Chapter 3: Work Placement

After being awoken by his alarm and eating a quick breakfast of the strange protein bars from the cupboard, Steven got dressed and headed out of the dome-shaped house. One of the few things that he had purchased with the grant money from the UN before leaving Ganymede was a new fitted suit, as the one he had worn back when he worked for the sewage plant was long gone.

It was as prim and proper as he could manage, the sleeves of the slate-gray jacket ending just above his cuffs to expose a sliver of the white dress shirt that he wore beneath it, the pants creased and the shoes shined. According to the tailor, the fashion on Earth right now was to include some subtle embossing and reflective patterning that only revealed themselves under direct light, but that could have just been a way of squeezing more money out of him. Either way, he felt a lot fancier than he had in his pressure suit.

Regardless of whatever arrangement the UN had with the Valbaran government, he could presumably still be fired if he did a bad job, so he wanted to make the best first impression possible for his new employers. He had the address, but it was in the city center, so he would have to take a maglev line this time.

It was a short walk through the rolling hills of the residential district to reach the nearest train platform. Just like all of the houses, it was hidden from view by some clever use of trees and landscaping, practically invisible until one was standing right beside it. The magnetic rail was raised off the ground, taking a winding path through the city, the various different lines seeming to form a rough whirlpool shape on the map. They started near the wall and swept inward, terminating in the city center with several stops in each band along the way. Calling it efficient was an understatement – it seemed as though a Valbaran could be practically anywhere in the city within a half hour.

As he approached the platform, he passed by a little charging station for the two-wheeled scooters that he had seen the aliens riding the day before. It had a little glass awning to protect them from the elements, and it seemed as though they were available to anyone who wanted to use them. He was learning to recognize the phone scanners now.

The maglev platform was lifted off the ground on silts to match the height of the track, accessible via a set of stairs that were a little too small for Steven, made even more precarious by their lack of guard rails. When he reached the top, he noted that there were no chairs, either. Like the scooter dock, there was just a glass awning to protect the people below from the elements. Everything was made from white metal and carbcrete, designed using remarkably simple shapes without much decorative flair.

A dozen Valbarans turned their heads to glance at him as he reached the top, Steven pausing there for a moment, not sure how to react. Like the ones he had seen on the watercraft, they were wearing various colorful tunics and shirts, along with tight knee-length shorts in more muted tones. Despite the lack of seating, they seemed perfectly content to just stand there while they waited for the train to arrive.

He raised a hand in a sheepish greeting, then shuffled over to the back of the platform where the curving awning joined to the floor. As he observed the aliens chatting and tittering in their native language, he found that he was starting to distinguish the males from the females. The females were a little larger than the males and always more numerous, while the males had more impressive feathers with peacock eye spots. They favored clothing that revealed more of their shoulders and chests, and they tended to wear jewelry and face paint akin to makeup. There was a certain pageantry to it that made him think of tropical birds.

One group of Valbarans was sneaking glances at him, and they decided to approach him, five of them splitting off from the crowd. He straightened a little as they neared, wondering if they spoke any English. He sure as hell didn’t speak any Valbaran – nor did it seem like something he could learn.

“Hello,” one of them began, flashing him a green feather display that must be a greeting. “We don’t see many Earth’nay in Kalahar. Are you new to Val’ba’ra?”

While she used some unfamiliar terms, her English was perfect – devoid of any strange alien accent that might betray her as a non-native speaker. It wasn’t just the guy at the spaceport, then.

“Hi,” he replied as he watched them peer up at him, tilting their heads curiously with a jerky motion. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m fresh off the boat – arrived yesterday.”

“They must be housing you close by,” another of their company added in a high-pitched voice.

“They set me up in a house a short walk down that way,” he continued, gesturing back in the direction he had come. “I’m still adjusting to the new surroundings, but it’s a nice place. It’s a hell of a lot nicer than anything I had on Ganymede.”

