Letters from Akira >You'd been expecting it, but the truth was you'd about hit the ceiling the first time one of them spoke to you. >You thought it would be like a movie. You thought it would be cute, even, and maybe it was. >You thought it would be humbling, too, or profound, and maybe it had been those things, too. >Surely it had been everything First Contact ought to be, but that’s not how you remember it. >She’d come to you on all-fours, like any Lapsa would. >You knew what she was. You’d seen the pictures and heard the stories. You’d stared in awe at their great chrome spacecraft, and one day boarded one. >Gwennie had left you, after all. Walked right out like you’d never known her. Then the next week Work had dumped you just as easy. You’d have thought there was more tying you to the pale, blue dot, but that Thursday in July you were sad and frustrated and angry, and when you went looking for those reasons, you hadn’t found a damn thing. >So you did your research, signed your name, and waited for them to take you away. >You’d climbed aboard and watched as they folded space itself in their paws like it was terracotta. >Watched as the only star your kind had ever known bowed and flexed and then flew away. >And maybe they were the ones who tore up the skies over Arizona at midnight. >Maybe they were the strange lights and sleek saucers and little gray men. >and maybe the angels in a holy book, or the demons in another. >But when you looked, you saw foxes. >And it was a fox you saw in her. >Only she’d broken from the crowd in the port they called Akira, and spoken to you as plain as any human ever had: > “What’s your name?” She’d asked. >There’d been a shot of adrenaline, and then you’d felt nothing at all. >Her name was Nimari, but you called her Nim. >It was short and easy, and she reminded you of those rats from that movie. >Of course she could pronounce your name like it was her mother tongue, but by the second day she took to calling you 'Non all the same. >She was about your age, and made her living teaching English, or Kinaare as the situation demanded. >Big business, she said, and you believed her. >She had an apartment out on the bluffs, perched among others on a little terrace that tumbled down toward the sea. >You could see it from her deck, and in the evenings the strand shone in brilliant copper, and the waves and city windows twinkled like lanterns in the milky light of the Rings. >All these things she told you over a drink you couldn't pronounce the name of, and then she'd invited you home. >And you could crash there a few days, provided you helped out teaching English and tidying up the place. >You had nowhere else to go, so you did. >That had been about a month ago. >It's probably noon when you look up from your work. >The sky is bright in the window over your desk, and the clouds dazzling and full. A cool, salty breeze paws at the glass and makes the hinges creak, and gently it urges you awake with the stroke of its briney tongue. >For a moment you cling to the dream you’d built up around yourself and the silicone, but in truth you don’t want to stay. A stiffer gust kicks up out over the water, and with the fresh smells of fish, fruit, and burning charcoal, you set your iron down. >The apartment isn’t quite so grand as she made it out to be. >It has a dusty, roadside motel sort of smell. The ceilings are low, the floors worn, and the walls faded, and in the northern window rattles an air conditioner that looks like it could have come from Earth 30 years ago. >There’s something dated about the whole place, actually, though you haven’t quite figured what, or to when. But the location’s as good as she said it was, and the view, though intruded on by a roofline to the Southeast, nothing short of stunning. >You suppose it’s home now, either way. >You'd found yourself a bit of a niche in those first few days, and now you paid rent the same as she did. >It would have been a plain lie to claim you weren't proud, and as much of one to say you weren't thankful for the chance to stay. >The world on the far side of the window sills was as big as it was beautiful, and every inch of it crammed with people whose customs you didn't know, language you couldn't speak, and tools you couldn't use. >It was dumb luck that you didn't have to face it. >Dumb luck, and her. >Your phone says it's 4:30, but that doesn't mean anything. You’d been a late riser all your life, but here you woke with the first light of the Rings, and set to working before she so much as stirred. >The first few days you’d done your best to track the hours. There were about