+++

The first floor of Dah Station 7 was quieter when Trig and Salvo returned, as were the restaurants that ambushed them as they exited the pod.

No queues, dozens of empty tables inside, humanoid types walking around solo instead of cosy in pairs. There were some distant sounds of cheering and conversational chatter, but it was too far away to really puncture the ambience or annoy anyone on an individual level.

Soaking up this Sunday in Shek Mun feel, the two Earthlings continued along the outer curve, passing the loop line, various snack shops, other humanoids, the Kontolian Forgiveness Pole, the therapy centre, MUK Coffee.

Some of the aliens tilted their heads at the intruders, most ignored their presence completely.

In a weird way, thought Trig, keeping both hands hidden in jacket pockets, it’s not that different from walking around a novelty mall in Hong Kong [or a Sunday stroll in Shek Mun]. Only all the people are dressed in alien cosplay. At least, they are if you keep your distance. Close up, the skin is too detailed, the eyes too flawed, the movement of the limbs too awkward and alien to be anything but real.

But from a distance, five, ten metres away…

‘Is it that late already?’ asked Salvo, spotting the alien octopus ball place from earlier, now almost totally devoid of activity.

‘Not sure.’

‘It must be, there’s hardly anyone around.’

‘Maybe it’s early. For dinner, I mean. Like in Spain, they don’t eat until half ten or something. It could be the same thing here.’

Salvo played with her jacket zip, eyes on an Asaaaaa slithering past. ‘Can you check?’

‘What, the dinner time?’

‘No, the regular time. How late it is.’

‘Me?’

‘You’re the only one with the pad.’

‘Only cos you were too lazy to bring yours.’

‘Didn’t need to. Besides, one pair, one pad. That way we can’t ignore each other.’

Trig looked right and let out a long trail of annoyed breath. A red-skinned humanoid standing outside the Book Centre stared back at him.

No, not red-skinned, a Kontolian. From the planet Kontol.

‘Okay, should I guess what time it is or…’ started Salvo, scanning the restaurants ahead.

‘Wait a sec.’

Trig pulled out the pad and, keeping his finger an inch from the screen, swiped it on.

There was a constant timer at the top, just like their phones back home, and adjusting for station time, it was now 21:47.

He relayed this to Salvo, then watched as she tried to adapt it to the twenty-seven hour day. Finally, she decided it wasn’t that late, it was actually a normal dinner time, and why was that red-skinned guy staring at them like that?

‘He’s a Kontolian.’

‘Great. Is that why he’s staring?’

‘You mean is it part of their culture? I don’t know. I’ve only read a small bit about them so far.’

‘Which says?’

‘Nothing huge. Just that they only require sleep once every two days. And they don’t have oceans on their planet. Or they did, before, but their ancestors sucked them all dry.’

Salvo nodded, focusing on a banner to the left of the Kontolian. ‘Discover Your Soul State Yes,’ it pronounced in olive green text, but she didn’t care about that. ‘Do you think he’s the one who brought us here? With his helmet off…’

‘Maybe he’s wondering the same thing about us.’

‘It is funny, apart from the vertical eyes and the weed-like hair, he’s basically human.’

‘And the blood-red skin.’

‘Yeah.’

Salvo kept her eyes steady a few moments longer, until the Kontolian broke off the connection and headed into the Book Centre. Or Book Sam as Jemba had called it.

‘Shall we eat now?’ asked Trig, looking around.

+++

After doing a cursory lap and a half of the second floor, they narrowed their choices down to two places: the weird octopus ball shop they’d seen earlier, which was Trig’s choice, and a Nabian café that had pictures of something similar to noodles and fried dumplings in its window.

According to Salvo, it was psychologically important to have an anchor when navigating through an unknown landscape, and, even if the Nabians weren’t human in the highest, taxonomical sense, they were close enough. Of course, she didn’t use those exact words, but the sentiment was the same; go with something recognisable.

Trig thought about arguing back, referencing dullards who went on holiday only to seek out their homeland cuisine, but then he remembered Salvo’s arm spasms and mini-breakdown earlier so decided to walk the path of least aggravation instead.

Luckily, they both managed to get what they wanted.

The café design had a weird, maze-like quality to it and, based on the window menu translation, the dumplings turned out to be a native Nabian animal meat wrapped in plant skin. The noodles were still noodles, or a close approximation [Axe-wheat?], and the waiter looked impressively human.

And kept on looking impressively human as he sat glued to a high stool at the back of the café, reading something clearly hypnotic on his pad.

