Visions of Iotan

It took some getting used to. The creature towered over her, its tentacle-like appendages floating in every direction like curious serpents. Six eyes glowed a dull orange while watching his daughter intently, and he couldn’t help but imagine it attacking her with its sharp teeth. But he knew that was ignorance talking. The monster was nothing but a child itself, barely three years old—which translated to about six or seven in human years. It didn’t even have the big incisors its relatives sported. Its parent had come to trust him and his husband, enough to let its offspring play with his own. And that’s what they were doing. Playing. Henrietta explained the basic tenants of soccer, which she had just begun learning herself. She rolled the ball to the creature—nicknamed Lammy after a much longer, unintelligible name—and it pushed the ball back to her with its forehead. Henri giggled loudly. He heard it from the front porch, where he watched with a sort of uneasy interest. In response, Lammy produced a dual sound: a series of clicks and purrs under a valiant attempt at English. He could understand the adults but not Lammy, who was still very much a student in the language. With that said, Henri had no problem conversing with it, and she did so with glee. She even mimicked the other sounds to get its attention. His better half, Jack, maintained a much more open stance on the burgeoning friendship. “We have to get along with them,” he would say. “They came here looking for friends, and they’ve helped us so much.” It was true, to an extent. The creatures—affectionally called “Monks” by reporters and bloggers—arrived ten years ago, before Henri was even born. They were capable of violence, and did so when attacked, but by and large, they were peaceful, kind, and helpful. They brought with them a new type of energy production that Cillian couldn’t even begin to understand. It eliminated the need for oil and natural gas, and was quickly installed in every car, home, and building. The couple owned two vehicles with the special batteries, and even he had to admit that he didn’t miss filling up the tank. In addition to new power, the Monks insisted that they help with conservation of animals and natural resources, and their giant ships literally cleaned the air they occupied. Over all, the Monks were the miracle needed to help save the Earth from human destruction. Their intervention made it possible for Henri to enjoy the natural world for the rest of her life. For that, Cillian was eternally grateful. So, now, Henri and Lammy were best friends. They met at the playground like any other kids might, and Jack struck up a conversation with Lammy’s parent Addy. The Monks produced children asexually. The fact that Lammy didn’t need a mother and father appealed to Henri, who had two dads. Lammy and Henri played at the park several weeks in a row before Addy felt comfortable leaving the child in Jack and Cillian’s care. This was the third such meeting, and it seemed to be going well. After a few hours of play, Henri came running up to the house for lunch. Lammy was too big to fit in the door, so it waited outside. Jack offered up a sandwich and an apple for their daughter and a baggy of the special nutrient-rich pellets that the Monks ate. She took them and sprinted back outside to continue playing. Cillian didn’t see what happened. He was too busy being lost in thought about the strangeness of the scene before him. He didn’t notice his daughter handing the apple over to Lammy, who, without question, ate it. If he had noticed, he would have tried to stop her. Because of what happened next. Lammy began to cough. Its whole body shook like a wet dog, as though it could rid itself of the poison. Lammy heaved and struggled to breathe. Moments later, the Monk collapsed to the ground, whimpering. Cillian jumped off the porch and ran down to the kids. Henri began crying. “What’s wrong with Lammy?!” The bag of pellets lay abandoned at the creature’s side. He noticed that while the sandwich looked untouched, the apple was gone. “Did you—did you feed Lammy your apple?” She sniffed. “Uh-huh.” “Henri, you know they can’t eat human food!” He picked up Lammy’s head. “Hey, I need you to throw up. Can you do that? Apples are bad for you. Can you hear me? Lammy!” The Monk let out a sigh and closed its eyes. Its body went limp. “No, no, no, no! Goddammit!” “I just thought Lammy would like it,” said her tiny voice. “Is Lammy gonna be okay?” But Cillian barely acknowledged her. “Go get Jack.” She took off for the house and was soon out of sight. Cillian put his ear to the creature’s side in the hopes of hearing something, anything, that would give him the impression that it was still alive. He listened, but there was nothing. Jack appeared in the doorway. He took one look at the body and let out a gasp. “Oh no.” He rushed down to Cillian and dropped to his knees. Anguish encompassing his