Humans are so conflicted. They both desire us Skeksians and loathe us. They fear our shiny, volatile skin but they smear their own with colored sparkle gel to make it look like ours. They pretend to loathe our dimorphism when actually the very idea of it excites them.
Historically, humans have been the alpha race. When they discovered our planet they enslaved us in the name of helping us. After they liberated us they provided subsidy for a while. They set up vacation resorts we could operate for them, near Skeksio’s equator where the weather is hot and the red dunes constantly shift in the desert wind, a beautiful array of patterns. They set up trade schools and nursing schools and enterprises all over the galaxy paid the schools big money for us because caretakers are always in demand.
In spite of, or because of the abundance of nursing schools on Skeksio, there’s not much work there for nurses. It’s a poor planet, in her decline. A world that has been raped and plundered for so long, there isn’t much left of her. Like everyone else, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Skeksio.
The Pig and Whistle, our staff lounge, never closed. But unlike the swank guest lounges of the upper decks, ours was a bleak, functional room, totally devoid of personality and furnished with cheap aluminum tables and stools, harshly lit. The kind of saloon that made you want to spend money on strong potions to alter your perception of reality.
“What the hell happened tonight?” Shirley asked, pouring our drinks. Apparently, the news had spread throughout the ship. We gave her the low-down on the death scene in Andromeda Dining Room, then took our drinks to a nearby table, nodding to Joe and Emma from Engineering, who raised their glasses to us – the only recognition we had received for our lifesaving efforts that evening.
The aluminum stools scraped against the scuffed flooring and we took our ease at last.
“I need to finish checking my messages,” I said, activating my cochlear communicator with a tap to the side of my head. “Give me a minute, would you?”
I saw the veil of disappointment drop down on Doug’s face. His liquid brown eyes lost their shine. “Let me guess, Skylar. It’s your human sex interest, what’s his name, Randy?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. His name is Randy. I told you we’re going sailing on Jolieterre. Real, actual sailing on a real, actual sea of real water,” I gloated. “Envy me. I can hardly wait.”
“Yeah? Well, lucky you. But poor me. I hate to think of the temp nurse they’ll stick me with while you’re gone for your romp. Damn, I hate working with subs.”
“Oh, quit complaining. I worked my tail off during your last holiday, as I recall. They didn’t even hire a sub to replace you.” I flicked the tip of my forked tongue at him flirtatiously, to raise his spirits. It always worked. Human males are so predictable.
Doug smiled and lifted his glass of foaming fake brew. Because of his past record of substance use, he was forbidden to consume mood altering substances. “Here’s to Mr. and Mrs. Proud. May they rest in peace.” He took a long pull, looking at me over the rim of the glass. I looked away.
Suddenly, I was aware of the necklace, deep in my pocket. I still hadn’t decided what to do with it. Real or synthetic, it was far more valuable than anything I’d ever possessed. If I sold it I’d have enough money to change my life in a meaningful way. It could be Jacques ticket off this ship; he could buy his way into school. Because he was half human, with a little inheritance he could possibly become something other than a service worker like his mother. Like my entire species.
*
Jack Wilder, the father of my child, was a mining engineer vacationing on Skeksio when our paths crossed. We met in an emergency treatment center for humans, where I was a student nurse. Jack was admitted with heat stroke and dehydration, like so many humans who visit our planet and don’t heed the warnings to stay within the climate control boundaries. But Jack wasn’t content to play adventure programs on the holo. No, he had to do the real thing. He had come to Skeksio to body-fly. Skeksio has an atmosphere and a weak gravitational field. Skeksio has rugged cliffs and canyons spanned by bridges. Huge open pits, abandoned strip mines. These human fliers hurled themselves off, flying as far as they could, using the resistance of their plummeting body against the air, the relative wind. Then, seconds from impact, they fired their jet packs, slowing their descent and allowing them to touch down softly, barely kicking up a little red Skeksian dust. That’s the thing I like most about humans. They do the unimaginable. Their sense of adventure knows no bounds.