“Ganymede?” one of them asked, rolling the unfamiliar word around in her mouth. The other four repeated the word, mimicking Steven’s accent like parrots. Was that how they learned languages – through mimicry?

“What is Ganymede?” another asked.

“It’s a moon of Jupiter,” he explained. “A colony in the Sol system. I’m human, but I’m not actually from Earth. Never been there, in fact. This is my first time living outside of a pressurized environment. I had never seen trees, oceans, or skies before yesterday.”

“An Earth’nay, but not from Earth,” one of their number mused with a flush of yellow plumage. “The Earth’nay must have spread far from their homeworld indeed.”

“What does that mean?” Steven asked. “Earth’nay? In context, I’m assuming it means Earthling?”

“The nay suffix refers to where a person is from,” one of the aliens explained. “I would be a Val’ba’ra’nay.”

“Makes sense,” he said with a nod. “I guess I would be a... Ganymede’nay? Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

The aliens tittered in amusement, responding with green plumage.

“Where are you headed?” one of them asked.

“It’s my first day at work,” he replied, not sure which alien to focus on. “I’m supposed to take the train to the city – I have an appointment at one of the offices there.”

“Have you ever ridden the maglev line before?”

“We had something similar back home, but I’ve never ridden one here.”

“You can ride with us,” another of their number added, pausing to chatter to her friends for a moment. “We’re riding the same line.”

“Oh, sure,” Steven replied. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

“You must feel very lost being in such a strange place,” one of the aliens continued. “Perhaps we can be your guides?”

The sound of the maglev approaching distracted them, an electric hum accompanying the rushing wind as it coasted to a stop at the platform. It was a small train with only three cars, the lead and trailing cars tapering into aerodynamic wedges. The doors slid open, and the aliens boarded, Steven following behind them. It didn’t seem that he needed to scan his phone this time. The inside of the train was a little more familiar, with rows of low seats designed for the Valbarans, each one sporting a little tail hole that made them look like director’s chairs.

His new friends sat down in two of the rows, each one three seats deep, so he took a seat just behind them. The chairs were so small that his butt barely fit, and he had to lift his knees to stop them from pressing into the row ahead of him. There was a subtle feeling of acceleration as the train left the platform, and it was soon coasting along at high speed. He looked out of the windows, watching the rolling blue-green hills and patches of forest flash past below. This new vantage point gave him an even better appreciation for how carefully everything was laid out. The Valbarans sure did love their planning.

Now that he was above the trees, he could see the city again, the glittering spires jutting high into the sky. There were the intimidating defense towers, along with a ring of structures that were larger than the little domed houses, but far shorter than the skyscrapers. They were longer than they were tall, curving subtly with the shape of their band.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing to them.

“That’s the industrial band,” one of the Valbarans replied as she turned in her seat to look back at him. “Each of those structures houses factories and farms.”

“Aquaponics?” he asked, remembering what Joseph had told him. If the aliens used farming techniques comparable to those favored on the Saturnian and Jovian moons, the farms would have small footprints relative to their yields, making them well-suited to being housed indoors.

“Correct,” she replied. “We cultivate various edible plants, fish, and insects for protein.”

“Insects?” he asked, sticking out his tongue. He should have guessed from their sharp little teeth. “How do you eat insects?”

“You don’t like them?” one of her friends replied with an amused feather display. “They are usually processed into bar form.”

“Like ... about this big?” Steven asked, feeling his stomach start to turn as he held out two fingers to demonstrate. “Kind of off-yellow, wrapped in shiny foil?”

“I believe you may have eaten some insect protein bars,” the Valbaran replied, her friends chirping with alien laughter. “You didn’t mind the taste, I take it?”

“I think he is only concerned about where they came from,” another added.

“You didn’t farm insects for food on Ganymede?” one of her friends pressed. “They are very efficient relative to the space and resources that they require.”

“No, a lot of the meat that we ate was synthetic,” he explained. “It’s grown from animal donor cells in vats.”

