The creature before you has the head, torso, and arms of a man, the lower quarters of a giant snake, and antlers growing from its head. Its serpentine eyes stare at you evilly. You think it's one the ugliest things you've ever seen.
"Well," says Margaret Sullivan, "What do you think?"
You hand the sketchpad back to her. "I don't know...is he supposed to be the Devil or something?"
"The Devil? Why's it have to be the Devil? It's obviously something from my subconscious, but I think calling it the Devil is a little on the nose. I woke up from my dream at 4:15 this morning and immediately had to draw the creature while I could still recall it. I'm planning on adding this to my visual dream journal. If I get enough images together, maybe I can publish it as a book." She places her sketchpad back in the satchel by her chair.
You take a swig of your chocolate milk. "You're talented, though, Margaret. I'm especially impressed with your use of cross-hatching. I'm such a poor artist in comparison to you. I think art's my weakest subject."
"But not planetary geography. Looks like I'll have no choice but to spend some more scholastic time with you." Margaret smiles at you coyly and brushes a lock of auburn hair from her green eye. “Well, Miss Acosta, you still willing to help me study for my geography test?” She sits back in her chair at the table and crosses one leg over the other, letting her knee peek out from under the blue skirt of her uniform.
All you can think is that her stocking is sagging down her calf.
“Stop that,” you say, looking around the cafeteria in embarrassment.
The other girls are busy in their clusters talking to each other (mostly of things unrelated to schoolwork or the glory of God) and don’t seem to notice or care. Most of the nuns and Father Michael are at their table, boredly picking at their lunches.
You nervously take a sip from your milk carton and say, “I can help you…that is if we can stay on task this time.”
Margaret frowns. “Do you not like this, Sandra? I thought”-- she looks down and inhales-- “you liked me.”
“Oh, oh I do!” You stare at the roast beef on you plate. “It’s just that…maybe Ursuline Academy isn't the best place for us to get to know each other better. I mean, yes, I will help you with geography. My dad’s taken me all over Venus on his business trips, so I do know a thing or two about the layout of the two continents and the islands…”
Margaret’s milky hand clasps your light-brown fingers tightly. “Are you uncomfortable with this?”
You shake your head. “No…But what if we get caught? You don’t know what my parents are like, especially my father. Your parents have to be more progressive than mine.”
Margaret clasps her other hand to yours and pulls it to her lips. Your eyes dart about the cafeteria. Father Michael has risen from his table with his tray. He’s heading to your side of the cafeteria.
“Young Lady!” shouts Esmeralda’s metallic voice.
You jerk out of your reverie and return to the present. The tall trees of the family garden block most of the Venerean sky in a wall of green foliage. Your robot tutor stands before you, one steel-gray claw pointing at you disapprovingly. Her glowing red eyes seem to have darkened to the hue of blood.
“I asked you what you thought of Thoreau’s argument that civilized people spend too much time worrying about the baser aspects of the human society. Well? What is your opinion?”
You look at her with her flat face, her four spindly legs and two clawed hands and keep thinking she looks like a cross between a dress-maker’s dummy and a praying mantis. It’s sometimes so easy to laugh at such an absurd machine, even though you've known her for years.
“Well…?” she asks in her most pompous tone of voice.
You sigh and drum your fingers on the white arm of your wicker chair. “I think Henry David Thoreau was a spoiled rich idiot who had too much free time on his hands.”
“Really! Is that what you think?”
“Isn't that usually what the rich do?” You ask. “If they’re unsatisfied with their careers they go running off to ’find themselves’. He just happened upon Walden Pond and decided to go roughing it like any pretentious fool.”
Esmeralda walks to the birdbath where several leathery-winged creatures splash in the water. She then pulls her head up fast enough for you to hear the servo motor in her neck.
She’s not saying anything, you think. You’d better come up with something to back up your argument. “What I mean is that he can complain about how newspapers print stories of similar crimes time after time, but people who actually try to go about living their lives (holding down jobs and such) care if there was a murder a few blocks away from where they live. It’s not--”
“Hush!” she says in a low voice.
“What is it?” You rise from your chair and walk up to the robot by the birdbath.
Esmeralda is still staring up at the sky. “I hear something.”
“What? I don’t hear anything other than frog-bats calling from the trees.”
“Of course not, my dear. You’re only human. But I hear something. A rocket ship. It’s landing not far from here.”
“On the island?”
“Yes. There are no scheduled visits for today. This seems most irregular.”
“Oh, it’s probably just a surprise visit from one of my dad’s associates at the mining company. That happens sometimes. Besides, this is restricted airspace for most ships. They'd have to have some kind of security clearance or get shot out of the sky by the orbital station.”
Esmeralda pulls her head down to face you. “It’s landed.”
“Well, that’s nothing. It’s like I said--”
She puts a steel claw to your lips for silence. “I can hear them disembarking from the ship. There are four of them.”
“How far are they from the house?”
Esmeralda removes her claw from your lips. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“A walk? Where?”
“Out of the garden. Into the jungle.”
You put your hands up in confusion. “Why?”
“Sandra, do you trust me?”
“Of course. More than my own parents.”
“Then follow me.” She scuttles away on her four legs like a spider and you reluctantly follow her.