Page 16 of The Planetary Systems Preservation Committee Decided We Needed a Nanny

My phone rings as I’m staring at the spaceship hanging in our mesosphere. (That’s the part that’s above the stratosphere.) I only get calls from Bee and Lora usually, so I answer without checking the caller ID. “When will you be here so I can make sure I’m decent?” I ask by way of greeting. Both my cousin and my alien usually end up at my place, so it works for either of them.

“You are sitting on your balcony,” Lora states with very little confusion. Over the last weeks we’ve gotten to know each other fairly well, and he knows when I’m teasing even if he isn’t in the same room.

“I could be sunbathing in the nude.” I couldn’t be. There are a lot of things I will do nude, but exposing myself to others without their consent isn’t one of them, and my balcony isn’t private.

“Do humans use Sol to decontaminate their bodies?” Lora questions, and this time he is a little confused.

Sunbathing. Huh. I never actually thought about the etymology of the word, but I bet my bottom dollar that it originated in some sort of health spa treating tuberculosis or something like that. Hey Google…

Huh. Well, it wasn’t to combat tuberculosis, but if we’re honest it could be traced back to that. (Thanks John Green for your hyperfixation.) Coco Chanel apparently influenced the invention of sunbathing by coming back from a cruise with a tan in the 1920s. Before that, pale complexions were popular. (Thanks, Tuberculosis.)

“So, no. It’s not to decontaminate the body. It was for health, because tan people look healthier than pale people—no offense—but it is not for cleaning oneself,” I explain.

Lora’s rattles don’t always travel well over the phone. I hear them, but some of the more complex ones aren’t as decipherable because they lose something in transit. I assume this rattle is more of an acknowledgement than anything else, because he answers my first question next. “I will be there in seventy two Earth standard minutes. What you wear is inconsequential.”

I look down at the fluffy pink robe that might be a little too short for a man of my size, the matching bunny slippers, and the clashing lime green cotton shorts I’m wearing.

I never claimed to be a fashion gay. I’m past the give-a-fucks part of life and well into the this-feels-nice-on-my-skin part of aging, so yeah, my fluffy pink robe is super soft and my shorts feel really nice on my balls when I shave them.

“Ok, but don’t blame me for the trailer park vibe when you get here,” I warn him, winking at a passerby who clearly thinks my outfit is too “out” and not enough “fit.”

There’s a moment where Lora consults his internal translator, and then he chuckles softly and my insides melt. Gah, I love the sound of that laugh.

“I anticipate enjoying the sight of whatever you wear. I find it hard to believe anything you put on your body would make you less adorable. I am ending the call now.”

And he does.

I haven’t explained the use of “goodbye” to end calls. I think it would be too abrupt for me if he said, “You’re adorable. Goodbye.” I like the warning he gives even though he doesn’t wait for my response.

A happy little thrill runs through me in anticipation of his visit. Since that night he put me to bed, we’ve spent time together doing a lot of humans-are-weird conference calls like the first one, and whenever he comes for that, he usually stays for a while after the call. He’s watched the first season of The Chronicles of Shannara with me, and we’re still picking the next thing we’re going to watch. I’ll eventually get to the second season, but I’m not an all-the-available-seasons binge watcher. I get bored.

My favorite thing so far is that he insists on cuddling me when we watch together. He says humans need physical touch to encourage the hormones that help with social bonding, and that is the excuse he uses to pull me into his lap and cuddle me at every opportunity.

Lol.

Life is really good right now.

My phone buzzes in my hand, alerting me of a new text message or notification from the empire. I can’t turn off the notification alert from the messages from the empire, and the alert is exactly like the buzz for text messages.

It’s from a five digit number, and I audibly groan as the message opens in my messaging app.

DON’T BE SEDUCED BY THE COMFORTS THE ALIENS OFFER YOU. THEY COME AT THE COST OF YOUR FREEDOM.

Yada yada yada. Blah blah blah. The “resistance” fighters keep sending world wide text messages piggybacking the system the ScaryDarkAlienVampires use to send out their notifications. Lora said the imperial technicians weren’t prioritizing security against the hack because it is benign and they have better things to do.

I laugh as I roll my eyes. Imagine being so insignificant that the aliens don’t even bother to stop you. They’re not even swatting the fly buzzing around their heads. It’s kind of hilarious.

But it’s also annoying, which is why I send back a response.

Me: Why don’t you bend over, push your head up the nearest rectum, and keep pushing until you disappear? No one wants what you're selling, asshole.

Because everyone who makes a fuss gets reeducated, and it’s a better response than violence. Literally zero humans have been killed by the aliens since their arrival and so many have been saved. Mortality rates due to disease have dropped to nothing. The only things killing humans are other humans, old age, and Murphy's Law.

And all those mortality causes have dropped significantly since the aliens confiscated all our cars and turned them into public transit. Right now I could take the high speed elevator down to the sublevel, walk thirty feet, and enter a high speed subway that will drop me off thirty yards from the grocery store.

Is it even a store if I don’t have to pay?

Money isn’t a thing anymore. Well, it is a thing, but it’s as useful for toilet paper as it is for commerce.