Conics Unfortunately: 24

The post-presentation fair was cancelled. Tejal and I watched as a collection of tyran in black jumpsuits dismantled our stall for us, stowing thin metal poles inside thinner, neon-colored drawstring bags. A herd of saur dumped our flyers and business cards back into their shipping boxes, and then a duo of earthlings folded up the plastic table and slid it away.

We were left with a few still-crisp boxes and an empty feeling in our souls. Unbelieving, we stared at the huge, desolate hall and tried to reclaim every happy situation we had imagined for this day.

“Ellie is going to be so disappointed,” Tejal sang eventually. His voice wavered, and he hit a few wrong notes, but I knew what he meant. He rolled his chair back and forth, as if circle-swimming, before looking back at our boxes and letting out a long sigh. “No investors, no money. Now what?”

I suggested calling Ellie, and Tejal cringed.

“But we failed,” he said.

“It was not our fault. She will understand.”

Tejal shot me that pleading look that he used on Ellie whenever she mentioned money. “She will try to help, and you know it. She cannot afford that any more.”

I dropped the subject and whistled for a nearby tyran to help us with the boxes. Just because Ellie could not afford to help us right now did not mean she would leave us floundering. She knew marketing and investment like a current that led home, and it was her firm belief that Tejal and I should not be hindered by money.

“We should proceed to the witness interrogation,” I suggested. “The sooner we can meet reporters the better.”

Tejal squinted at me, still translating in his head. “Yes.” And then he swiveled his chair about, and we started for the exit.

The going was slow. Tejal was so lethargic that he looked like his chair had been weighed down by bricks, and for once I did not feel out of breath trying to keep up. We moped through the long journey out of the project fair hall, and we moped as we meandered down the too-tall, too-wide hallway beyond that. Even the convention center’s crisp, white walls, brightened by the light flooding in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, did nothing to lift our heavy mood.

The interrogation passed almost too quickly. I remember standing in line, waiting while officers from every species took down personal information, but while I know I then answered questions for a siren investigator and then had to wait for Tejal, I most distinctly recall drinking liter upon liter of water.

It was tasty water, a tad bit salty and cold with oxygen. When I offered some to Tejal, he took one gulp and spit it all out, back into the tiny paper cup. Then he muttered in an earthling language and sang what I think was supposed to be an apology. His voice went squeaky and shifted registers during one of the intervals.

“Now for the reporters,” I said. “We should salvage what coverage we got.”

Tejal nodded. “Yes.”

“It is alright,” I tried. I maneuvered to face the doors leading outside, careful to keep my tail from smacking anything. “The specifus know we beat them.”

Unable to put together the words or find his starting pitch, Tejal just scrunched his face, casting dark lines across his nose and forehead. He leaned forward so he could catch the bottom of one wheel and then spun quickly to face the doors as well. Frowning, he fingered the edge of one armrest, as though toggling Mouthbot on like he could on the chair Ellie had insisted we build before she left. The ISTS had not allowed that chair on the premises though, so we were left with only Tejal’s shaky trade siren.

“Thousands saw us present today.”

Tejal let out a little snort. “The universe has billions of people.” He kept scowling, even as I flopped to the wheelchair access button and gave it a solid slap.

“Stop looking so mad,” I suggested, as I followed him out the doors. “The public only likes just anger, and you are not justly angry.” I received an eloquent grunt in response, and then we braved the outdoors.

This particular ISTS took place on the balmy, heavy-aired planet Un. The atmosphere was so huge that, at ground surface, the weight almost felt like being underwater. ISTS, however, took place on a floating platform held up by gigantic helium balloons that kept visitors well above the heaviest gases. As I followed Tejal down the walkway connecting the convention center to the city’s central plaza, I peered down through the glass barrier, where a great sea of colorful gases swirled like ocean currents far, far beneath the platform’s metal floors.

“Look, Tejal,” I said, stopping to point.

He leaned sideways to look over the barrier, and his eyes widened just a tad.

I grinned. “Take a picture. We can send it to Ellie, and she will write a poem for us.”

Rolling his eyes, Tejal reached into the pocket on the back of his chair and pulled out his tablet. He held it up and snapped a few pictures, and then gestured for me to join him for a shot with the both of us. Ellie always seemed more upbeat after we updated her, and occasionally, if we sent her something particularly nice, she sent back recordings of herself making poetry with the metal tube.

Once Tejal stowed his tablet away again, he sighed and looked to the plaza. It was just ahead, and already, a few members of the crowd there had noticed us, but the majority were still focused on the press liaison standing on a raised platform in the plaza’s center. Skyscrapers surrounded the place on all sides, but from a far enough distance that the pink, eternal sunset still took up most of the sky.

If the crowd had not been there, I would have suggested another picture.

“We should bring Ellie here once everything settles back in your system,” I said, nudging Tejal forward. “We should all travel together again.”

He jerked, startled, and then pushed himself towards the writhing mass of people, a sad smile curling his lips and wrinkling his eyebrows. “Yes,” he sang softly. “We should.”

-A Rough Translation of Focci's Ballad