“Snap out of it Skylar,” Doug said. “You’ll be fucking him soon enough.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Randy.”
“Oh, were you thinking about fucking me?”
I rolled my eyes and flicked my tongue.
Doug’s smile was sad. “No? I didn’t think so.”
“Oh, don’t be bitter, Doug. It doesn’t suit you. Actually, I was thinking about Jack.” I longed for a mello; something to do with my hands. But I had quit mello when I was gravid with Jacques. Besides, smoking was prohibited aboard ship.
“Who’s Jack?” Doug tried to be nonchalant but his voice cracked just a bit, giving him away.
“Jack is Jacques’ father.”
“Oh.” His jaw flinched but he didn’t drop his eyes. “I thought he was long gone.”
“He is.”
“Are you sad about that?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “A little. Jack said he wanted the baby, but then his work took him away. He travels a lot. And when he’s not working he’s seeking gravity and atmosphere so he can jump off things.”
“Did you ever want to do it?”
“What, body-fly?”
“Yeah.”
“I did do it, a couple of times. With Jack. And yeah, it was fantastic. Better than any mood enhancer you can imagine. But then, I conceived. And then… ”
“The sonofabitch left you?”
I gave him the look. You know, the female glare. Because it hurt me to hear it from someone else’s mouth, even though it was the truth. No way was Jack going to stick around and deal with baby shit, round-the-clock feedings, and all of that. But if I could get in touch with him, now that Jacques was older, he might want to see him. He might want to be a parent. Humans can change, they are endowed with a great degree of free will. But I hadn’t heard from him in a long while. Come to think of it, Jack probably hadn’t changed at all.
I took a long pull from my tankard. “I want a better life for my kid,” I said, savoring the bitterness.
“What kid? You got a kid?” Doug dead-panned, pretending he didn’t know. Because my child was unauthorized to be aboard. Jacques was undocumented. Technically, he was a stowaway. Born on the ship, he had never been off of it.
There were a lot of undocumented workers aboard. They were the Invisibles. That’s what we called these humanoids, mostly from Gordia and Skeksio, the ones who cleaned our cabins and did our laundry. They were the staff’s staff. There was a whole subculture aboard the Entitled – and one of those stowaways minded my undocumented kid.
“You want a better life. I want a better life. So what are we going to do about it, Nova?” Doug said, his eyes lighting up.
“I don’t know about you, Doug, but I’ve got my application in all over this sector. Maybe an opening will come up in a land-based medical unit.”
“Dream on, sister. Those jobs are passed down from generation to generation.”
“Yeah. Well maybe I’ll marry a rich man or woman and quit all this.” I thought about the necklace in my pocket wondering how much it was worth.
“I’ve got a better idea.” Doug studied the trace of foam on the rim of his mug. “Why don’t we join the Force?”
“The Force?” I stifled a laugh. “They won’t take you. Hell, they won’t take me.”
“They might. It’s possible. They need doctors and nurses. In time, and with some recommendati
ons, I’ll get my license back and…”
“Look, neither one of us is going to get any recommendations after tonight. Not from Gantry.”
“Yeah. Like that was our fault. Those fat fucks were dead when we got there.”
“Maybe not. If I would have noticed the woman a few minutes earlier…“
“Oh, don’t go all righteous on me, Skylar. You did your job, I did my job. We did everything we could. I learned in medical school not to give myself too much credit or too much blame for the way things turn out. Just do your absolute best.”
“Yeah, well our very best wasn’t good enough for Mr. and Mrs. Proud, now was it?” I blinked. My eyes felt like sandpaper. “Look, it’s late, Doug. I’m exhausted.” I pushed back my chair and stood. “I’m going to get some sleep. See you in the morning.” I wanted to tell him about the necklace but decided against it. “Oh, and thanks for the drink. Next time, it’s my turn to buy.”