entire form, he studied the lifeless figure. Cillian didn’t want to stare at it any longer. He carefully placed the head on its front paw-like hands and sat back in the grass. He glanced up at Henri’s face, and he saw she was crying. He took hold of her, turned her away from Lammy, and let her bury her face in his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.” Smoothing down some of the spotted tentacles that adorned the creature’s back and head, Jack trembled. Gulping, “We have to call an ambulance” “And tell them what?” “The truth.” “Right. Henri didn’t know any better. I’m sure they’ll understand.” His shaky voice didn’t inspire confidence. Jack hesitated. “Would you understand if it was our kid?” A shiver worked its way through Cillian’s body. He would be enraged. And what’s more, other humans would be, too. While the Monks and humans more or less lived peacefully together, there were still underlying tensions. People who thought the Monks didn’t belong here. Humans would potentially retaliate against the Monks in that scenario. Wouldn’t they want revenge? Or at the very least, justice? He didn’t claim to understand what the creatures thought or what they would do. They weren’t human after all. “Make Lammy come back!” Henri cried. He held her closer. Jack stood up, pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, and dialed 911. When someone answered, “Hi. Uh, we need help. A Monk child ate an apple that my daughter had, and now it’s hurt really bad. We think it might be dead. Can you send someone over?” Cillian couldn’t hear what the operator said. Jack gave their address and replied, “Thanks. We’ll be here.” Next, he dialed a long number. Monks did not use cellphones per se, but the adults often wore headsets that allowed them to send and receive calls. The two men had of course gotten Addy’s number in case of an emergency. This was certainly one of those. He heard the phone ringing and then the telltale clicking of the Monks’ language. Jack cleared his throat. “Uh, hi, Addy.” The creature switched to English. “Is this Jack or Cillian?” “Jack.” “How is Henrietta?” “She’s fine. But listen. Something happened. We weren’t watching close enough, and Lammy ate an apple. We tried to help, but there was nothing we could do. Lammy’s—Lammy’s dead.” There was a silence for a moment before a tortured wail came though the speaker. Jack moved the phone away from his ear as they both heard the pain of a parent that just lost a child. It would have been clear in any language. “Addy? Addy, an ambulance is coming. Probably the police, too. Get here as soon as you can. I’m so sorry.” He ended the call. Time passed slowly. Jack and Cillian didn’t know what to say to each other, so they just waited. Henri continued to cry, and Cillian tried desperately to comfort her. Eventually, a cop car pulled up, and two women got out. With hands on their sidearms, they walked up to the body of Lammy and investigated the scene. “An apple?” asked one of them. Cillian nodded. “Just one apple.” The officers inspected the body and concluded that Lammy was, in fact, dead. They began writing things down about the state of the little Monk while Cillian and his family watched. Shortly after, several Monk officers appeared and began speaking to the humans. Addy arrived on a specialized motorcycle-like vehicle that the wealthier Monks used. It jumped off and ran up to its child. Screaming, it held Lammy close. “Which one of you was watching them when it happened?” asked the taller human cop. Cillian gulped. “I was. But I didn’t see Lammy eat the apple.” “Were you just not paying attention?” “I was distracted,” he answered truthfully. “Okay. Put your hands behind your back.” “What?” “This child was in your care when it died,” said one of the Monks. The other human officer went behind Cillian and handcuffed him. He was too surprised to resist. Jack, on the other hand, had plenty to say. “Hey now, it was an accident. He didn’t do anything wrong.” “He will be judged fairly.” Jack approached Cillian and cradled his face in both hands. “Don’t worry,” he said with pain in his voice. “I’ll get you a good lawyer. I promise.” “I love you.” He turned to Henri and repeated the sentiment. The officers walked him over to their car and put him in the back. He watched as they tried to comfort Addy and get a statement. He couldn’t believe he was being arrested. But then, he couldn’t believe there was a dead alien on his front lawn, either. * * * * While Cillian was taken to a human jail, he wouldn’t get a chance to see a human judge or jury. In fact, he was only there for a few hours. Guards brought him outside and turned him over to two large Monks. Bigger than bison and twice as ferocious. But like Lammy, they looked more similar to lions with floating tentacles and glowing orange eyes. It was impossible for Cillian not to be intimidated, even though he knew they would not attack him. He gave them a somber