Diaspora Ad Astra (20 page)

“What the hell are you?”

Ingrid/Ela touched her face and gasped.

“Elaine, please listen to me, please,” she said. She started moving towards Elaine.

“Don’t come near me,” screamed Elaine. She threw her purse at Ingrid/Ela, and it hit her on the shoulder.

Ingrid/Ela cried a little in pain. Elaine’s antagonism surprised her. She backed away from her, sat down in a chair, and invited Elaine to do the same.

“No, I will stay here,” Elaine said. She pressed her back to the wall.

“Okay, I will explain.” Ingrid/Ela cleared her throat. “We, the one you know as Dr. Cruz, the other workers in this clinic, and I are Valhilyans. We have
defected from our planet, Zekib.

“We came from a race of slaves. The Sikotos, the superior race on Zekib, were our masters. We never fought back; never resisted because that’s how it had always been, and
we believed that one day our gods will save us and free us.

“The Sikotos ordered a group of us to build a ship that will enable them to sail the skies, and so we did. It was just routine for us, to do as we’ve been told by
the Sikotos. After we’d finished, we realized we had in our hands a key to our freedom. We told the Sikotos that we still needed to perform some adjustments, and that we would work overnight
so the ship could be ready the following day. While everybody else was asleep, we sailed out of Zekib,” Ingrid/Ela said.

“What? Are you saying that you… that you’re aliens?” Elaine said. She shook her head. “You’re aliens. I need to tell people. I need to tell
people.” Elaine tried to get her phone from her bag, but realized that she had thrown her bag at Ingrid/Ela. She didn’t want to risk getting close to her. She remained in place,
breathed deeply and tried to clear her mind.

“You’re aliens, so why are you testing this genetic whitening substance on us?”

“We are not. The whitening of the skin is a side effect,” Ingrid/Ela said.

“Side effect of what?”

“Of implantation.”

“What implantation?”

Ingrid/Ela let out a sigh, glanced at the door, then looked back at Elaine.

“We are shape shifters. We can assume almost any form, but we found that we could not hold onto one form for long here on your planet because of the absence of the
element Nafhallium. We studied the human physiology and eventually found out about
in vitro
fertilization.”

“Fertilization? Fertilization! I knew it,” Elaine said. “Wait, wait. What are you saying? Are you saying that—” Elaine touched her stomach,
“—that I’m carrying an alien?”

“Not exactly. As I’ve said, we could not hold onto one form here for long, so we needed genes that could stabilize our physique and physiology and consequently lose
our ability to shape-shift. We needed human genes. Elaine, you’re carrying a half-breed,” Ingrid/Ela said.

“A half—No, I—I don’t want this. I don’t want this,” Elaine said, beating her stomach. “I don’t want this!” She broke down
in tears and fell to the floor.

Moments later, Dr. Cruz came into the room carrying an auto injector with a vial of high-dose propranolol.

“What took you so long?” Ingrid/Ela asked.

“I had to usher out a patient and lock the front door,” Dr. Cruz said. She knelt down beside Elaine, who was sitting on the floor, sobbing.

“Hello, Elaine. I understand you’re a little stressed out today.”

“W-what is that? No, no more experiments,” Elaine said.

“This is not an experiment. We don’t run experiments here. This is to clear your mind of bad emotions and memories.”

“No, please.”

“Elaine, this is for your own good,” Dr. Cruz said. She injected the drug into Elaine’s upper arm and then checked the time on her wristwatch.

Elaine felt a warming bliss rush through her body. Her back and her head gently touched the floor. It felt like a faith healer’s touch. Ela straightened out her legs and
placed a blanket over her lower body. She wanted to pull the blanket off her and get up, but her fingers couldn’t even grasp the edge of the blanket. She had little strength. She didn’t
feel any pain, though. In fact, she felt assured and relaxed. If somebody should come in and tell her it was the end of the world, she would smile and welcome it.

Ela and Dr. Cruz had gone to a corner of the room. Elaine could hear their discussion well, but was unaffected by it. Her eyes wandered around, wondering where Ingrid had
gone.

“She saw my face change. I—I didn’t realize it had changed,” Ela said.

“You mean you didn’t feel it coming?” Dr. Cruz asked.

“No, I think I’ve totally lost control of it.”

