Fripiodian Inc. ~Allison Solano

Chrysanthemum did not care for the little yellow man in the white room.

Admittedly, she cared for few things, but the little yellow man with gargantuan eyebrows was working his way into her top five dislikes. It did not help that he called her by her full first name, number three on her list (Right above pompous professors and unwanted hugs, but right below her best friend Shelia’s boyfriend and, worst of all, raisins.).

“Chrysanthemum­-” the little yellow man began, his eyebrows bobbing on each syllable.

“Chris,” Chrysanthemum­ corrected.

“Yes of course. Chrysanthemum­ we are offering you a job few have dared dreamt of, let alone been offered. The chance,” He paused for effect and his eyebrows stilled. “The chance to explore the universe itself, free of charge! You only need document what you see.”

“I don’t write.”

“Yes, we know. We know much about you Chrysanthemum­.”

“Chris.”

“Right. Our civilization had advanced beyond,” He scrunched up his face distastefully and his eyebrows curled to match. “Writing. We will instead input microscopic data receivers into your retinas, inner ear and select parts of your brain where we will also inject a universal translator. Quite pricey, but well worth the cost. All you need do is take a brief reflection every now and then on how you feel. You see, feelings are an aspect of humanity that we Fripiodians do not understand, but are quite infatuated with! We can mimic it quite well, as I’ve hoped you noticed. Now you may be wondering why we chose you over billions-”

“Not really.”

“And we are disinclined to tell you.”

“Tell me.” Chrysanthemum­ had learned the only things worth knowing were the things aliens didn’t want to tell you.

“Perhaps another time. To repeat, if you take advantage of this experience, not only will you traverse the universe, but also all expenses will be taken care of. And if you chose to return to your planet after your journey is complete, you arrive at the same time and age with an infinite amount of experience and insights in tow.”

“Not interested.”

“We will also pay off certain earth expenses. Your current gas, eclectic, no rent sadly (too much paper work there) and, hmm. One more thing. . . ” He tapped a blue button at his left temple, where Chrysanthemum concluded he received his information. What a ridiculous offer. Gas and Eclectic? If they had really done their research they would know that Sheila paid for those.

He tapped the blue button again.

“Ah. There it goes. And your student loans will be paid in full.”

Chrysanthemum felt her jaw drop.

“We understand if you decline. As you have family members and friendships on your planet-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes I’ll do it.”

“Well that is most agreeable!” His eyebrows turned upward in delight.

“When do I start?” Chrysanthemum­ blinked to wet her suddenly dry eyes and found it difficult to open them again.

“Oh!” Chrysanthemum­ heard excitement in the yellow man’s voice. “It appears you’ve just begun!”

When Chrysanthemum­ opened her eyes she found herself in a desert with burnt orange sand and a deep teal sky. Something that looked like a hybrid between a crab and a squirrel scuttled across her feet (which still sported a pair of converse knock offs despite her instantaneous teleportation). She usually ignored the scenery, but she supposed since the Fripiodians were paying off her student loans, she might as well take a look. She looked into the distance of the alien landscape and saw. . .

Nothing.

Well that was what she got for displaying a somewhat healthy curiosity. Wait. No. There did appear to be a blue dot on the horizon. It kept getting closer. And closer. And closer. And –

“Hey, get down!”

Well, the translator worked. Wonder when they installed it. Or how they had teleported her for that matter.

“I SAID GET DOWN!”

A deep gust of lavender wind pushed her violently to the sand (Close up she could see the sand particles proved to be both larger, rounder and softer than the ones on earth.) as the dot whizzed over her head and exploded. The burnt orange sand flew into the turquoise sky looking quite like, Chrysanthemum­ thought, a surrealist painting.

“Are you completely insane!?!” Yelled a voice from above her.

Chrysanthemum­ pushed herself off the odd colored sand (It smelt vaguely of nutmeg.) and turned to look at the source of the voice. She found herself staring at someone who looked disappointingly ordinary. Except for the violet skin, silver hair, small hump on its back, eyes that blinked vertically, an extra set of arms and fingertips that looked like suction cups.

Disappointingly ordinary indeed.

“That blast would have killed if I hadn’t blown you out of the way! Next tim-” The thing stopped and looked at her. “Hey, what the hell are you?”

Chrysanthemum­ decided to take this as an existentialist question and ignore it.

