+++

The floor of Zinc Burger was deserted

But the queue for Corleone Burgers remained endless.

Trig put the fry pan down and

took the next order.

It was an Asaaaaaaaa

An Asaaaaaa

Asaaaaaaa

The one he couldn’t pronounce, but it was okay cos the guy said his name was Gaz and could he have four Corleone Burgers.

Four?

One for me, one for my Kontolian friend.

That’s two.

And three black coffees.

Trig looked down the line and absorbed a thousand alien props, all trying not to stare back at him, and he felt the fry pan back in his hand getting heavier and heavier and

when he looked back at the work floor again, he saw Salvo trying to untie her apron belt and Jemba dancing with coffees in both hands like glowsticks and a man in a Pure Nabian t-shirt spitting on unwrapped burgers and

‘Two Kontolian coffees, fresh from the replicator.’

‘No,’ said Trig, arm at breaking point yet still unable to drop the fry pan, ‘three coffees, he wanted three.’

‘Come on, eyes open, people,’ Jemba repeated, and this time there was a sense of touch along with it, but…his arms…they were too far away, too distant to-

~~~

Trig didn’t open his eyes, his eyelids had already done that for him, but he did finally become aware that he was awake and blinking, and that there was a room either formed or putting the finishing touches to forming around him.

It wasn’t Zinc Burger.

There was no queue of aliens waiting to order.

‘Are you always this energetic?’

Trig looked up and left, clarifying the image of Jemba looming over the bunk with two, green flasks in his hands.

‘Ah, finally, some head movement. For a second there, I thought you were trapped in one of those visceral coma dreams.’

‘Did you just…come through the door?’

‘Weird question. Yes, I came through the door. And no, before you panic and call me a pervert, I can’t do it whenever I like, only when it’s permitted by scheduling arrangements.’

Trig closed his eyes again and yawned deep.

‘Basha, you’re still tired…’

‘What time is it?’

‘Past getting up time, which is why I’m holding these delicious Kontolian coffees.’ Jemba looked at both flasks, checking that they were still there, then down at the bunk. ‘You didn’t have to lie about being a team, by the way. Though it is a bit weird that you put your clothes back on afterwards.’

‘What?’

‘Ah, she’s waking up too. Good, we’re due at the Choose Your Mission Centre in twenty-five minutes. Don’t wanna keep them waiting.’

Trig felt something nudge his thigh and turned right. What he thought had been a rolled-up blanket was actually a rolled-up blanket with Salvo buried underneath.

‘Wah, I’m still here,’ she said, throwing part of the blanket off and looking around.

‘You slept on my bunk?’ asked Trig.

‘Who?’

‘And you took all the blanket.’

Salvo sat up and rubbed her eyes, at the same time conducting a more detailed inventory of the dorm surroundings. Straight away she could see it was identical to the night before. Same bunks, same panoramic window with the Neptune-like planet outside. Which meant the lucid dream theory was out. But beyond all that, what was she still doing on Trig’s bunk? Had she been there the whole night?

She was too close to a dream-like state to think of a credible excuse, so she went with ‘the beam hit me too’ and prayed mentally that her acting was semi-believable.

‘The beam,’ said Trig, nodding in agreement. ‘I vaguely remember pressing the button but-’

‘It hit us both,’ Salvo lied, rubbing her head as if it had just happened.

‘You remember?’

‘Yes. Vaguely.’

Jemba made a cackling sound, a new kind of laugh he hadn’t used the previous day. ‘The beam does one at a time. And it’s one bunk, one beam.’

‘Err…not this one,’ said Salvo, getting off the bunk and crossing the floor so her back would be turned to the interrogation.

‘No need to be coy, it’s as common as asteroid belts. You felt lonely on your bunk so you cuddled up to your friend. Of course, it’s usually a comfort hologram who gets cuddled, but in your case, you could skip that weirdness.’

Salvo muttered, ‘too tired for this’ and vanished into the bathroom.

Jemba moved to the main door and leaned against it, clearly not worried that someone would open it suddenly from the other side.

‘What’s in the flask?’ asked Trig, for some reason tilting his head and trying to read text that didn’t exist on the side.

‘Kontolian Coffee. It’ll help you get rid of the fog a little.’

‘Fog?’