“You find that preferable to fresh insects?” the Valbaran replied with a flash of yellow feathers that might indicate surprise or disbelief. “Doesn’t sound very palatable to me.”

“I suppose you get used to it when you grow up eating it,” he explained with a shrug. “Do you not eat red meat at all here?”

“Oh, we do,” one of the aliens replied. “We hunt seasonally – when the Gue’tra herds are at their largest and need to be culled.”

“I see, so it’s a sustainability thing?”

“Their populations must be carefully managed to ensure that their herds don’t grow too large and cause damage to the ecosystem. There are usually more than the Teth’rak population can hunt on their own.”

If he stopped the aliens to ask them what every unfamiliar term meant, they’d be here all day, so he elected to move on to another subject.

“So,” he began as the train sped past a shimmering lake. “If I wanted to buy other kinds of food that weren’t made from bugs, I would go to...”

“A store,” one of the Valbarans chirped, finishing his sentence. “Boy, you really are fresh, aren’t you?”

It was a strange comment for a non-native speaker to make, and she even said it in a different accent, as though she had heard another human say it and was reciting it from memory. Curious.

“Here,” one of them said as she hopped out of her chair, walking over to him with her bobbing gait. He shuffled over to give her some room, and she sat down beside him, her scaly head barely rising to his shoulder. “Open up your map for me.”

Steven produced his phone, and after watching him navigate to the right app, she seemed to figure out how it functioned. It couldn’t be very different from whatever device she used if his phone was compatible with all of their scanners. When he handed it off to her, she used her three-fingered hand to center the view on one of the inner rings near the city center. She lifted her black claws to avoid scratching the screen in the same way he had seen women with fake nails type on their phones.

“These color-coded icons are stores and restaurants,” she explained, leaning over to show him. “Though, your device does a rather poor job of reproducing the color spectrum. This one is amethyst, but it’s supposed to be fuchsia.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he replied as she returned it to him. “Thanks for the help. So, concerning the purchasing of said food...”

“Just scan your device over the reader, and your account will be charged,” she replied with another flutter of amused yellow. “Did you not get any kind of briefing before you arrived?”

“They gave me a twelve-hundred-page document when I went through customs, but I’m not much of a reader.”

She turned to her friends for a moment, chattering in her native language, their rapid-fire communication culminating in a few flashes of green feathers.

“Let me give you our contact info,” she added, reaching over to snatch his phone and typing in a few values. “We can stay in touch.”

“It might be helpful to have a flock you know living nearby,” another of them said.

“Yeah, thanks,” he mumbled as his phone was returned. Was this what Joseph had meant when he’d warned that Steven would get more attention than he was used to? He figured that if an alien showed up in Memphis, people would want to talk to them, too.

“Tell us what Ganymede is like,” one of the Valbarans began. “Is it airless? Do you live in space stations?”

“We live in tunnels beneath the surface,” he explained, the five little aliens listening attentively. “It’s a moon with functionally no atmosphere that orbits a large gas giant in our home system. There’s a layer of ice almost a thousand kilometers thick that floats on a subsurface ocean, and at such low temperatures, that ice is practically as hard as bedrock. We excavate tunnels, then fill them with pressurized habs and insulating foam.”

“That sounds like our gas giant,” one of the aliens said. “There are bases on its moon where we mine helium, though nobody lives there long-term.”

“You live underground?” one of them marveled, her feathers flashing yellow. That must be surprise again. The color-coding might not be all that hard to learn with a little practice.

“There are glass domes on the surface,” he continued. “They’re pressurized, and you can get a view of the sky such as it is, but they’ve become very overcrowded. Most people live in the warrens beneath them now. There are a lot of illegal tunnels and settlements.”

“Overcrowded?” one of the aliens asked, tilting her head like a curious dog. “Why would the inhabitants produce more offspring than the dome could support? That does not make any sense.”

“Is there no regulatory body to control such things?” another suggested.