thirty-three of them, but you’d probably lost count as much as you’d kept it. Usually you latched on to little problems like that, but something was different about this one. It made you nervous. Sometimes almost dizzy. You didn’t like it, so you stopped. Now all you did was count. >You’d worked ten-odd hours today, and blown four more on fridge raids and idle worrying. >She'd be home soon. >You always felt better when she came home. >So you crack your stiffened knuckles, snag a drink from the fridge, and flop on the couch to wait. >There is a TV of sorts. It’s a strange, slim device with big, foreign buttons, and you'd never quite figured out how to use it. >You know it can produce a traditional screen, though, if by hologram, and on your phone is a crappy rip of Jurassic Park and most of a season of Seinfeld, so you settle back to your pet project of making one appear on the other. >At the moment it's mostly diagrams, and probably more dream than reality, but good God would it sell if you could rig it. That aside, you had to admit there was something you fancied about the idea of watching a movie with her. >She’d never seen a human movie. >Never heard of a dinosaur. >She’d watch with you in wonder, asking questions all the while. >And when things got intense she’d hide her nerves and maybe shuffle a little closer to you, and then maybe you wouldn’t feel quite so alone. > “You’re not still working, are you ‘Non?” >You jerk up in time to watch the door slip from her tail and click firmly shut. The sun’s a little lower than it was when you left your study, and it shines in her eyes like honeydew. Her dull green coat, crisp and groomed when she left that morning, drapes over her in tired, frizzy rags. > “Not strictly, no.” >She casts your diagram a judgemental glance and shakes her head, brushing past you toward the kitchen and refrigerator. > “Sure looks like it,” she calls, voice echoing over the counter between you, “Used to think I was busy ‘fore you came along, but I guess you showed me.” >She reappears with a bowl of clear liquid seized in her jaw, and settles beside you at a respectful distance. > “Long day,” she mutters, a faint whiff of ethanol washing your way as she breaks the surface with her tongue. > “Humans?” >She bows mid-swallow and nods eagerly. > “Two of them. Honestly, Non, I don’t know how you lot got on so long without a standard language; you certainly aren’t good at learning them.” >Her ears and tail twitch a little on the last syllable. > “No offense.” >You don’t pay her any mind. She laps another dose from the bowl and turns to you. > “What about you? Ever get the audio converter working, or just more of the usual?” > “Just the power adapters, Yeah. Still no dice on the audio; fuck knows what I'm doing wrong.” >She sighs sympathetically, and offers you a shallow smile. > “Don’t know how you stay here and do that all day, ‘Non. I’d go crazy.” >You shake your head honestly. > “I don’t know.” > “Sure you aren't crazy?” >She says it with a laugh, but you can see in her ears and whiskers that she's at least a little serious. You shake your head. > “I’m fine, Nim. Just getting settled.” > “It's been a month. How long’s it take a human to settle?” > “Longer than a month, I guess.” >She licks her chops as if to check your words for flavor, and when she speaks again it's with a shot of concern and a dash of annoyance. She lifts a paw and fakes checking her wrist for the time. > “Got any estimates, ‘cause I’m getting hungry.” > “Huh?” >She rolls her eyes and flicks her ears like switchblades. > “I’m tired of bringing you that same shitty take-out every day, ‘Non. I caught a pretty big fish today, and I’m looking to celebrate with a decent dinner. Now come with me.” >The tip of a shiver tickles the base of your spine as you leaf through your brain for excuses. > “I don’t know. Sure, money’s okay now, but--” > “My treat. You’ve been here a ‘month’, ‘Non. Thirty revolutions of our big, kinda’ languid planet. It’s an occasion.” >Her tail swats you across the shoulders in what you take to be a congratulatory gesture. To your dismay, it seems to knock a share of your stubbornness loose, too. > “Look, Nim, I appreciate it, but--” > “But what? We don't bite, 'Non. And no probing either. Those days are behind us.” >You concede the laugh she's looking for. > “You're not the alien here.” > “Nope, that'd be you. And you're going to stay one if you don't come with me.” >She cocks her head and blinks her eyes misty. > “Besides, if you don't come, I'll be sad.” > “Fine.” >The annoyance drains out of her, and her pearly teeth bare in a broad, satisfied