“Mute, eh? Well whatever you are you shouldn’t be out here alone. Surprised you aren’t dead already. I’ll take you back to camp.” The creature pulled out a green box with what looked like a zipper in the middle up it and pulled the zipper halfway down. It then grabbed her arm with one of the many suction hands. It felt slightly moist and sticky.

“Hold on tight.”

She wondered if this travel strange box was a transport device and if so would be as sudden as her last teleportation last one and she found-

it was.

“Welcome to camp!” The purple thing stated triumphantly.

The place the multi-armed thing had called “camp” smelt even stronger of nutmeg with a hint of cumin. It also looked like a cross between an Indian bazaar and downtown Manhattan. Immense dark orange, earthy, structures reached up to the teal sky, but did not block the sun. A creature with an elephant snout and no legs haggled with a mechanical creature wearing purple gloves over what could only be described at a magenta watermelon. The inhabitants packed and flowed together by the hundreds. Several rode sentient circular large blobs with striped canopies above them on density packed lime-green sand. The blobs appeared to change color depending on who rode. Creature who didn’t walk, ride or haggle often stopped and extended some kind of appendage and a blob stopped at their side. All the aliens avoided each other, swore at each other and yelled into yellow circles in attached to the back of their hand. They also, Chrysanthemum­ found surprisingly, often hugged and kissed each other (or at least that’s what she thought they were doing).

“Sorry you’re here at peak. The crowds aren’t always this bad,” the section cupped figure said. “Oh wait. It’s almost over.”

Suddenly a great gong echoed throughout the camp and several beings rushed into the tall buildings or the tents which sprouted fabric walls. A few beings pulled out green boxes with zippers, identical to the one she had seen before, and disappeared.

“Jorah!” Cried what resembled a very thin, thornless, white cactus that scuttled across the lime sand. “What the hell did you bring home this time?”

“I found it in the desert,” answered the dark purple being called Jorah.

“Well I could guess that. Where else would you get such rubbish?!”

Chrysanthemum­ contemplated feeling offended and then decided not to.

“You used your wind didn’t you? I could feel it all the way back here. And you!” The cactus turned to Chrysanthemum­. “What are you doing here?!?”

“Documentation,” Chrysanthemum­ said simply.

“You can talk!” cried Jorah.

The cactus swatted Jorah’s mouth. “What kind of documentation?” it asked.

“I’m just supposed to look and hear things. Reflect aloud on them.”

The cactus made a sound that sounded very profane and then spoke: “Fripiodians. Always trying to promote tourism, but I told them time and time again this is a war zone! But no! They have to send a documenter and find out themselves! Well, its no fault of mine if it goes back in pieces.”

Chrysanthemum­ felt mildly disturbed, but not completely. After all, the Fripiodians said the translator was pricey, so they would make sure it stayed safe. They could buy another one if she died, but she figured them the frugal sort.

“Freckk! Don’t scare it! We’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” Jorah turned to her and placed a suction cup hand on her arm. She guessed this gesture was meant to comfort her, but she found sticky suction cups on her skin unsettling.

“Well, don’t lie to it either. Look, I have to go you to a Trela Meeting, which you should attend. Deal with this thing as you will.”

“But Freckk-”

“I’m not helping you out this time.” And with that, a small black hole appeared on its side and the cactus inflated. When it seemed to be bursting with air, another white hole appeared. The air it had just collected from the black hole left the white hole in a powerful gust, propelling the creature into the air. It made the whizzing sound of a deflating balloon as it flew.

“Don’t worry about Freckk. Traptols are just testy sometimes. But anyway, I’m Jorah and you are?”

Chrysanthemum­ did not see why names really mattered. After all she had no attachment to the purple creature of its strange society. She contemplated silence, but then realized she could utilize this opportunity to not be called Chrysanthemum­.

“Chris.”

“Well, would you like to see the sights? And why didn’t you tell me you could talk?”

She shrugged.

“Did your upper body just seize a little?”

The earthling sighed. She hated talking to people who enjoyed conversation.

“Sure.”

Jorah led her to one of the blobs that unnervingly turned translucent when she straddled it. When Jorah jumped on it behind her it turned a deep green color. With s deep guttural noise came from the hump on Jorah’s back, the blob took off.

“That’s Lubba tower.” Jorah pointed to a tall circular building painted a blue that almost matched the sky “Do you play?”