nod. They guided him to a small black ship, barely large enough for the three of them. He took a seat on a bench near the back while the Monks got in position to fly the thing. The ship rumbled and hummed before lifting off the ground. He heard the Monks speak quietly to each other in their language and wondered what they were saying. The destination was one of the Monks’ giant, boat-like ships that they’d used to get to Earth. Despite all the integration of species, many of them still lived on the ships, reluctant to switch to life on real soil. Because of this, they kept the seat of their government floating above everyone. The vessel was a brownish red that shone brightly in the sun. It had very few appendages or outcroppings. The exterior, which he saw through the smaller ship’s windshield, looked smooth. It hardly contained any windows, save for a large one near the top. As they docked with the ship, he knew this was where he would stand trial. When the back of their transport opened, Cillian couldn’t believe his eyes. The ship was absolutely beautiful. He looked around. Instead of a simple corridor, it was more like a tunnel with a tall ceiling featuring a woven pattern. The walls were the same color as the outside, and when he got close to them, he could see they glittered. Even the floor, which appeared almost black, looked like it was made out of obsidian or coal. It was enough to make him forget, for a few minutes, why he was here. A small growl from behind him indicated that he should start walking. He did so, followed by the two Monks. They only interacted with him when it was time to take a turn through the smallish corridors of the anthill. After about twenty minutes of walking, the hall opened up to a large room, where there were about two dozen other humans. They played games, ate dinner, and generally milled around. Though they all donned different clothes, he noticed that each one wore a heavy-looking bracelet made of metal. But there were no other signs that this was what the Monks considered jail. Everyone looked relatively happy and unbothered by their situation. Only one Monk sat watching them, and there were no doors or bars to stop them from leaving. “Put it on,” said one of his guards. With a paw featuring sharp nails, it handed him a bracelet. He took it, pressed it against his wrist, and watched it clamp closed on its own. He ran his fingers over it. “When’s my hearing?” Cillian asked. “In the morning.” “Will my lawyer be there? What about my family?” “Lawyer yes, family no.” His heart sank. He knew Jack would want to be there to support him, but he didn’t dare ask for an exception. The Monks were already being very kind to him—at least compared to human jail and guards—and perhaps it was best that Jack not see him get convicted. It would only upset him, and it would be worse for Henri. “Okay, thanks.” Cillian walked away from the Monks, found a bench near some of the other humans, and sat down. He let out a sigh and closed his brown eyes. He stayed that way until another prisoner approached him. “You’re the one from the news,” said a young woman. He opened his eyes and stared at her. She was tall and well-fed. She didn’t look any worse for the wear from being in captivity. He smiled at her. “I wasn’t aware I was on the news.” Or that they could watch it from a spaceship. She snorted. “You’re all they talk about. The guy who killed a Monk baby.” “It was a kid, not a baby, and I didn’t kill it. My daughter fed it an apple, and it died.” “But you didn’t stop it.” “I didn’t know it happened until after.” “That’s not what the news says.” He laughed. “I’m sure it isn’t.” “I hear the punishment for baby killing is death. I hear they eat you alive for that.” He shrugged. Cillian knew there was no chance they would execute him. The Monks were too in love with peace and life. They didn’t think like their neighbors, the humans. More than likely, they would simply lock him up here until he died naturally. And he would spend that time functionally alone, unable to see Henri grow up or be with Jack. That was punishment enough, he thought. Cillian couldn’t imagine life without them. He didn’t want to. “I think that would be preferable.” She took a seat next to him. “It’s not so bad here.” “What did you do? I take it no apples were involved.” Adjusting the bracelet on her arm, she took a moment to think. Then, “You know those pellets the Monks eat? Well, it turns out that if you add potassium to them, it’s like a drug. They get drunk or high or whatever. So, I was making unsanctioned pellets and selling them at parties. I had a pretty good business going before they caught me. Half of us are in here for the same thing.” “What’s your name?” “Marlena.” “Hi, Marlena. I’m Cillian.” He offered his hand to shake. She took it. “You’re gonna be here for a long time.” “I know.” * * * * He slept in something like a sleeping bag in the main room with everyone else. Or