“Such a dome would have very finite space and resources,” the alien sitting beside him added. “There would need to be careful municipal planning.”

“There probably was at some point,” Steven said with a shrug. “The domes are hundreds of years old, and people have lived there for generations. Humans reproduce quickly and exponentially.”

“They are still making a choice to reproduce,” she replied.

“I guess it’s just a cultural difference,” Steven admitted. “Does that imply Valbarans need a permit to have babies or something?”

“Our cities have finite space and agricultural output,” one of them replied. “There is trade between cities, so economic deficiencies can be rectified, but the population is managed to prevent it from exceeding certain thresholds.”

“There is an application process to qualify for a baby,” another added. Steven wasn’t really having a conversation with just one of them – they all seemed to chime in whenever it suited them. “Though, rejections are rare, and it’s not uncommon to move to a different city that has a population deficit to improve your chances.”

“Some flocks are moving to Ker’gue’la these days,” one of her friends said, turning to her. “The Ker’gue’la’nay are encouraged to have as many children as possible. It’s part of the recolonization effort.”

“Aren’t there still live Bugs on that colony?” her friend replied with a flash of purple plumage.

“I heard that the Coalition is keeping them alive for training purposes,” another added with a flush of crimson. “Target practice.”

“Still, not the safest place to raise a child.”

Steven peered out of the windows as the train passed between two of the factories in the industrial band – or maybe they were farms. They looked somewhat like tower blocks to him, a little shorter than the wall and quite thin when seen from the side, but they were long enough to curve with the shape of the city. Like all the other structures, they were made from pale carbcrete, their facades covered in rows of windows that gave a better idea of their immense scale. Next were more gardens and forests, then they began to approach the city center.

The skyscrapers rose up ahead of the train, each one a work of art in its own right, made of reflective glass, silver metal, and white carbcrete. It was like every architect had been trying to outdo their neighbors. Some had curving shapes with organic undertones, flowing and spiraling into the sky like glass corkscrews, not a single straight line or flat surface breaking up their silhouettes. Others had open cavities running all the way through them, making them look like giant strands of DNA, the holes filled with helical wind turbines that turned lazily. One common feature was the balconies that jutted from their facades, many of them overflowing with plant life, yet more clearly acting as landing pads for aircraft. There was life everywhere, even in the cramped streets below, every road lined with a canopy of trees and every building carpeted in flowering vines.

“What do you think?” one of the Valbarans asked with an amused titter, noting the amazed look on his face. “Do they have skyscrapers like this on Ganymede?”

“Not even close,” he replied, craning his neck to get a view of the towering spires. He’d heard that the skyscrapers on Earth were larger, sometimes several kilometers tall, but that didn’t take away from the impressive sight.

The train began to slow, coasting to a smooth stop at a platform identical to the one they had left. The doors slid open, and everyone disembarked, making room for a new group of passengers who quickly took their place. Steven glanced up past the glass awning that curved above his head, seeing the impossibly high structures boxing him in on all sides. He was used to looking up and seeing Jupiter, which was about the largest object it was possible to witness without destroying your retinas, but something about their proximity made his head spin. These weren’t abstract concepts that he could never touch – they were real and grounded, all of their weight bearing down on the same ground that he was standing on.

He stumbled, feeling a pair of scaly hands reach out to grab him.

“Are you alright?” the Valbaran asked, her feathers flushing purple. Could that be worry or concern?

“Just a little overwhelmed, I guess,” he replied with a shaky chuckle.

“Come over here and lock your legs for a moment,” another of the aliens said, taking his other arm as they guided him to the back of the platform. He wasn’t sure what they meant by that, and they seemed confused when he sat down, hovering nearby as they watched with violet plumage.

“Thanks,” he said after a couple of minutes, one of them helping him to his feet. They were surprisingly strong for their size. “I’ll be alright in a bit. The same thing happened the first time I stepped off the shuttle. I never got your names, by the way,” he added. “Mine is Steven Zheng.”

