was that from you?” Kelly asked. “I try to keep track of who gives us what when I recycle, but you know how it is.”
“But this is from the retirement present Wooj and I gave Joe just last week. See all the little wrenches in the pattern?”
“Open it and see if you’re getting Joe’s gift back,” Chastity suggested.
Lynx made a point of ripping off the paper rather than neatly removing it, and then she broke into a broad smile at the present. “I’ve been searching for one of these forever. Where did you find it?”
“I asked my mother to send it from Earth,” the ambassador replied.
“Wouldn’t that cost a fortune?” Molly whispered to Blythe.
“Not for Kelly. The Stryx provide a diplomatic pouch service.”
“It’s just a big empty book with really thick pages,” Chastity pointed out, as Lynx paused to clean an imaginary speck of dust off the transparent plastic coating of a page. “Does the baby draw in it?”
“It’s a photo album,” Kelly explained. “You know that Lynx likes taking pictures with her antique camera, even though the film is expensive and has to be sent to Earth for processing. Joe told me that when he visited his grandmother as a child, she had books and books full of family photographs, some of them so old that they weren’t even in color.”
“I’ve been keeping all of my prints in the boxes I get from the lab,” Lynx said. “This is really great.”
“Joe also said that he remembers some of the cutest were of a baby growing up with a puppy.”
Lynx’s smile faded in an instant. “Is this a conditional gift?”
“No,” Kelly sighed. “No leashes attached.”
“Then it’s back to being really great,” Lynx said happily, putting the photo album aside and reaching for the next package. “Feels fluffy.” She found a seam and rapidly removed the wrapping. “Ooh, a handmade baby quilt. Where did you find this?” she asked, looking around.
“I didn’t find it,” Donna said. “I was already making one for Chastity and I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to use all the scraps of blue material I begged from everybody.”
“But it must have taken forever,” Lynx said, trying to remember if she had ever done anything nice for Donna.
“I sew them at work,” Donna replied. “You probably didn’t notice since I’m usually knitting. It gives me something to do with my hands, and it confuses the alien agents who sto
p in to spy on us.”
Ten
“Welcome to the set of ‘Let’s Make Friends,’” Aisha addressed the group of schoolchildren and little Stryx. “My daughter, Fenna, has told me about all of the interesting places she’s visited with the class to see each of your parents at work. Today you’ll get to see two of your classmates working as well. Did the technical assistant give those of you without translation implants an earpiece? Good. We only have twenty minutes before the Grenouthians let in the studio audience, so I’ll stop right here and ask if you have any questions. Yes?”
“Who are you?” demanded a little girl in the front.
“Aisha. What’s your name? Haven’t you ever watched the show?”
“Sylvia. And of course I watch, but you’re not Aisha.”
“She is too,” Fenna defended her mother. “Tell them, Mikey.”
“She’s Aisha,” Mike supported his friend. “Me and Spinner are on the cast, so we know.”
“Spinner and I,” Aisha corrected him.
“You don’t look like her,” Sylvia said skeptically. “Your hair is all funny and you’re wearing a jumpsuit!”
“I change right before the show so my saris won’t get dirty, and the Grenouthian stylist does my hair.”
“But you’re a lot older than Aisha,” a little boy said.
“It’s because she’s not wearing makeup,” Fenna told the boy, happy for a chance to show off her professional knowledge. “She needs it because of the special lighting.”
“How come the lighting isn’t making the rest of us look old?” the boy persisted, looking around at his classmates.
“Fenna means the lighting for the immersive cameras when I’m on stage,” Aisha explained. “When people grow up, our skin isn’t as nice as when we were children, and the lighting makes us look even older than we are. Makeup hides that.”
“Are you going to put it on so we can see how?” Sylvia asked.
“A Grenouthian artist does my makeup right before the show,” Aisha said, and couldn’t stop herself from adding, “It only takes a minute because there isn’t that much to do. What other questions do you have?”
“Why is the room fake?” a different student challenged her, pointing towards the stage. “It doesn’t even have four walls or a ceiling.”
“It’s what we call a set,” Aisha explained. “If there were four walls and a ceiling, the studio audience wouldn’t be able to see inside, and the immersive cameras would have to be crowded in the room with us.”
“So there’s more than one fake room?” another child asked.
“No, we always use the same set.”
“That’s not a set then. Sets are groups of things, like apples, oranges and bananas, or tall children and short children.”
“Oh, you mean sets and numbers, like from Fenna’s homework. This is a different kind of set.”
“Where are the alien children?” Sylvia asked.
“Where are the other cast members?” Aisha rephrased the question. “They’re on their way here by now. Some of them have to wake up very early or stay up very late, since we do the show on human time.”
“But Mikey told us you keep them in boxes under the floor,” a little Stryx protested.
“Michael Hadad Cohan! Why would you say such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” the boy mumbled, shrugging at the same time.
“He was probably practicing his imagination,” Spinner suggested.
“I want you all to use your imaginations, of course, but not to tell—to make up things like that!”
“How much do you pay?” Sylvia asked.
“Pay?” Aisha turned back to the inquisitive little girl, unsure that she had heard the question properly.
“Mikey and Spinner, for being on your show. With all of the commercials you must make piles of creds. My Dad says that you bought a whole fleet of spaceships.”