grin. >You’d spent the last month building up the front door like it was the airlock all over again. >They were pretty similar, in your defense, nevermind that one spent most of its time holding back the vacuum between the stars, and the other could barely keep out the midday humidity. >The airlock had opened, and through it you’d stumbled into the clammy, cooling air of a world you knew you couldn’t hope to understand. >And now Nimari paws the door open, and that damp, salty, alien air washes over you all over again. >It isn’t actually the first time you’ve been back outside, but that’s closer to the truth than you’d like to admit. >You could count your expeditions on one hand. Less, if you didn’t count the balcony patio. And most of those had been no further than the base of the stairs that lead up to the front porch where it perched on the third story. >Once, in the first week, you’d gone as far as the end of the street. You’d paused there, and then gone digging for the courage to round the corner and make your way down to the beach. But then a neighbor had turned and looked down at you from an open window, and you couldn’t help but feel his eyes dig into you like lasers. A feeling had sprouted in your chest. The feeling of out-stayed welcome. You’d been expecting it, but hoping it wouldn’t come. And when it had, you’d turned, and slunk away. >When Nimari came home that night, she’d said he’d stopped her and asked her if he’d done something wrong. She’d said he hadn’t, and paid him the same excuses you paid her: You were shy. You were settling in. Those things were true, but you felt like an ass anyway. >After that, you hadn’t left if you could avoid it. >But then the door slams shut behind you, and before you know it you’re down the stairs and standing on the sidewalk beside her. She stretches, and sniffs eagerly at the evening air. > “This way,” she says, and it’s off again toward the end of the street. > “We’re walking?” >You gesture to her parked Skimmer as you pass it, dismay leaking into your voice. Like most of them, it’s a strange contraption with a broad body and stubby wings, and generally looks as much like an airplane as any sort of car. >She just nods. > “I had a little to drink, and besides, it isn’t far.” >Her face softens a little. > “You’ll be fine. I’ll do all the talking.” >The two of you round the corner. The lights of the city outskirts spread out warmly before you, washing over the slope and down toward the sea. > “Promise?” > “Promise.” >She presses on with a casually confident step, her fur flashing emerald in the glow of the streetlights. You stretch your gait a little to catch her, then make a point of holding her flank. >By now you’re the furthest you’ve been since you got here. >It’s a strange feeling you get, walking those streets. It’s a sticky, mild sort of melancholy, and as you go, it grows on your brain like lichen. >You hadn’t expected to understand this place; hell, you’d sworn you’d never be able to. You weren’t supposed to understand, but the truth was, you were starting to. > Maybe not the warp drives or skimmers or the spacecraft that shattered the sky again and again with the echoes of their sonic booms. >Maybe not the language, or the clothes they wore, or the crackling din of fireworks. Maybe not the smell of gunpowder that hung in the air like charcoal barbeque did back home. >But you could. >And surely you don’t belong here, only, if you squint, it almost looks like home. >The lights are all around you now. They glitter from lampposts and windows in shades of honey and goldenrod, and seem only to thicken as the slope shallows out toward the sea. >The buildings change, too. >Subdued residential facades give way to mirror- polished metal and sheets of glass that shine blue, silver, and purple in the light bleeding from their neon signs. >And there are people, too. >Lapsa of every shade you expect, and a few you don’t. >They aren’t as thick as they were during the day, and each block you share with only a few, but still they give you pause when they glance your way. >They walk in pairs and triplets, and chatter amongst each other. >And they notice you. >There’s no mistaking it. >Parents point you out to children with subtle waves of their tails and muzzles. >Friends break from their mumbled words and barking laughter to look up at you with wide eyes, and you can read in their glossy surfaces the stories they’re writing about you. >They’re so tall. So rough. So clumsy. He was with another Lapsa, were they together? He looked right at me with those round, glassy eyes.... >Could they tell you were