“Qimi’tla’tolli,” one of them replied, the rest ringing off in sequence.

“Tlaso’kam’queh.”

“Kema’tat’onca.”

“Nawa’sin’ismi.”

“Tikol’taz’ati.”

He gave them a blank stare for a moment, then one of them began to laugh.

“He is Earth’nay – he won’t remember,” the one who called herself Nawa snickered. “They are a forgetful species.”

“I have an idea,” Kema said as her feathers flashed green. “Take pictures of us on your phone, and I will caption them. You can look at them if you need to remember. Qimi – you write Earth’nay script, right?”

“There are only twenty-six characters in their alphabet,” the Valbaran in question replied, as though it should be obvious.

Steven did as they asked, the aliens posing for him, then he passed the device off to Qimi so that she could caption the picture.

“There you go,” she chimed as she handed the phone back to him.

“We should get to work,” Kema said, rallying her friends with a flash of feathers from her arm. “See you later, Steven.”

“See you around,” he replied, giving them a wave. They headed down the steps, the gaggle of aliens chatting and snickering in their native language, one of them glancing back at him. Steven swiped past the captioned photo, then pulled up his map, inputting the location that the UN had given for his office building. It wasn’t too far of a walk – these train platforms were very convenient. He’d have to remember to visit one of the convenience stores after work if he wanted to avoid eating beetle bars again.

He held out his arms for balance as he walked down the precarious steps, finding himself at street level. There was a row of cultivated palm trees that ran down the length of the road, providing a little shade from the sun, and there were two lanes. Instead of cars, the Valbarans were riding scooters in small groups, moving like flocks of birds or shoals of fish. Pedestrians seemed to stick to the sidewalks, so he did the same, standing head and shoulders above the throngs of smaller aliens. He was very out of place and very visible, resulting in a lot of lingering stares and turned heads that made him feel like he was some kind of celebrity. He wasn’t sure whether it was boosting his confidence or just making him feel exposed.

For being such a large city, it was far less populated than Ganymede. Back in Memphis, you were rubbing shoulders wherever you went, be it in the warrens or the dome. There was a constant ocean of people packed together like sardines. In Kalahar, there was enough space that he could simply navigate around the little groups of aliens. Even now, he kept having to remind himself that there were no pressure doors, silencing the nagging voice in his head that insisted something was awry. It almost felt like the world had been turned inside out.

After a couple of minutes of walking, he found himself in front of the office building, double-checking his phone again to be certain that he was in the right place. There were no instructions – no information about which floor he might be headed to. He craned his neck to look up at the skyscraper, seeing it rise up like a sheer cliff face, a few balconies jutting out here and there. It could be right at the top for all he knew.

All he could really do was head inside and announce himself, so he passed through the automatic doors and stepped into a vast lobby. For a people so concerned with efficiency, it seemed like an enormous waste of space, large enough that a small village of habs could have comfortably sat inside it. In its center was a massive artificial waterfall made of rugged stone, ferns and alien plants clinging to its crevices, a stream of water cascading down its face into a pool at the bottom that was filled with floating weeds. It rose maybe five or six stories before stopping just short of the arched ceiling.

On the right was a row of doors that probably led to elevators, and on the left was a long counter staffed by half a dozen male Valbarans who were sitting behind holographic displays. Assuming that they were secretaries or greeters, he walked over to them, his echoing footsteps joining the sound of the rushing water splashing down the rocks. The aliens watched him curiously as he approached, Steven towering over them.

“Hi,” he began, singling one of them out and hoping that he spoke English. “I’m supposed to be starting a new job in this building today, but I’m not sure where to go.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the alien chirped. There was a little gemstone hanging from a gilded chain around his forehead that dangled as he spoke, his eyes framed with paint that matched the jewel’s dark red color.

“Yeah,” Steven replied, pulling up his phone and reading off the information that the UN had given him.