Dr. Cruz sighed. “At least that’s something that the half-breeds won’t have to worry about. No more shape-shifting for them, accidental or
otherwise.”

“How was your patient? The one you just saw?” Ela asked.

“Positive. Successful implantation.”

“That’s good, but we have to do better,” Ela said. She pulled a chair and sat on it. “Couldn’t we approach a more aggressive strategy? I mean,
Filipino women like whiter skin. This should be much easier.”

“Yes, they all want whiter skin, but not all of them want to get pregnant,” Dr. Cruz said. “If we get too aggressive and take on subjects who aren’t
sexually active, they’ll eventually associate it with our trials.”

“I’m just worried about our race and our memories. There’s only a few of us here, and only 25 half-breeds have been born so far. I’m betting the Sikotos
have exterminated everybody else. I don’t want us to go extinct,” Ela said.

“That’s not going to happen,” Dr. Cruz said. “Even if we die and never meet the half-breeds, they’d know who they are and where they came from.
Our memories are in their genes. We will proliferate.”

She looked at her watch, turned around, walked towards Elaine, and bent over her.

“Elaine, how are you feeling?”

“I feel great,” she said.

“Good. We feel the same way for you. Thank you for sharing your wonderful news with us.”

***

Thirty minutes later, Amanda arrived at the clinic.

“Hello Amanda, you came here for Elaine, I presume,” Ingrid said.

“Yeah, well, actually, we were talking on the phone, or at least, I was talking and then she hung up on me. I wasn’t even finished yet. What is going on? Where is
she?”

“She’s in the exam room, resting. She got a little too excited with the news, got a little lightheaded,” Ingrid said.

“News? What news?” Amanda asked.

“I will let Elaine break it to you,” Ingrid said.

Ingrid accompanied Amanda to the exam room. Elaine was lying on the exam bed, half-awake. Amanda walked towards her.

“Elaine, are you okay? What’s going on,” Amanda said. She stroked her friend’s forehead.

“Amanda, oh, Amanda, I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what? Tell me what’s going on!”

“Oh, I should tell Danny first, but you’re here now so I guess I should tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Elaine sat up slowly in bed, stroked her belly, and smiled at Amanda.

“Amanda, you’re going to be a godmother. I’m pregnant!”

By Raydon L. Reyes

THE BOXES of pizza are piling up again. I wonder to myself why I don’t throw boxes out as soon as I’ve emptied their contents. The garbage converter is just around
the corner from my room. I could easily just put the boxes in a garbage bag, throw it into the chute, and let the molecular reconstruction technology do its magic. Those boxes can definitely do
more good once they’ve been turned into books for school children. Or toothpicks for saucy patrons of five-star restaurants. But somehow, I always seem to forget to do so until the gap
between my dining table and the ceiling disappears completely.

Actually, the boxes aren’t the only things that are piling up. The dirty dishes have also amassed in the kitchen that I can’t even see the bottom of my sink. My
clothes are everywhere; I don’t know which ones are clean and which ones need to be sent to the washer. And hair is all over the place. Why is there so much hair? How is it that even though
I’m the only one who lives in this small, studio-type condominium, strands of hair still manage to contaminate most of my floor space and furniture?

This isn’t exactly the mood I was hoping for. He’s on his way over now and I doubt that the ambience of pizza boxes and wayward hair is conducive for what we have
planned tonight. Not that he would stay the whole night, but still.

What was his name again? Oh, right. I don’t know his real name. The only thing I know about him is that headless picture of his torso and his online handle, thick_crust.
That’s how it usually goes, anyway. Who gives his real name on that website nowadays? Besides, it was his username that got me interested in the first place.

Mozza_rella07: Hi.

Thick_crust: Hey.

Mozza_rella07: Asl? Nice picture you have there.

Thick_crust: Tnx. 27, m, Cubao. You?

Mozza_rella07: 23, m, Ortigas, near the train station at Bonifacio avenue.

Thick_crust: Cool.

Mozza_rella07: So… you like pizza too?

Thick_crust: Yeah. Hehe. You?

Mozza_rella07: Yup. *points to my username.

Thick_crust: Right. Do you have pics to show?

Mozza_rella07: Yeah. They’re in my private folder.

Thick_crust: Password?

Mozza_rella07: Um… “pepperoni.”

Thick_crust: Okay. I’ll check… How tall are you?