“No.”

“Well we have a great stadium! Have you ever seen a game?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

“No.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

Jorah’s rich skin paled a little and the silver hair fell a little flatter.

“Didn’t mean to bother you. This is just for your job after all. I’ll be quiet.”

Chrysanthemum­ thought that would be quite nice.

“I know I can be real talkative. Sorry, Chris.”

Suddenly Chris experienced a strange feeling. She felt like maybe she owed this creature a conversation. She never felt like she owed anyone a conversation, never mind an alien who had a habit of touching her with sticky hands. Perhaps it was because he had helped her evade the explosive device or, more likely, it was because he called her Chris. Even Lydia didn’t call her that. She said Chrysanthemum suited her. Didn’t matter though. Chris didn’t really have anything to say. Then she looked up and saw the tall towers.

“How come the towers don’t cast a shadow?”

Jorah’s hair lifted and its purple skin returned to its original color. “Well, you see. . .”

An incoherent jumble of unknown words came next that caused Chris’ mind to drift. It reminded her of college. She hadn’t paid much attention during her business major days (though she did twice: once in a philosophy class, and once for in an art class). She’d only picked the major to please her mother who insisted Chris needed to make some money. Her mother, however, hadn’t taken into the account Chris’s horrendous interview skills, America’s unstable economy or how little a bachelor degree meant these days. But regardless of her major, or if she had paid attention in class, Chris doubted she could have understood Jorah. Though she thought heard something about millions of reflective particle placed into the clay of the buildings at specific angles.

“ . . .but mostly it involves grecophysiocs that I can’t even begin to understand. They did it because it’s proven everyone does better which more sunlight. Also we had to give work to some grecophysiocsigists. You know how many of them there are!”

“How many?”

“You don’t know?! Tons! It’s the most interesting subject at university so everyone specializes it.”

‘You have universities?”

“Don’t you?”

“Yes. Do you have student loans?

“What?”

“Low interest loans to pay off school.”

“You have to pay for school?”

“You DON’T ?!” Her face contorted and her hands flew into the air

Jorah let out a jovial screeching noise that all other passerby’s took in stride. “That’s the best expression you’ve made today!” Jorah’s lips (if they called them that here) turned up like a crescent moon and she felt her do the same.

Chris felt her eyes go dry. She blinked.

“We are not paying you to stare at the Reptori, Chrysanthemum­.” The little yellow man said.

She opened her eyes and saw the familiar white room. “The what?”

“Suction cup hands!” The little yellow man spat as his gigantic eyebrows furrowed. “We are investing serious amounts of capital for this equipment, not to mention the transmitters, translator and teleporter you inhaled!”

‘Why did you choose me?”

“What?”

“I’d like to know why you picked me.”

“A newfound curiosity I see? Most distasteful.”

“Tell me or I close my eyes for the rest of the trip.”

Steam came off of the yellow man’s eyebrows.

“FINE. Do you really want to know why? Why you over billions of other?”

“Yes.”

“Raisins.”

“ . . .What?”

“Raisins. All our observers died when they traversed the planet you just did because a popular dried fruit there emits a pheromone so powerful that any non-native species immediately devours it. No harm done, unless your human, the only species compatible with the cheapest equipment. The fruit causes immediate death, leaves the equipment unsalvageable and most resembles a raisin. We have calculated that you are the only human with enough mental aversion for raisins to resist it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, also your extreme distain for emotion and fondness for detachment. We Fripiodians are infatuated with this strange human trait of emotion, we can even mimic it, but we can’t handle them if they’re too genuine or intense. In fact it ruins the equipment and the documentation comprehensibility. For example, we could never deal with an observer who experiences love.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, even detached humans like yourself work better when they have the deluded pretense that they are special. Don’t forget to reflect, Chrysanthemum.”

She blinked.

“Chris? Did you disappear for a second there?”

“Yes.” She replied as she opened her eyes to Jorah’s world.

‘What for?”

“Work.”

“What’d ya talk about?”

“Qualifications.”

“Do you want to know more about the buildings or universities? Or how we don’t have student loans?” Jorah’s eyes blinked vertically and danced playfully.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.” She saw violet skin fade again.

Chrysanthemum­ pulled her eyes toward a building of vibrant color and extreme height. Perhaps the Fripiodians would like to see this.

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