“The values that you were given refer to a floor and an office,” the secretary explained after taking a brief look at the device. “Office complexes are split into sections that usually occupy several floors of the building.”

“Oh, so this isn’t a floor number?” Steven asked as he examined the value. “I figured the building probably didn’t have that many.”

“The first digit is the office, and the second is the floor.”

“Right!” Steven replied, feeling a little embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to figure that out for himself. “No, that makes sense. So, how do I...”

“Simply enter the corresponding values from the control panel in one of the elevators,” the alien replied. “There are accessibility features for aliens and the visually impaired. I will inform your employers that you’re on your way.”

“Great, thanks for the help!” Steven said before making his way back across the lobby.

The elevators were familiar enough, a touch panel opening the doors and letting him inside. He turned to examine the controls, finding a bunch of colorful squiggles that meant nothing to him. Valbaran text was complex and looping, the color apparently holding some meaning. Maybe it was tonal or served as punctuation. There were a couple of tiles that were separated from the rest, and one of them had a seemingly random Latin character, so he pressed that one and the menu changed to English. He entered the values, wondering what he would have done if he only spoke Mandarin. English was the language of trade and business in UN space – a Lingua Franca – and it was uncommon to find humans who didn’t speak at least enough to get by. With so many cultures and nationalities scattered across the cosmos, it was inevitable that one language would rise to the top. The same seemed to be true for the wider Coalition.

The elevator began to rise, the smooth acceleration leading him to believe that it might be magnetic like the trains. The metal box around him suddenly began to flicker, Steven reaching out to steady himself against the nearest wall as the elevator melted away, replaced with a view from the exterior of the building. It was like he was flying up the side of the skyscraper in a tiny glass bubble, his stomach lurching as he looked down to see the street diminishing hundreds of meters below him, the innumerable windows and protruding balconies of the adjacent building flashing past behind him.

It slid to a stop, and the doors opened to disgorge its terrified passenger, Steven reaching for the wall of the corridor as he stumbled out. He turned to watch the inside of the elevator become solid again shortly before the doors sealed shut. It must be a camera feed being projected on the interior surfaces – maybe monitors or holograms. Either the Valbarans had no fear of heights, or they were adrenaline junkies. That had been like clinging to the outer hull of a cargo lander on its way back up to orbit.

He collected himself and straightened his silver tie, taking in his new surroundings. He was standing in a hallway that looked relatively normal, all colored in the same off-whites he was becoming accustomed to, light strips that emitted a soft glow approximating sunlight lining the ceiling. Presuming that he was on the right floor, he began to walk, noting some Valbaran text that was drawn on the wall. He passed some planters filled with ferns, then stopped as one of the doors ahead of him slid open, a Valbaran poking their head out into the corridor.

It was a male, identifiable by his impressive feathers, the eye spots on his unwieldy headdress shimmering as they erupted into a display of yellow.

“Earth’nay!” he called, extending the feathers on his arm and gesturing to get Steven’s attention. “This way, please!”

Steven hurried over, following the alien into something that looked like a smaller version of the downstairs lobby. There was a single seat behind the curving counter, and instead of the six-story waterfall, there was a tasteful rock wall behind it. A gentle trickle of water cascaded down its face, making the leaves of a few clinging ferns wobble.

Steven looked down at the stranger, making a mental note of the alien’s appearance. Like every other male, his forehead was adorned with a kind of thin tiara, a few colorful gemstones hanging from fine chains above his brow. His violet eyes were made all the more striking by the dark blue paint or makeup that encircled them, making Steven think of ancient Egyptian eyeliner or something of the sort. His scales were so shiny that they almost looked wet under the office lights, as though they had been waxed or buffed, their tone a rich green that tapered into a beige on his underside. A low-cut tunic in turquoise exposed his shoulders and some of his chest, its open collar lined with little golden threads, and he wore a pair of black shorts that looked uncomfortably tight on him.