nervous? You didn’t know. Maybe you were reading into it, but most hushed their voices when they saw you, and didn’t raise them again until you’d passed. >It forces a frog down your throat, and before you know it you’ve got your hand on Nim’s shoulder, and a knot of her fur bunched in your palm. >It’s corse, but soft somehow. >And warm. >You'd never felt it before. >You wait for her to look up at you. >To question you. To tease you. Or maybe even yell. >But she doesn’t. >The slope flattens out just as the rush of the waves makes its way to your ears. >Nimari hangs a casual left, and, her fur still snagged in your hand, tugs you along with her. >This street is wider than the others, and divided by a strip of manicured jungle. Signs paint the sidewalk with every color on the spectrum, and the air is thick with the smells of sea salt and cooking. >It’s cool, clammy air. You tighten your collar and pop it up around the back of your neck, but you can feel the ocean licking at you all the same. >Had it been like that on Earth too? >You’d been born New Mexico, and, after your parents split, spent most of your life chasing family whims around the Four Corners. You’d never seen the ocean save for a vacation to Disneyland, and didn’t remember. >It doesn’t seem to bother Nim, though. >She just flicks her ears out of the wind and keeps walking. > “How you doin’, Non? Hanging in there?” >Her voice is warm against the wind; the silence had been getting to you. In truth, you aren’t sure what to tell her. > “I’m alright,” you grunt, choking down the frog. >She sighs, and smirks sympathetically. Another quick tug and you’re a few paces down an alleyway, the echo of voices and foot traffic fading behind you. >Darkness settles in, too. >Then it’s just the two of you, and the sound of the waves, and the blue of the Rings on the ocean. >Funny how the isolation falls away when you’re alone. >Funny how stupid it makes you feel. > “That why you’re holding on to me like that?” >Your hand goes limp and falls from her fur like a dead leaf. She makes up the space between you, though, and nuzzles back up underneath it. > “Do it, if it helps. You can’t tell me it’s been so bad, though, huh?” >The look in her eyes suggests the question is more earnest than she’s framing it. >You can’t think of an answer, though, and when you don’t, she looks out over the ocean instead. > “Is it the stories? About abductions, or whatever? I mean, you don’t think any of them would really hurt you, do you?” >She falters, wounded. > “You don’t think I would hurt you...?” >It’s an embarrassing question, but you suppose it’s a fair one. You consider it awhile, then finally shake your head. > “It isn’t that.” >She seems to relax again. > “...it’s just a lot. That’s all.” >She huffs and blows her whiskers away from her muzzle, letting a little frustration slip out between them. > “You’re a lot, too, you know?” >Then she’s on the move again, and you scurry to catch her. >It’s no more than a few strides, but your breath is already short by the time you catch her flank and round the corner onto the street. > “What do you mean, ‘I’m a lot.’?” >She snorts, and picks up her pace a little. > “Sure. Walk funny. Talk funny. Sure as hell smell funny. Got all those weird, stubby teeth, but chew meat all the same. Keep asking me to bring you food like I’m supposed to know what a human even eats. Hide in your study all month. Believe me when I say I’ve never seen anything like it, but we got used to each other, didn’t we?” > “Yeah...” > “And what about me, ‘Non?” >She worms ahead of you into a thickening crowd, and raises her voice to compensate. They part for you, and you feel them staring. > “How ‘bout it? What’s so different between me and them?” >You catch her again, and make a point of sticking closer. > “You invited me.” > “Suppose that’s so.” > “You didn't stare at me like that, either.” >She laughs. > “Sure I did.” > “Really?” > “You didn't notice? You were the first one I ever saw up close; I stared long and hard. We don’t have laser vision though, so, instead of melting, you got the hell over it. Funny how that works.” >She smirks. > “Come on, what else? You won't hurt my feelings, or I won't bite you if you do.” >Another good question. Surely there was something; the only trouble was you’d done your damndest not to think about that kind of thing any time the back of your mind wasn’t forcing the issue. Of course, it almost always was. Except around her. > “Look, I don’t know. I--” >A door stops you short, but your heart slams into it and flutters to the ground. You don’t even have to ask. >It’s