After three minutes of being blanked, Salvo coughed and said at a reasonably high volume, ‘two people, please.’

The waiter glanced up, frowned and then went back to his pad.

‘What the fuck?’ said Salvo, a little too loud.

‘That was weird.’

‘He looked right at us.’

‘Jemba did say they were a bit patronising. Maybe this is what he meant.’

‘That wasn’t patronising, it was just plain rude. He didn’t even point us towards a table. Just went back to that stupid fucking pad.’

‘Maybe we’re supposed to walk in, get a table ourselves.’

As if to prove the point, another Kontolian, perhaps the same one surveying them outside on the concourse, walked past and found a table to the left. Trig nudged Salvo in the side and headed in the same direction, sitting himself down two tables away from the Kontolian so there wouldn’t be any weirdness.

Though perhaps even a distance of two tables was weird enough.

Maybe the Kontolian would suspect them of stalking?

Ah, it doesn’t matter, thought Trig, I can just explain that we’re new and don’t know what we’re doing. He’d understand. Or they’d understand. Whatever the pronoun was.

‘It’s probably cos there’s no one else in here,’ whispered Salvo, taking the padded stool that Trig pulled out for her while also reserving enough energy to glare at the do-nothing waiter. ‘That’s why he’s not moving.’

‘It’s not that empty. There’s the Kontolian, those humans…probably Nabian. And that Pos Pos over there.’

‘Puss what?’

Trig pointed with his elbow, scratching his side to make it look more natural. Three zig-zag tables away [hence the maze-like element of the café] sat something with a malformed head, four slits that presumably functioned as eyes, and a torso that seemed to be blurred around its outline. A fuzzy type of fur perhaps?

‘Don’t know that one.’

‘Yeah, you do.’

‘I do?’

‘Pos Pos. No legs. Triangular head. The ones we saw in Security earlier.’

Salvo took a moment but got there eventually. ‘You’re right, the head is the same, the eyes, too.’

‘It’s pretty distinctive.’

‘Yeah, I didn’t realise. The body part, it confused me. Thought it was a different type of alien.’

‘Nope, just a regular Pos Pos.’

‘Is that what they look like? I mean, their real form?’

‘Most of the time. According to their profile, they can sublimate their limbs into a gaseous form, then return them back to a solid state.’

‘Sublimate?’

‘I think that’s the right word. To go directly from a solid to a gaseous state. The only fixed part of them is the head and the torso…most of the torso. I’m not actually sure how that works.’

‘Wah, how does any of it work? How is he even eating?’

‘Shh.’

Salvo was confused for a second then said ‘ah’ and looked around for a new distraction. The empty table in front of them was the obvious choice. ‘Right, food time. As you’re the one who dragged us in here, you can choose.’

‘Err…I dragged us in here?’

Salvo patted him on the knee [under the table, not sexual, maybe affectionate] and lowered her voice to a normal volume. ‘Never mind, I forgive you. Wah, it says the menu’s auto-order. We don’t need to get the waiter over. He still looks smug. I think he’s ignoring the red skin guy too. Kontolian, right? Yeah, we don’t even need him. What do you want? Noodles and dumplings? Diu. Hang on, there are no prices on here.’

Trig continued looking at her, bemused, until she got annoyed and pushed the menu pad against his arm.

‘That was an erratic string of sentences,’ he said, rubbing his elbow.

‘So?’

‘Like, twenty different things in one go.’

‘Yeah, cos I’m tired. Or my brain’s still messed up from that teleporter thing. Not my fault. Are we eating these noodles or not?’

‘We have to order first.’

‘That’s what I mean. Are we ordering or not?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then maybe you can help me work out where the noodles are.’

‘What?’

‘There are no pictures, just text.’

‘Serious?’

‘No prices either. Here, look for yourself.’

Trig lifted up the menu and stared at the written script. Due to whatever tech they’d dumped in his head, he could read it without issue, though some of the translations were a bit off.

‘You understand anything?’ Salvo asked, zipping up the top of her sports jacket even though it was already all the way to the top.

‘You’re right about the prices.’

‘I know that. What about the food?’

‘Hmm. Two Type Duck,’ Trig read out loud, squinting at the text. ‘Eagle from the Sky Claw. Nefarious Powder Sponge. Sounds like some of the local menus back home…the English versions.’

‘Yeah, that’s the weird thing about all this,’ said Salvo, staring forward. ‘Similar but not. Weird yet normal.’