*
It was 03:20 ship time when I entered my cabin. I left the lights off so I wouldn’t wake Jacques or his nanny, a Gordian refugee whose name I couldn’t pronounce, asleep on the couch. Undressing in the dark, I hid the necklace in my boot for safekeeping. Still didn’t know what I was going to do with it. I slipped into the bathroom to relieve myself, and to clean my skin before crawling into bed next to my son.
Jacques slept with abandon, his arms and legs flung wide. I moved him over, making room for myself, marveling at his solidity. His breath was warm and minty – he had completed his nightly ablutions. The sheets were warm and tangled; they smelled like us.
My quarters felt safe; my own little nest. But I wanted a better home for my son. My son, I thought with a giddy flush of wonder. Jacques resembled his father, but he had my skin. My tongue. His father’s genitals. When humans mate with Skeksians, the resulting hybrid is always one sex or the other; never hermaphroditic, as we are. Jacques was all boy. The underbelly of a resort ship was the only life he’d ever known, and already he was pushing the limits, wanting to explore. The nanny occasionally sneaked him up to the passenger decks to swim in the pool or to play in the park with the other kids, mostly rich little Packars, and a few humans. She pretends she’s a nanny to one of the guest families on board. Jacques could pass for a human. His stub of a tail was easily hidden, and his skin, not as shiny and volatile as mine. But I worried my son was growing too fond of his nanny. I couldn’t pronounce her name but he could; he babbled to her in Gordian. And he had started calling me Nova, my given name. But maybe that was just a phase children go through. Burrowed in next to him, I could feel his little foot pressing against my ribcage. I held my breath for a few precious seconds, listening to the sound and rhythm of his, and marveling at it. Then I fell in step, breathing along with him.
*
The next morning it was business as usual in the medical bay. Doug and I treated a steady trickle of crew-members. A food service worker with a sore throat, a cabin steward with a bad back, an engineer’s mate whose skin had broken out in hives. Ordinary stuff. At midday Doug and I took a lunch break, but instead of eating we went to the chase deck and spent half an hour running through the forest, shooting at virtual predators. It was exhilarating to run for our lives, hearts pounding, scrambling up trees and swinging from vines. It felt good to blast at horrible, hungry monsters, created from our own subconscious minds. Myosonin enhancers kept me looking fit, but nothing beats a chase for feeling alive.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I put the necklace back in my pocket. It had already become my lucky charm, my talisman, my dream maker.
*
In the afternoon we got a call from the casino staff, they had a Packar down. Actually, she wasn’t down, she was just stuck. She had gotten out of her mobile device and into a casino lounge chair and couldn’t get out on her own power. Why do they call the medical staff for extractions, I wondered impatiently? Maintenance has a hoist.
That evening was the nanny’s regular night off; she had gone to be with her own kind. Sometimes the undocumented workers would sneak into vacant passenger cabins and watch the holo or congregate in the housekeeping storage room to share a bottle of cheap pseudovin. The Gordians were good at hiding in the shadows, living in the cracks. They somehow managed to remain, if not exactly invisible, unnoticed. Since most of the crew relied on them to clean our cabins and do our laundry, we looked the other way.
*
I was enjoying my snuggle time with Jacques, tucking him into bed and telling him a story, when it happened. A terrific jolt shook the ship. The lights flickered and the backup generators kicked in with a rumble.
“What was that, Nova?”
I held my breath, waiting for the alarms, but none sounded. A mechanical problem of some sort, I figured.
“It’s OK, kiddo. The engines just coughed or something,” I said lightly, not wanting him to worry. “Go to sleep, now. It’s late. And please, call me Mother. Or Mommy.”
“But your name is Nova, and I can’t sleep,” he whined. “I’m afraid of the monsters.”
“There aren’t any monsters on board, except you. You’re my lovable little monster.” I kissed his sweet-smelling green head.