funny; you’d almost started to relax. Maybe part of you had hoped the two of you would keep on walking forever, or walk to the end of the block and find yourselves home again. >But Nimari was hungry, and here you were. >Your fingers tremble. > “Listen. Nimari, I--” >You move to turn away, but she’s waiting for you. Your eyes snap together like fridge magnets. > “After you,” she says, voice cool and certain. >You try to turn to the door, but it almost seems to shock you. >It’s stupid. It’s all stupid bullshit. You know it’s stupid, but your heart’s bleeding panic. >You don’t belong. >They don’t want you. >Who had you thought you were, coming here? > “Nim. Please. I don’t think--.” > “Open it, ‘Non. I’m right behind you.” > “I just don’t know if--” > “What were you planning to do before you met me? Starve?” > “No, I....” >You sift through thoughts but find them scrambled. > “...What if I do something wrong?” > “Then everyone will hate you forever for being a dumb, smelly human. Now open the fucking door.” >It’s the airlock all over again, and the front door after it. >But you’d managed those, hadn’t you? >And she’s right there with you. >You don’t worry when she’s with you. >And she’s right. >Goddamn right, same as always. >You turn, blink hard, and shoulder the door. >The receptionist, a young-looking, jet black male, appraises you with fax machine eyes. >His whiskers quiver; his ears search. >They probe at you like dental instruments. >Your heart is beating at least twice as fast as it should be. Can he hear it? >Can he smell the fear in your sweat? >Nimari shoulders her way between your legs and rears up to set a paw on your shoulder. > “Said you had to open the door. Didn’t say you had to do it alone. Gotta’ let me through, is all. Now say it with me:...” > “...Xeshi.” Her breath blows hot in your ear. > “Xeshi...” >You force the syllables through your teeth as if they were the blades of an apple slicer. She just swats you with her tail > “Tell him, ‘Non. Not me.” >You force an awkward swallow and look back. He meets your gaze with a strange stare caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. > “Xeshi....” >She nods, then her muzzle’s in your ear again. > “Inach.” > “...Inach.” >A grin flickers at the corners of his muzzle. > “Di’xan.” >He turns and struts away. Her paw slides off your shoulder and she drops again to follow. > “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” >It sure felt hard. >If the apartment was only half-alien, the restaurant is maybe two-thirds. The ceilings are low enough to duck in places, and the tables and counters so slick with neon that on Earth they’d have bordered on tasteless. >The smells are strange, too: >Fur. >Ocean. >Cooking meat and burning wood. >You’d smelled them all before, but never together. >And They’re all around you. >More of them than you’d ever met, and closer than you’d ever had them. >They perch in the shadows on backless benches and snap food from their tables like falcons picking carrion. >You hold your tongue and even your breath, but every last one looks up to stare. >Their eyes glitter and swim in the light of the lamps that flicker between them. >Their muzzles sag. Their teeth bare. >Tails twitch. Ears prick. >What are you? >What will you do? >Are you a friend? An enemy? A threat? >What are you doing here? Do you belong? Could you ever be one of them? >Surely you couldn’t. >Every last ear, eye, nose, and whisker. >Human. >Alien. >They’d only come for their dinner, and here you were to eat it with them like you’d been born under the Rings the way they had. >Like you spoke their language. >Like you knew their customs. >Like you had the first idea how to eat without a fork and knife. >They didn’t want you. >You didn’t want to be here. >Why? Why in the hell had you come? >Because Nimari said she’d be sad if you didn’t. >It was a joke, but you felt it anyway. >Because you were a stupid fucking human. >And she was a Lapsa. >And you’d spent a month together. >She looked after you. >Fed you. >Put up with your stupid bullshit. >You owed her. >Trusted her. >She’d promised nobody would bite, and nobody had. >And just what the hell was wrong with you, anyway? >What kind of monsters did you think they were? >Did you think you were? >What kind of life could you possibly lead alone? > “See? No big deal.” >Her words squeak under the weight of your embrace, and she looks up at you with eyes that ask if you’re serious. > “No big deal.” >You let her go. >You’re sitting now. Side by side, rather than opposite. Akira Bay spreads wide and welcoming through the window, and the light of the oil lamp