Trig looked around the Nabian café, assuming that’s what she was referring to. There were one or two more customers now, either Nabian or one of the other human species, and it looked like they were regulars too as the waiter actually got off his ass to greet them.

‘If you crop out the Posh Posh over there,’ she continued, half using her elbow as a pointing tool, ‘then it’s not that different from home. One of those pretentious cafes in Sheung Wan with the weird floor plans.’

‘Pos Pos,’ Trig said, not too harshly.

Salvo rode the correction and continued painting a more comforting picture over reality. She even used the same humans dressed in alien cosplay angle that Trig had come up with earlier, though he didn’t tell her that.

Finally, she stopped and told Trig to go over to the waiter and ask him directly which one the noodles and dumplings were.

‘No one else is doing that,’ he answered, watching the Kontolian two tables away pressing down on his menu.

‘They’re all veterans, we’re not.’

‘Maybe we just pick and hope.’

‘No way, ask him.’

‘Okay, but-…’

‘Quick, he’s coming past. Stop him.’

Out of pure Hong Kong instinct, Trig half stood up, but instead of moving to catch the waiter as he passed by, he vibrated a hand and said ‘seh yeh.’

Looking puzzled, the Nabian adjusted direction to their table and gave a blunt force, ‘what?’

‘We’re ready to order,’ replied Trig, placing his hand on the edge of the menu, ‘but we don’t know what is good on the menu.’

‘Levki dumplings,’ the waiter replied, toneless, as if he’d recommended the same thing seventeen thousand times before.

‘Which ones are they?’

Trig scanned the columns of the menu, clearly not fast enough as the waiter planted a finger down on one of the lines of text and then clicked again on the symbol with the word confirm next to it.

‘Are they the ones with the native animal meat?’ asked Salvo, trying not to look at the eczema on the Nabian’s neck.

‘What?’

‘The menu on the window, it said the dumplings had some kind of Nabeen animal meat inside.’

The waiter closed his eyes at the butchered Nabeen and spoke without bothering to open them again. ‘You are new implants.’

‘New, yes. We arrived today. A few hours ago, actually.’

‘Terzo Collective?’

‘Err…no. Earth.’

A whistling sound came out, the waiter gradually adding a ‘shh’ effect. If he’d been human, Earth human, Trig would’ve felt insulted, but as it was from a Nabian, he only felt mildly insulted. The reflex probably showed on his face too. If the Nabian could culturally interpret that kind of thing.

‘Have you read our profile yet?’ asked the waiter, rolling up his left sleeve and scratching another eczema patch.

‘Not much of it.’

‘Then let me give you a friendly warning. Nabians have a low tolerance for basic questions. In fact, most species here share that tendency. Tread carefully.’

‘What qualifies as basic questioning?’ asked Trig, trying to ignore the dead skin snowing off the Nabian’s arm.

‘Why do you look so human? That’s the prime example. Why is your food so weird? How does your body work? That one’s for the non-humanoids. Definite suicide pill. Hmm, what else? Any sentences that begins with ‘back on Earth, we usually…’’

‘How about…why do we look so Nabian?’

The waiter stopped scratching and smiled, without teeth. ‘Bit better.’

Trig smiled back, also without teeth. At this stage, it was the safest thing to do. At least until he’d gone through the chapters on alien body language.

‘Are these dumplings okay for humans?’ asked Salvo, pointing at the picture that was now displayed on the menu.

‘No one’s ever thrown them back in my face.’

‘It doesn’t say which animal meat is inside them.’

‘Direct translation. On Nabia, we know them by their name, they’re very famous. No need to explain the ingredients.’

‘So…what is inside them?’

‘In your language: bat meat.’

‘Bat?’

‘It is a common food in our culture. Perhaps not like your version of bats, but I’m not certain. To be honest, I don’t know much about your planet.’

Salvo searched the menu with her finger, looking for a picture of the Nabian bat. Then her brain kicked in, asking itself how many human menus displayed photos of chickens or cows.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ Trig half raised his hand and lowered his head, unsure about both.

‘As long as it’s not a basic one.’

Trig coughed, three times. ‘I’m not sure…I don’t think so.’

‘Go on.’

‘It’s about Nabians and humans…our cultures.’

‘You want to know if we’re related?’

‘If possible.’

‘Hmm, technically, that is considered to be a basic question…but as business is languid tonight, I’ll bite my lips and answer it.’

‘Thank you.’

The waiter brushed off more dead skin, rolled up his sleeve. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Thank you is said at the very end of a conversation, and only when warranted. Don’t say sorry either. Nabians find these words quite aggravating. Other species, too.’