He put his arms around my neck. “Can I have the dream maker, Mommy?”
“You need to make your own dreams, Jacques. Too much dream maker isn’t good for you.”
“Please?” He stroked my arm with his sweet baby fingers, his face puckering up. And I relented, dragging the contraption out from under the bed, wishing I had never gotten the damn thing for him in the first place. He was addicted to it. But all the kids had dream makers. I’d read a study that said dream makers were actually good for kids; they stimulated the prefrontal cortex and enhanced spatial awareness and creativity. As soon as he saw the little black console my son stopped crying and I knew I’d been had. He put on the skull cap and pressed the start button. Soon his eyes were flickering and he was off to the land of Nod. As I watched his rapid eye movements and listen to his quickened breaths I wondered what was happening in his other world –a world I was not a part of.
*
The next morning a message on my communicator said that there had been a mechanical problem and to expect a delayed arrival on Jolieterre. Hell, just my luck. And so there we sat, midway between star systems, waiting for a replacement part to be delivered. The longer it took, the less vacation time I would have. Not to mention we were sitting ducks for pirates. We only carried a minimum of weaponry, antiquated missiles; it was a joke, what we carried to defend ourselves. And no dedicated gunner, just the engineering staff to work the joysticks and press the buttons.
Because of the delay, the guests were comped with free hologram entertainment and a discount on a future cruise. They didn’t mind – as long as the food and the booze held out. One sector of space was the same as any other, just keep the chow coming.
*
That evening the shit hit the fan. A mutated, super-strain of rotavirus took over the ship and within a few hours after the first dinner seating, our little sick bay was overflowing. Crew members and passengers alike, doubled up with abdominal cramps, begging for relief. Doug and I ran from cabin to cabin with intravenous fluids and immune boosters, with buckets and butt wipes.
Medicine is the stepchild of the sciences, why is that? We can travel the galaxies, we can tele-transport, so why can’t we cure disease? Why can’t we end suffering? In spite of sanitizers, vaccines, U.V. showers and the low-level radiation scanners, there’s always a new, mutant pathogen out there that’s resistant to every known drug. The Packars were particularly susceptible to intestinal upsets and when these fellas got the squirts it clogged up the ship’s macerator in a big way.
Diarrhea is no laughing matter; over the course of history it has killed more humanoids than all the wars combined. Shigella, typhus, salmonella, yellow fever, cholera, rotavirus – evil little bugs that on
ce invoked mayhem in the intestinal tracts of Earthlings, and on Skeksio mutant forms still kill. Millions of creatures have died from the complications of dehydration; they literally shit themselves to death. If Doug and I couldn’t get on top of this, or to the bottom of it, this cruise could be a huge disaster for the Packars – and for our cruise line.
*
We were adrift, our thrusters down, our engineers down with the intestinal virus, and still no parts supply ship. This would put us days behind schedule, if we arrived at all. The captain might have to request an evacuation, in which case we’d be taken back to Omarion, our port of origin. Even if the parts arrived soon and the engineers got us up and running, we would have to remain on the ship under quarantine upon arrival at Alabas on Jolieterre, until cleared by their authorities. Damn my luck! My leave would probably be cancelled, or at least drastically shortened. Would Randy wait for me on Jolieterre?
At least my kid hadn’t gotten sick, thanks to my Gordian nanny whose name I can’t pronounce. She had kept him sequestered, eating packaged junk food and drinking sweetened purified water, much to his delight. Jacques hadn’t eaten anything from the cafeteria since the outbreak, and that’s what saved him.
Back to my cabin, that four-meters-square space I call home. My family was asleep, both of them in my bed, the nanny curled around Jacques like a question mark. Maybe I should marry her, then I could be Jacques’ father, I thought. I seemed to be a better father than a mother, anyway. As my wife the nanny could apply for Skeksian citizenship, but that would be pointless since the waiting list is like twenty-five years.