‘Exactly. After drinking this, you won’t be asking such obvious clarifications. Speaking of that, how much do you remember? From yesterday, I mean.’

Trig straightened out the legs of his meditation pants and glanced over at the window. Napla’a was dominant, covering the whole middle section. ‘Most of it, I think.’

‘Quick test. What is the name of this station?’

‘Dah Station 7.’

‘Name five alien species.’

‘Err…Kontolian. The green fur one…Trv?’

‘That’s two.’

‘Can I include the human ones?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, then Nabian, Terzo Collective…ah, the Pos Pos.’

‘Well done, all correct. I’m supposed to ask Salvo, too, but let’s just pretend we did that and she got them all correct, okay?’

‘That’s lucky for her.’

‘Now, technically, you don’t need to change clothes, there are no strict formalities here, but I would suggest separating your bunk outfit and your station attire. Makes it easier for the mind to compartmentalise.’

Trig nodded, looking over at the bathroom. Right on cue, Salvo came out, dressed in an over-sized DS7 sweater and something similar to cargo pants. Her face was frowning, as if she didn’t understand what she’d put on.

‘You want a sip of Kontolian coffee?’ asked Jemba, holding up one of the flasks.

‘I can’t find any toothbrushes,’ she replied, pulling up her sleeves.

‘Ah, didn’t I tell you that yesterday? There’s a machine next to the mirror that does that. Looks like a scanner.’

Salvo turned and went back into the bathroom, and after a few seconds, emitted an ‘ahh’ of success.

‘Okay, now in non-query, slightly aggressive form…drink some of this Kontolian coffee, kumamayo.’

‘Kuma what?’

‘Means it’s good. Come on, a quick sip.’

Trig got up and walked over to the coffee salesman, taking a sniff of the flask in his left hand. The top was sealed so he looked a bit silly but, even so, he could still detect a strong aroma coming from within.

‘It’s similar to Indonesian coffee,’ said Jemba, offering him the flask, ‘if you’re looking for an Earth analogue.’

Trig took it and, after eventually figuring out how to flick open the lid, took the tiniest of sips.

‘Pretty strong,’ he said, almost coughing.

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any cigarettes too?’

‘Nicotine? No. But if you’re feeling withdrawal symptoms, we do have a machine that can fix that for you.’

‘Fix it?’

‘I don’t know the technical words, but it basically alters the cells that cause you to miss the nicotine.’

‘Diu…’

‘It’s on the ground floor, I’ll take you there later. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.’

Trig blew out some stored-up breath and repeated the word ‘fuck’ [in Cantonese].

‘Not too bad, is it? Living on an alien space station.’

Shaking his head in disbelief, Trig tried a little more Kontolian coffee and then a little more and then gulped down a quarter of it. ‘What are we doing today?’

‘You don’t remember?’

‘Not really. Training?’

‘Choose Your Mission Centre. Training comes next week, when you’re sure where you’re going.’

‘Didn’t we already choose our mission?’

‘Not officially. And not with finality either. Mostly because you don’t know a thing about anything yet. That’s what the Centre is for, to give you data on each portal world and help you make the best possible decision.’

‘Err…okay.’

‘Don’t worry, your first choice is still an option. But let’s make sure you know a little bit about it first. Understood?’

Trig answered by drinking more Kontolian coffee.

‘Weird technology,’ said Salvo, exiting the bathroom with her fingers prodding her teeth. ‘You should try it Trig. Feels like each tooth is in an air pocket.’

‘In a minute.’

She nodded and walked over to Jemba, taking the other flask on autopilot. Some provincial part of her brain dealt with the lid as the capital concentrated on the view set up past the window.

Napla’a in full bloom, its violent atmospheric spasms a little less terrifying than the previous night. The space around it too, the stars, not that different from a night sky in Sai Kung.

‘Trig, you go get ready, then we’ll leave.’

‘Can you hold my coffee a sec?’

Jemba held out his hand, taking the flask back while Trig took off his shirt and threw it on Salvo’s bunk. Before she could complain, he was already in the bathroom with the door closed.

Salvo sipped some more of her Kontolian Coffee, wincing a little at the taste.

‘So…what are we doing today?’