‘Err…okay.’

‘Okay is acceptable. Now, Nabians and humans. I don’t know the history in depth, it’s almost skirted over in our academies…but I can divulge the fundamentals. One condition though, do not interrupt. At any point.’

Trig and Salvo nodded, both getting the distinct feeling they were back in Primary 6 with their psychotic Religious Studies teacher.

‘Good. If you do have questions, consult the pad. And don’t ask any other Nabian about this kind of thing or you will be blanked. We are not regarded for our patience with lowers.’

There was space for more nodding, so that’s what they did. Obviously, the lowers part stuck a bit, but they neither one of them dwelt on it as it was pretty obvious what it meant, and it wasn’t good.

‘Okay. The fundamentals. Nabians were taken from your planet eons ago by ancients and resettled on Nabia. It was a traumatic move, according to records, but surmountable. Our ancestors were given resources and knowledge enough to survive and evolve and…I’m not sure how long it was exactly, but sometime later, we discovered a hidden computer with instructions on various technologies and theories. Left by the ancients, of course. They also spelled out in extremely large text WE ARE NOT GODS, which helped immeasurably. For certain, there were still religions formed, the main one, Modestism, argued that any advanced species capable of the sentence WE ARE NOT GODS had moved against its own essential goodness to the level of godhood and should be worshipped as such, but none of that ever really got a stranglehold on us. Spiritualism, for certain, that’s normal, but nothing based on a book. So, we evolved, went out into space, met the other species you see around you here, cratered a little when we saw the Terzo Collective…and then cratered even more when we found your planet. It was about a hundred years ago, I think – a long time before the Pos Pos and the portals – a vanguard scout ship flew into your system and landed on a small piece of territory called Maryland. A primitive place. It was like looking into the eyes of our ancestors. That’s what the Nabian explorer said. For certain, I’m not a generalist, there are people on Nabia who still don’t know how gravity works, anyone is capable of bare stupidity, but if you wish to understand why the Nabians you meet here are looking at you skewed, that line solves it.’

The waiter broke off, spotting another Nabian-looking customer entering the restaurant. ‘Service calls. If you want to know more, check the pad. And I repeat, avoid asking other Nabians. They are not as patient as I am.’

Before Trig could get out any of the seventy-odd questions he had about Nabian history, the waiter was halfway across the floor, swerving around the edges of the maze décor like a seasoned pro.

‘You think all of that was true?’ he asked, turning to Salvo.

‘I hope not.’

‘Because it makes us look primitive?’

‘No. I just don’t wanna eat bat.’

Trig looked at her, confused.

‘Forget it, I’m tired. Diu, you forgot to ask him about the prices.’

‘Ah, you’re right.’

‘We probably shouldn’t order until we know how to pay for it.’ She looked around the café, at the cup emerging out of the middle of the Kontolian’s table. ‘Ah, it comes directly to you. The food, look.’

Trig turned, too slow to see the actual process of delivery but understanding the point. It was all automatic. The waiter was just for show. A Nabian tradition perhaps.

‘Just like Genki Sushi. Hmm. I wonder if he ordered the bat meat.’

Putting scanning eyes back on the waiter’s stool and the surrounding area, then the entrance, Trig made an ‘ah’ sound and pulled out his pad.

‘What is it?’

‘I have a hunch about the prices.’

‘You mean it’s free?’

‘Wah, good guess. How did you know?’

‘Hope more than anything. We have no cash, no way to pay. I don’t want to end up in that security place. So it’s free.’

Trig swiped a few more times across the pad then focused intently on the text on screen, making sure it was saying exactly what he thought it said. Like Salvo, he also wanted to avoid returning to the Dah Station cop shop.

Finding [alien] gold, he put the pad in front of Salvo and kept his finger on the relevant line.

‘All goods, service and facilities are communally shared,’ Salvo read out loud, her voice rising in disbelief, ‘though a credit limit is placed on certain types e.g. Dating Centre, Alcohol, Book Centre, due to energy conservation and citizen health.’

‘Free with a credit limit for conservation reasons.’

‘Yeah…’

‘Cav must’ve loved it here.’

Salvo handed back the pad, resisting the urge to shake her head. Instead, she looked over at the Pos Pos poking some kind of cylindrical meat and muttered, ‘this whole place is insane.’

‘Beautifully insane,’ corrected Trig, trying and failing to whistle then returning to the menu for another crack. ‘What do you want to drink? Green Cynic Shoot? Drip Wine? Or a nice cold glass of Deserving Butter Water?’