rather, he tried to sleep. With his fate hanging in the balance, Cillian couldn’t rest. And it didn’t help that some of the nearby prisoners snored. He missed his bed in their modest house back in Virginia. He missed Jack and Henri. A short, older man he could only assume was his lawyer came in at the break of dawn, while many of the others were still fast asleep. He got up, and the two of them made their way to a table. The man introduced himself. In a low voice, Cillian asked the only question on his mind. “So, what can I expect?” “There won’t be any witnesses or anything like that. We simply tell your story to a panel of Monks, and then they decide if you should be held responsible. I’ll talk for most of it, but they’ll likely want to hear from you at the end. You should say you’re sorry about what happened and explain that you would change it if you could.” “Will that help?” “It should. They’re very understanding.” “One of their kids is dead, though.” “That’s true.” “Will Addy be there?” “No. There is no audience for Monk trials. It’s very low-key. But I guarantee that someone from the court has spoken with Addy.” “When do we go?” “I brought you some clothes.” He handed Cillian a package. “And toiletries. Get a shower. Look presentable. We’ll go as soon as you’re ready.” He took the items and nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” “Just do your best.” He left his lawyer and moved to a room at the far end of the prisoners’ space. It wasn’t a shower so much as a series of pools, but it would do. He stripped down to nothing, set the items nearby, and walked into the water. It was warm, and it felt good on his skin. It smelled fragrant, like flowers mixed with salt. He retrieved a bar of soap and began washing himself. After shampooing his dirty blond hair, he reluctantly got out, dried himself off, and donned the new clothes. It was difficult to get the sleeve on over the large bracelet, but he eventually managed to do it without ripping the cloth. There were no mirrors of any kind. He slicked back his hair and brushed his teeth in relative silence. He adjusted his wedding ring and felt the smooth metal beneath his fingers. With his heart racing, Cillian returned to his lawyer’s side. The two of them walked past the guard and down a long hallway, which featured the same artistic, woven structure as all the others. He tried to focus on that, instead of what he was about to do. After fifteen minutes of walking, they entered an equally gorgeous room with a vaulted ceiling. It featured no furniture of any kind, but there was a raised platform that encircled the room, on which thirty-one Monks sat ready to judge him. His lawyer brought him to the center. They stood there, waiting to be addressed, as the Monks spoke to each other in their own language. One of the larger ones clicked loudly. The chatter stopped. It looked directly at Cillian. “Tell us why the child died.” He opened his mouth to speak, but his lawyer got there first. He began explaining the situation exactly as it happened. He spoke of Henri and the perceived harmlessness of an apple. He talked about Jack and Cillian as a family. “Cillian simply wasn’t paying attention for an instant,” he said, “and that’s all it took to result in Lammy’s unfortunate death. It’s a sad story, but not one that has to lead to the ruining of a second life.” He added that Cillian adored Lammy—not necessarily true, but he wasn’t going to dispute that—and insisted that it was just a simple mistake made by another child. When he finished, the big Monk turned to its colleagues and started discussing it in their language. After what felt like a long time, it reestablished its focus on Cillian. “Speak on your own behalf.” He sniffed. “I’m very sorry about what happened. Lammy didn’t deserve to die, especially not like that. My daughter didn’t know it was wrong. And I admit, I wasn’t watching closely enough. But please, don’t take me away from her. She needs me. She’s so young.” “She has another parent.” Cillian nodded. “And Jack will do his best for her. But he needs my help. We’re a team.” The Monk breathed out dramatically. “That is not enough reason to pardon you. Cillian Galang, you are sentenced to live the rest of your life in our custody. There will be no appeals. May your god forgive you.” He let out a sob. He knew this was coming, and yet, he couldn’t hold back his emotion. His lawyer turned and began walking him out of the room. He said something about appealing in human court, but Cillian didn’t listen. All he could think of was little Henri, missing her dad, and Jack, left without a husband. Cillian wiped his tears away before they returned to the prisoners’ area. He didn’t want a bunch of criminals to see him cry. They would be his roommates, and he had no idea if any of them were violent or not. He took a seat as his lawyer continued talking. Soon enough, even he left him, and Cillian felt truly alone.