~~~

In accordance with Dah Station 7 policy re: inter-species compromise, the Choose Your Mission Centre was located on the ground floor, where it could be accessed equally and fairly by any and all residents.

No discrimination, no hideouts, as the official pamphlet boasted.

The problem was that ‘easily accessible facilities’ also meant insane, chaotic foot traffic. Or alien feet-equivalent traffic. And that in turn led to scenes like the one from the previous day, when an impromptu crowd had forced Jemba to divert the three of them into the questionable sanctuary of the Trivial Security Office.

A situation that no one wanted to repeat.

Yet, due to either good fortune or skilled pre-planning on Jemba’s part, the route they took to get there was relatively anti-climactic. A pod ride with one stone-faced Trv over to the ground floor [Outer Ring], a stroll down a well-lit side alley and an unobstructed stepping out onto the Inner Ring Concourse.

Naturally, there were still various exotic aliens scurrying and rolling and sliding about, as well as Eek-Eeesh lashing along the sides of the walls, but it seemed much easier to predict their lanes and avoid them this time.

Salvo, in particular, seemed to be vastly more relaxed, her eyes scanning each structure they passed and reading out loud the sign above it.

‘Learn Trv Station,’ she said, pointing so subtly with her Kontolian coffee flask that Trig almost didn’t notice. ‘Let’s not go in that one.’

‘Agreed.’

‘That one over there. Upwards Health Centre. Is that some kind of clinic?’

‘I would guess so.’

‘Why is the name so weird?’

Jemba stopped abruptly in front of them, forcing them to stop too. He looked around first, as if checking for spies, and then started in on a spiel about the difficulties of multi-alien medicine.

Most of it went over Trig and Salvo’s head, but there was one line that caught their attention: The best doctors are Asaaaaa.

Almost on cue, an Asaaaaa came out of the Upwards Health Centre, with two human-looking nurses wheeling a metallic scoop/basket a few feet behind. They didn’t look especially like a doctor – no scrubs, no stethoscope – though there was something not unlike a sleeping bag wrapped around the upper part of their lattice-frame body.

The Asaaaaa turned to the scoop/basket and lifted up a cover. It was hard to see exactly what was inside, but Trig thought he glimpsed the atom stalk of a Canni Tut, so he asked Jemba if his superior, holographic eyesight could confirm or not.

‘Correct.’

‘Is it dead?’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s a Canni Tut, one of the most resilient species on the station.’

‘Then why is it covered up like that?’

‘Because it’s a Canni Tut.’

Trig looked at Salvo, who had edged a few feet to the right, probably trying to get a better view. Shifting back, he took a sip from his flask. ‘You know we just arrived here yesterday.’

‘Basha. I know, that’s why I’m being so patient. Look, Canni Tut may seem aggressive and fearless, but they hate to look weak. Wheeling them out when they’re sick and parading them on the main concourse…honestly, would probably break them.’

‘But…everyone knows they’re in the basket…right?’

Jemba shook his head. ‘You should read the pad, the section on alien rituals. That’ll clear it up.’

‘The pad again. Okay.’

‘Don’t be so dismissive.’ Jemba patted the pockets of Trig’s jacket, which was the same one he’d worn the day before. ‘The pad is your bible, your dictionary. Source of everything you need to know so you don’t have to ask me all the time.’

‘Okay, I understand. The pad.’

Salvo turned her head back, distracting herself just enough to get whacked on the arm by another Canni Tut rolling by. Fucking watch it seemed like it was on her lips, but the frenzy whizzing around sucked up her attacker fast and she clearly didn’t want to insult a random alien, so she rubbed her non-wound and walked back over to Jemba.

‘Is your arm okay?’

‘Bruised, maybe.’

‘Gotta stick to the sides if you’re gonna stay stationary,’ said Jemba, his eyes pursuing the medical scoop/basket.

Salvo grumbled a bit then latched onto his line of sight. ‘Why is the Asaaaaaaa going with it?’

‘Asaaaaa,’ corrected Jemba. ‘Or doctor if that’s any easier.’

‘Shouldn’t they stay in the Health Centre?’

‘As I was saying a few minutes ago, Asaaaaa make very fine doctors.’

‘Yeah, okay, but why is it going with the basket?’

‘I’m getting to that. Patience.’

‘Sorry.’

‘See, Asaaaaa are the one alien species that never seem to lose their temper,’ he started, pulling a face that implied that wasn’t entirely true. ‘On duty, they’re like planks of wood. Insult them, swing for them, no reaction at all. And I assure you they’re getting some pretty wild insults from that Canni Tut right about now.’

Salvo looked over towards the scoop, which was now passing Bar Trauma, but it was too far and too noisy to hear anything. Incredibly noisy, in fact. There must’ve been forty aliens outside the bar entrance alone. Almost none of them humanoid. Some of them looking over at her.

The flask appeared in front of her face, guided there by her own hand. She took a sip, mentally centring the coffee flowing down her throat.

‘The one we met yesterday did seem quite calm,’ said Trig, sipping his own Kontolian brand.

‘You mean the Enrolment Centre one?’ asked Jemba.

‘…they didn’t raise their voice at all. Actually, I thought it was just language differences, that I just couldn’t detect the tone, but-’

‘Yeah, that’s the one heat box for them. Newbies asking basic questions. That’s why I ran over there to stop Salvo hassling them so much.’

‘I wasn’t hassling them.’

‘But compared to the rest of us, they’re like monks. Particularly the doctors. Hey, look, speaking of Enrolment Centres, there it is.’ Jemba pointed forward, almost clipping an Asaaaaa passing by. ‘Sorry,’ he added quickly, ‘I didn’t see you there.’

‘Don’t worry, they’re like monks,’ said Salvo, deadpan, her back now turned to Bar Trauma.

‘Ha, funny. Now, guess what’s next to the Enrolment Centre. I’ll give you a clue, it begins with Choose Your Mish.’