Read Online Ten Sigmas & Other Unlikelihoods by Paul Melko - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Melko
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males of my race are so stupid, dumb, and ignorant. I glare at each one who refuses to give me his seat, until finally my eye catches the ship hovering over the Incline. It is abuzz with the little jet scooters each of the aliens drives, like gnats around a decayed apple.
A woman standing next to me is watching as well. “Awful busy now that they are about to leave.”
My expression must speak volumes.
“Yeah, you didn’t hear the news? The aliens are leaving, say they might be back in a few thousand years. Good riddance, I say. Take all our knowledge, give nothing in return ’cause it’s against ‘Human super-species’ tradition — whatever that is — and then motor off again. A true family race would stay a little longer, and not be so rude. It’s like when my sister-in-law . . .”
“When are they leaving?”
“Tonight. Now my sister-in-law, for instance . . .”
My mind has run through a thousand possibilities by the time I get to work, and I am firmly in denial. The woman obviously got the story all screwed up. The aliens are probably just leaving Pittsburgh, which is bad enough for me. How could they take me with them, when they have left the city I live in. But my Walkman confirms the news, and I begin to get nauseous like when I learned I was pregnant with Gabby at seventeen.
I am so broken up that my radar doesn’t pick up Sylvia until she is standing in front of my desk, asking me why I was staring off into space instead of entering the customer service response card into the database.
“I’m, uh, not feeling so well,” I say, hoping my disheveled look adds some credibility to the statement.
“You let Nick back in the house?” Sylvia asks. “He leeching of you again, ’cause . . .”
I cut her off, embarrassed by her sympathy. “No, no, stomach flu.”
Sylvia nods and picks up the stack of questionnaires. “I’m light today. You can take the day off and I’ll finish these up.”
I try to nod in the disappointed relief of an employee who was willing to risk death to make it to work, but now realizes she should spend the day recuperating.
“Okay, Sylvia, thanks,” I say, grabbing my coat. I am running by the time I reach the door.
*
I realize that it’s time for the direct approach. No more waiting for the aliens to come get me. I’ll show up there, and an alien will be leaning against the steel orifice into their ship. “It’s about time,” he’ll say.
“You’ve been waiting for me?”
“Move your ass, lady!”
I am bumped by some guy running down the street. I stumble as he disappears into the bank, and I am left to pull the shoe off my foot. The heel is broken.
“Fuck,” I say, leaning against the cool stone of the building. The morning crowd is beginning to thin.
The shoe is ruined so I take the other off. I step gingerly to the corner, to the newsstand there.
“Hey, where do I catch a bus over to the South Side?”
The withered old man looks up from an issue of Esquire . “Over there. The thirty-seven.”
“Thanks.”
“But, lady, it don’t run but till nine-o-five.”
I glance at my watch. I’ve missed it. “Damn.”
I am suddenly exhausted, and I sit on the curb. The departure time was ten o’clock. Labintine had announced that the advance craft would converge on the Mother Ship over Washington and then leave the solar system. Gone for a thousand years.
Pity rolls off my body and collects in the gutter. I’m an idiot. I live in fantasy. What a fool I’ve been acting, ranting on about the aliens and going with them. I wish that I had the last six weeks to live over again. I wish that I had my whole life to live over again.
My wallowing is disturbed by an approaching chirp, and I finally recognize it as the sound of the alien single-person scooters. I glance up and see the thing drift by, driven by a small gray alien. He is scanning the opposite side of the road, and I jump up, ready to wave my arm, telling him that I’m over here.
But I
A woman standing next to me is watching as well. “Awful busy now that they are about to leave.”
My expression must speak volumes.
“Yeah, you didn’t hear the news? The aliens are leaving, say they might be back in a few thousand years. Good riddance, I say. Take all our knowledge, give nothing in return ’cause it’s against ‘Human super-species’ tradition — whatever that is — and then motor off again. A true family race would stay a little longer, and not be so rude. It’s like when my sister-in-law . . .”
“When are they leaving?”
“Tonight. Now my sister-in-law, for instance . . .”
My mind has run through a thousand possibilities by the time I get to work, and I am firmly in denial. The woman obviously got the story all screwed up. The aliens are probably just leaving Pittsburgh, which is bad enough for me. How could they take me with them, when they have left the city I live in. But my Walkman confirms the news, and I begin to get nauseous like when I learned I was pregnant with Gabby at seventeen.
I am so broken up that my radar doesn’t pick up Sylvia until she is standing in front of my desk, asking me why I was staring off into space instead of entering the customer service response card into the database.
“I’m, uh, not feeling so well,” I say, hoping my disheveled look adds some credibility to the statement.
“You let Nick back in the house?” Sylvia asks. “He leeching of you again, ’cause . . .”
I cut her off, embarrassed by her sympathy. “No, no, stomach flu.”
Sylvia nods and picks up the stack of questionnaires. “I’m light today. You can take the day off and I’ll finish these up.”
I try to nod in the disappointed relief of an employee who was willing to risk death to make it to work, but now realizes she should spend the day recuperating.
“Okay, Sylvia, thanks,” I say, grabbing my coat. I am running by the time I reach the door.
*
I realize that it’s time for the direct approach. No more waiting for the aliens to come get me. I’ll show up there, and an alien will be leaning against the steel orifice into their ship. “It’s about time,” he’ll say.
“You’ve been waiting for me?”
“Move your ass, lady!”
I am bumped by some guy running down the street. I stumble as he disappears into the bank, and I am left to pull the shoe off my foot. The heel is broken.
“Fuck,” I say, leaning against the cool stone of the building. The morning crowd is beginning to thin.
The shoe is ruined so I take the other off. I step gingerly to the corner, to the newsstand there.
“Hey, where do I catch a bus over to the South Side?”
The withered old man looks up from an issue of Esquire . “Over there. The thirty-seven.”
“Thanks.”
“But, lady, it don’t run but till nine-o-five.”
I glance at my watch. I’ve missed it. “Damn.”
I am suddenly exhausted, and I sit on the curb. The departure time was ten o’clock. Labintine had announced that the advance craft would converge on the Mother Ship over Washington and then leave the solar system. Gone for a thousand years.
Pity rolls off my body and collects in the gutter. I’m an idiot. I live in fantasy. What a fool I’ve been acting, ranting on about the aliens and going with them. I wish that I had the last six weeks to live over again. I wish that I had my whole life to live over again.
My wallowing is disturbed by an approaching chirp, and I finally recognize it as the sound of the alien single-person scooters. I glance up and see the thing drift by, driven by a small gray alien. He is scanning the opposite side of the road, and I jump up, ready to wave my arm, telling him that I’m over here.
But I
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