Worlds War One

xxvi [Treyvon]

Trey remembered a conversation he'd had with his father when he was maybe ten or twelve. He had watched some science fiction movie at a friend's house. After he'd gotten home, he'd asked Reverend Fox if there was any such thing as martians.

"Science fiction, Treyvon," his father had boomed in that bombastic voice. "I find it difficult to reconcile that the chronicle of all Creation from the Book of Genesis would overlook such an important detail as alien life. It seems unlikely fish and birds and livestock and wild animals deserved specific mention, but the Almighty completely ignored intelligent beings on other planets."

That made sense.

This made no sense.

"E.T.?" Quest questioned.

Saanvi sipped at the clump of cloud floating on the flat saucer with the teacup handle. "Are we going to suffer comical disbelief every time we encounter a new facet of the Wider World, Private Ramírez?" she asked. "Let me know now so that I may schedule frequent bathroom breaks while you acclimate and I can avoid the irritating wide-eyed wonder."

"I'm sorry not all of us grew up with Angels for best friends and birthday parties reminiscent of the cantina scene in Star Wars," Quest quipped. "You told us there are aliens among us."

Drill appeared ready to pass out or bolt through the door and run home.

"Greg," Saanvi called out. An alien host, dressed well enough to attend a Hollywood premiere, approached. "My friends here have never met an E.T. I think they're worried you bite."

The alien smiled, an entirely regular expression. Greg's teeth seemed laid sideways, wider than long, like white subway tiles. Eyes completely white and overly large nevertheless appeared friendly. His sheen presented as slightly green, like maybe he suffered seasickness. He wore fluorescent orange tennis shoes.

"We don't eat Humans," Greg assured them. "At least, not on Sundays. It is Sunday, isn't it?"

"It's Tuesday, Greg," Saanvi said, playing along.

"Tuesday?" Greg answered, looking concerned for their welfare. "Well then, I hope none of you are Magi. Magi are on the menu on Tuesdays."

Greg moved on, attending to other tables as Saanvi smirked. Quest was irked.

"It's unnecessary to offend my troops by taunting them, Princess Saanvi," Lieutenant Robinson scolded. "They are merely processing new and fascinating information."

"Simply having some fun, Badia," Saanvi said with a smile. "I wanted to show you that aliens are no different than we are. Greg has a wonderful sense of humor."

Trey thought about the group of white kids who had visited his father's church when he was very young. They'd come in from the Midwest, traveling to bring awareness to one cause or another. They'd asked Reverend Fox if they could speak to his congregation, and he had agreed. Trey remembered staring at those white faces among all the black parishioners and how different they'd seemed. How alien. Separate customs. Different experiences. Auspicious privileges. Societal advantages. They'd been like people from another planet. But not so different from Trey than Greg was.

"Where did they come from?" Ji asked.

"Greg's race of E.T.s are from the planet Uvaalaa," Saanvi explained. By her tone, she considered Uvaalaa no more exotic than Tulsa or Tucson. The Misfits all blinked like this was the most incomprehensible thing they'd come across thus far in the Wider World. "Originally, we all come from the same place. The aliens originated with every other Earthly tribe. They've just traveled the stars as nomadic peoples. They're not called other-terrestrials—they are Extra-Terrestrials. They have more worlds than only this one to claim as home."

Wider World. Other worlds. Unseen worlds. Underworlds. Trey's mind whirled.

"What are we doing here, Princess?" Callie asked, seemingly already over the childlike awe that irritated Saanvi. "Why are we having drinks when we're supposed to be saving the world? The worlds? The Wider World?"

"We're here to see a lady about an escort," Saanvi said.

Trey thought this place looked like a brothel. Now Saanvi admitted they were here to find an escort. Trey felt dirty. The Wider World seemed no less seedy than the sinful state of the way he had always thought things were.

"Beelzebub's beard," Saanvi cursed, noting a trio of new customers entering the pub. "Now we have trouble."

The three newcomers had all dressed alike, matching a few of the other patrons in the pub—black tuxedo, white tie, black top hat, white pleat shirt, black shoes, diamond cuff links. They were all three blonde and white, with the demeanor of gods. They were putting on airs like some people put on perfume. Indeed, they were members of a privileged class that deemed places like this far below their societal stature. Trey immediately disliked them. The resemblance was strong—surely, they were siblings. Triplets, he guessed, by the way they walked in eerie tandem.

Saanvi scowled as the tuxedoed trio approached their table.

"Princess Saanvi," sniffed snooty stranger number one. "I believe we told you to stay out of Takama-ga-hara."

"The Lost City does not discriminate based on tribe, Elena," Saanvi said. "And obviously, not based on couth, either."

"We don't have a problem with your kind, Demon," sneered the male member of the triplets. "But we don't want you here, Princess. Causing trouble."

"I didn't bring the trouble, Hristos. Neither last time nor this time."

"But trouble follows you, your highness, like famine follows feast," stated the last member of the troupe.

"Trouble is coming whether I stayed away or not, Argyro," Saanvi said. "Johnny Rotten has opened the gates of She'ol. He has attacked the Wider World."

"We understand it was an isolated incident," Argyro sniffed, tilting her top hat back on her blonde head. "Yet you risk provocation based upon the supposition of further incursion."

"And you would turn a blind eye to a fight," Saanvi snapped. "That sounds like the Papadopoulos way of doing things."

"You will not besmirch our family name, Demon," Elena Papadopoulos declared, wagging her finger in Saanvi's face.

"Is that the same finger I chopped off the last time, Elena?" Saanvi asked. "I see you've grown a new one. I hear that can be very painful."

Elena lunged, and Hristos interceded. "Go back to where you came from, Princess," the brother interjected.

"I'm going through, not going back. Unlike a pampered Papadopoulos, I won't ignore a threat because of the possibility of losing," Saanvi sassed. "Which, if I remember right, I don't lose. Ever. Remember? Or can't you put your finger on it?"

This time, when Elena attacked, Hristos joined her.

It was Trey's first bar fight.