“I—they were old spaceships, the station manager was getting rid of them,” Aisha replied defensively. “My husband and his father will probably take most of them apart to sell the pieces. And we do pay Mike. His parents opened a Stryx account for him and he’ll get the money when he grows up.”
“You don’t pay Spinner?” a different little Stryx asked.
“Er, no. Libby said it would just complicate things if a Stryx was getting paid by the bunnies. I mean, the Grenouthians.”
There was an awkward silence, and then a little boy asked, “Who makes up the first line for Storytellers?”
“I do,” Aisha said, relieved to finally get a softball question.
“They’re really goofy,” the boy told her.
“Goofy?” she repeated, her face falling. “But it’s everybody’s favorite part of the show. The Grenouthian ratings say so.”
“The stories are good, it’s just the beginnings that are goofy,” the boy continued his critique. “You should start with space battles or killer robots. Stuff like that.”
“But I don’t want to give our audience nightmares,” Aisha protested. “I put a great deal of thought into those beginnings.” She neglected to add that the thought was invested in trying to come up with opening lines that would resist being turned into stories about kidnapped children and ghost battleships, though she rarely succeeded in this.
“Give us an example,” a girl demanded.
“Once upon,” Sylvia announced.
“A time!” the children and little Stryx shouted.
“There was a young boy who planted a vegetable garden,” Aisha responded reluctantly. She wasn’t thrilled to be using up one of her stock of future story openers, which she hoped would lead to an upbeat, pastoral tale.
“Who wants to make up a story about vegetables?” the boy who initially raised the subject said in disgust. “My mother makes me eat wax beans, and that gives me nightmares.”
“But imagine those little seeds starting under the ground and growing into plants that feed us,” Aisha urged the children. “You could make up lines about the sun and the rain, and how the little boy…”
“We live on a space station,” Sylvia interrupted. “There is no sun or rain.”
“They could be alien seeds,” Mike suggested.
“That grow into monsters,” the young Stryx beside him added.
“Spinner!” Aisha exclaimed. “Where did you get such an idea?”
“From playing Storytellers,” Spinner replied. “Libby says that my imagination is almost too good now.”
“And when the boy comes to water his vegetables, the monster plants could eat him!” a little girl said excitedly.
“And when the plants finish eating all the people, they can start eating each other,” Fenna suggested.
“That’s gross,” Sylvia said. “Monster plants eating each other?”
“But it’s okay for the monster plants to eat children?” Aisha couldn’t help asking.
“It’s just a story,” Sylvia pointed out. “Besides, we eat vegetables, so it’s only fair.”
A large Grenouthian hopped up to the group and exclaimed, “Oh my fur and whiskers. I’m late. I’m late.”
“Are we running behind?” Aisha asked, trying to hide her relief. “I’m sorry, children. I have to get ready now.”
“Actually, we’re right on time,” the assistant director admitted. “I just thought the children would recognize my interpretation of the best character your Earth entertainment industry ever produced.”
“The White Rabbit,” Fenna cried. “Alice in Wonderland.”
The Grenouthian took a bow, and then gave Aisha a nudge towards the backstage area. “And if you don’t get ready, you’ll be late, be late, for a very important date with a makeup artist and a hair stylist. The rest of the cast is already in wardrobe, but if Mike and Spinner—uh, sorry young Stryx—if Mike, wants to have a bit of refreshment first, the dessert catering you ordered for the children has been set up backstage.”
“I hope you all enjoy the show,” Aisha called after Fenna’
s classmates, who were stampeding for the cake and ice cream. “This section of seats is reserved for you, so enjoy your snack and then come back here. Fenna can explain how everything works.”
Just fifty minutes later, after the third commercial break, Aisha addressed herself directly to the studio audience.
“Today is a very special day for me, because my daughter and her classmates are in the studio watching our show. We’ve also reached the end of the current cast rotation, but don’t worry. Your favorite friends will be back for another round in a couple of cycles.” She turned towards the children on the set and asked, “Does anybody remember what we do on the show before rotating the cast?”
“You ask us all to say what we learned about making friends,” the Horten girl answered.
“That’s right, Orsilla. Do you want to go first?”
“Do I have to?”
“Oh, I thought you wanted to,” Aisha said. “Does somebody else want to go first?”
The Drazen boy raised his tentacle behind his head and waved it like a flag.
“Yes, Pluck?”
“I learned not to tell aliens that they smell bad.”
“Smell different,” Aisha gently suggested as an alternative. “Did you learn anything else about making friends?”
The Drazen child looked puzzled and then shrugged. “No.”
“Okay, who’s next?”
“Me,” the Frunge boy said. “I learned that just because aliens have weird hair and eat funny stuff doesn’t make them stupid.”
“Thank you, Vzar,” Aisha said, hoping that the Frunge word which translated into “stupid” had a softer connotation in languages other than English. “How about you, Krolyohne?”
The Verlock replied ponderously, “Vzar used my answer.”
“But you don’t have hair,” Aisha pointed out. “Oh, I guess I see. Nothing else?”
“Nobody gets my math jokes, except for Spinner.”
“Yes, the Stryx are very good at math from the moment they begin thinking,” Aisha said. “And what have you learned, Spinner?”
“I think that anybody can be friends with anybody else if they want to be,” the little Stryx responded.