Mozza_rella07: I’m 5’8. How about you? Can I see your face?

Thick_crust: No face pic. I’m very discreet. But you won’t be disappointed. 5’11, gym-fit,
moreno
, very good looking here.

I don’t really know what made me believe what he was saying. Usually, I’m wary of people’s descriptions of themselves on the Internet. Most of the time, they
either tend to exaggerate or to hide crucial details that, had you known about them, would have pushed you to cancel any plans you might have had with those posers. Like cheese_stick, who told me
he was slightly older than me, but that I would like his added wisdom and experience. Apparently, 40-year age differences passed for “slightly older” nowadays. I remember the cold chill
that ran through my spine when I opened my front door and saw a bald man who could have passed as my dad’s older brother who liked spending too much time under the sun. I also remember the
baffled look on his age-spot-ridden face as I pushed the “SLAM” button to my front door and double-locked it just in case. There was also italian_sausage69, who failed to mention the
various warts growing on his (dare I say it) sausage.

Still, I had a strong fetish for tall, muscled, brown-skinned men, and I wasn’t about to lose my chance at a hot night just because I had trust issues. Besides, I can
always rely on the “SLAM” button should thick_crust turn out to be another faker.

Thick_crust: Hmm… you’re cute. You didn’t tell me you were a lean
mestizo
.

Mozza_rella07: Hehe. That actually explains my username.

Thick_crust: Clever. You know, I like cheese. ;)

Mozza_rella07: Really?

Thick_crust: Yeah… especially when it melts in my mouth. Lolz

Mozza_rella07: (gulp) Well, why don’t you have one here at my place? You free tonight?

I guess I should have asked for an hour’s head start to clean up my place before I said he could come over. How I wish I could afford one of those robot maids. In panic,
I lock my eyes on the first mess I see and start working on it. I decide to do the dishes first, since my kitchen will be the first thing he sees once I open the door. After that, I grab my laundry
basket and pick my clothes up from random spots in my room like my couch, my refrigerator handle, my hologram generator, and my stove-cum-oven.

God, how long has it been since I last attempted to use this thing? I remember getting it from my parents’ house because I wanted to learn how to bake my own pizza, just
like Martha Stewart did in the early 2000s. But eight or ten burnt crusts and salty sauces later, I took an indefinite leave from my own kitchen and went back to ordering my food over the phone.
Making my own pizza was too much of a hassle. Speaking of which, I should be ordering one right now before thick_crust gets here.

I place the laundry basket down near my bed before I get my cell phone out of my pocket and dial.

“Good evening! Android 8472 speaking here at Pizza Paradise! How may I help you?” says the mechanical voice from the other line.

“Hi! I’d like to order a pizza for delivery please,” I reply as I get an adequately large garbage bag from my drawer and place the empty pizza boxes and the
rest of the trash inside.

“May I get your citizen code?”

“It’s ML9280.”

“Am I speaking with Mr. Lance de la Rosa?

“Yes.”

“Nice to hear from you again, sir! Your last order was a regular-sized, three-cheese pan pizza. Would you like to have the same order?”

“Yes, please. Same address.” I am already in the garbage converter area and have just closed the lid of the chute.

“Good choice, sir! I’ve tried it myself!”

“I doubt that,” I mutter under my breath.

“Your pizza will be delivered hot and on time in 15 minutes! Thank you and please call us again.”

When I get back to my unit, I extricate my vacuum cleaner from the drawer under the sink to take care of the hair and dust situation. It’s one of those old models that
don’t have an artificial intelligence hard drive installed, so you have to carry it around while it sucks up the dirt. Fortunately, my small apartment doesn’t pose that much of a
challenge for my practically ancient appliance, and I get done just as the pizza delivery robot arrives at my front door.

“Delivery for Mr. Lance de la Rosa.”

“Thanks. Here you go,” I say as I pay the thing and deposit its tip into its coin slot.

There isn’t much time now. Thick_crust will be here any minute and I’m still sweaty from all the cleaning. Hurriedly, I take all my clothes off, get my towel, and
proceed to my bathroom. I turn the shower knob and let the cold water run down my body. Thick_crust wasn’t wrong when he noticed I was a
mestizo
. At birth, I already had creamy white
skin that revealed I wasn’t a pure Pinoy. People kept telling me I got it from my father. I believed them.