on your table flickers in the glass. >Silence settles like dew. >The murmurs of conversation and sizzling meat filter through to you. The smells come back, too, and the tickle of her whiskers on your shoulder. >And They’re all around you. They steal glances and flash teeth when they bite or laugh or smile, faces soft and warm in the light of their lanterns. And each time your heart stumbles, and each time it keeps on beating. > “No big deal,” you whisper again, and she sets a paw on your knee. > “I told you you could do it.” > “You did.” > “You going to freak out if I switch to the other side of the table?” > “I’d really rather you didn’t.” > “Fair enough.” > “It’s my fault, you know.” > “That I--?” > “That you wound up looking at us like it's the War of the Worlds, yeah. Be an old local by now if I hadn't come along with a room for you to hide in." > “You saved me, Nim. I thought I could handle it when I got on that ship. Hell, I thought I’d start over and be a totally different person. Truth is I think I’d have just freaked.” > “And what would you have done then? Starve?” > "I guess." >She snorts. > “Even you aren't that skittish. You're smart. You'd have come up with something.” > “I'm smart?” > “Yeah! The work you do on those circuit boards? By hand? You've cut out a pretty good niche for yourself for someone who ‘doesn't belong’.” >That last sentence spreads a warm feeling in your stomach. You settle into the bench only to jolt when you find the backrest missing. > “It’s funny. I had it alright on Earth. Had a job and a girlfriend. But I don’t think I had a niche.” >You can’t help smiling. She can’t either. > “I guess I just thought it would be easier this time, you know? Different place. Different people. Different fucking civilization. Thought maybe it was humans I didn’t get along with, but I guess I'm the problem, huh?” >You can just about hear her eyes roll. God knows where she picked up that habit. Probably you. > “I like you just fine, ‘Non. Now, what do ‘ya want?” >She bats a sheet of plastic your way. A menu. Thank god there’s pictures. > "So what about you, Nim? What's it we're celebrating?" >She gulps a bite of a sushi sort of thing, minus the seaweed wrapping. You suppose that makes sense without the benefit of thumbs. > “You, dammit! What’s it now? Forty days? I’d call that long enough to say you live here, so welcome home! Now you can’t whine about being hundreds of light years from it.” > “Suppose I can’t, can I?” >It’s getting easier to grin. > “Not anymore. Anyway, if it’s the money you mean...,” >Her ears flutter, and she beams. > “...I got myself one hell of a client. A whole damn family, and a big one.” > “Yeah?” > “Yeah. A bit on the posh side. Said they wanted their kids to be "worldly", and asked what it'd run 'em to keep me on as a sort of private tutor." > "And you're 'gonna do it?" > "Non, I quoted twice my usual day rate. Even if business was constant, it’s no contest. Even offered a bonus if I help ‘em with legal stuff." > "They have that kind of money? Here?" > "Sure do. Gotta' hand it to them, they did their research. Sold everything and sunk all the money into art, some of the harder-to-clone spices, and pre-contact vintage liquor. Market for that stuff isn't as wild as a couple decades ago, but it's not nothing. Probably even cut a decent profit." > “Shit, Nim, that’s awesome.” > “You’re damn right it is. I was starting to worry I was going to wind up looking like a housewife the way that adaptor racket of yours is going, but I guess I’ll give you a run for your money yet.” > "'My really doing that well?" > "Fuck yeah you are. Akira's not exactly the cheapest place to settle, ya’ know; You'd be a high roller out in Akaash or something." >"No shit?" >"None. I mean, not that I'd want you to go." >The hesitation in her voice gives you pause. You feel her paw again, this time folded into your fingers. >"'Course not." >You give it a bit of a squeeze. >The door doesn’t scare you on the way out. The traffic hasn’t slowed much, but the Rings have retreated toward the horizon, and taken their milky light with them. It’s dark enough now to pretend you don’t notice the staring. She pauses under the entryway awning for you to grab fur again; you settle for a scratch and let her go. > “I’m okay.” > “Oh. You wouldn’t mind a walk on the beach, then?” >She’s kidding, but your stomach turns. The adrenaline comes flooding back and you can feel it coursing. You reach back to the scruff of her neck, but your fingers fall flat instead of kneading. > “No.” >The word goes down like a horse pill, but it goes. > “I wouldn’t mind.”