ARRIVAL

Kufhille had been on Earth long enough to understand three important things: people needed money, governments wanted papers, and women without either eventually learned which doors could be knocked on without being asked too many questions. She had learned it the way she learned almost everything here. Through touch. A hand brushing hers in a bus station had shown her fear of immigration officers, false names, motel rooms and cash paid under tables; a drunk woman outside a convenience store had given her memories of shelters, abusive men and streets where women disappeared; a taxi driver whose fingers touched hers while returning change had shown her parts of the city she had never seen, and two nights later a frightened young woman sitting beside Kufhille on a curb had unknowingly given her something far more useful. Lucinda. The name came wrapped in memories of a large house, locked doors, women coming and going at strange hours, cash, bedrooms, men, arguments, laughter, protection, exploitation, food, rules, and one absolute certainty. Lucinda did not ask for papers before she asked whether a woman could work. So Kufhille went looking for her. By the time she reached the back door shortly after three in the morning she was dirty, hungry and tired enough that none of it had to be acted. Lucinda opened the door wearing a satin robe and holding a baseball bat. She stared. Kufhille stared back. Lucinda lowered the bat slightly. “What the fuck happened to you?” Kufhille said nothing. She looked human enough that Lucinda did not immediately understand what she was seeing, which was exactly what Kufhille had hoped for: a tall woman somewhere around thirty, pale hair, strange violet-ringed eyes, slightly unusual skin, but otherwise close enough that somebody passing her on a dark street would simply look twice. Lucinda squinted. “You speak English?” “English.” Lucinda raised an eyebrow. “Well, that's a start.” Kufhille glanced past her. Lucinda noticed immediately. “You hungry?” “Food.” “Yes, food. Get inside.” Kufhille hesitated just long enough to appear uncertain. Lucinda sighed. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart, either come in or don't, but I'm not standing here with my tits freezing off while you make up your mind.” Kufhille stepped inside. She already knew most of those words. Lucinda locked the door. Kufhille looked at it. “Safe?” Lucinda gave her a long look. “Safer than the street.” That was enough. Lucinda took her into the kitchen, put bread, chicken and fruit in front of her, then sat across the table and watched her eat. “You got a name?” Kufhille gave her the shortened version. “Kufhille.” Lucinda tried it once. “Koo-fill?” “Kufhille.” “Close enough.” Kufhille kept eating. Lucinda studied her more openly now. “You're not from around here.” Kufhille almost smiled. “No.” “Mexico?” “No.” “Europe?” “No.” “Canada?” “No.” Lucinda frowned. “That's usually where I stop guessing.” Kufhille touched her own forehead. “Memory gone.” Lucinda leaned back. “Oh, that's fucking useful.” It was not entirely a lie. Kufhille remembered how to read minds through physical contact, remembered how to pull memories from another person, remembered language structures, movement, danger and survival, but almost everything personal before Earth came in fragments that vanished whenever she reached for them. Lucinda reached across the table and took Kufhille's wrist. That was the moment Kufhille knew she had chosen correctly. Lucinda's mind opened instantly. Two brothels. One house officially registered as something else. Nine women currently working. Three undocumented. One using a false identity. Cash hidden upstairs. A police officer who took money. Another who could not be bought. Customers who were banned. Customers who spent stupid amounts because they wanted novelty. Lucinda protecting women when violence threatened her business, exploiting them when profit allowed it, paying doctors quietly, bribing officials when necessary and never, ever involving authorities unless she had no alternative. Then came the thought Lucinda was having at that exact moment. Jesus, cleaned up she'll be gorgeous. Kufhille looked at her calmly. Lucinda released her. “You understand me?” “A little.” That was also a lie. Lucinda stood. “Come on.” “Where?” Lucinda stopped. “That was a full sentence.” Kufhille looked down. “Where?” Lucinda stared another second, then laughed. “Oh, you're going to be trouble.” She took Kufhille upstairs, put her into a shower, threw away what remained of her strange clothing and found her a robe, and when Kufhille finally stood clean beneath the bathroom lights Lucinda became very quiet. The dirt had hidden almost everything important. Kufhille was beautiful. Not conventionally beautiful, because the eyes were still slightly wrong and the skin had that faint metallic undertone, but in Lucinda's world strange could be worth far more than perfect. Lucinda circled her once. “Jesus.” Kufhille watched her in the mirror. Lucinda touched her shoulder. Another burst of thought. Men will lose their fucking minds. Kufhille said nothing. Lucinda picked up her phone. “I'm calling Jane.” “Jane?” “A doctor.” Kufhille already knew Jane from Lucinda's memories. Former Dr. Jane Carlson. Former gynecologist. Former license holder. Currently broke often enough that cash solved most philosophical problems. Lucinda called. Jane answered angrily. “What?” “I need you.” “No.” “Cash.” A pause. “How much?” “Five hundred.” “Six.” “Greedy bitch.” “You called me at four in the morning.” “Fine. Six.” “What am I examining?” Lucinda looked at Kufhille. “A woman.” “Then why are you calling me?” Lucinda smiled. “Because I'm not completely sure she's human.” Another pause. “Seven hundred.” “Six.” “Seven.” “Six fifty.” “Done.” Lucinda hung up. Kufhille smiled. Lucinda pointed at her. “You understood that.” “A little.” “Bullshit.” Kufhille said nothing. Jane arrived less than an hour later carrying an old medical bag and looking irritated until she saw Kufhille sitting at the kitchen table. Then the irritation disappeared. Jane looked at Lucinda. “What exactly am I looking at?” “Kufhille.” “I asked what, not who.” Lucinda shrugged. “That's why you're here.” Jane approached slowly. Kufhille watched her. Jane held out a hand. “Jane.” Kufhille took it. And suddenly she knew Jane. Years of medicine. Anatomy. Gynecology. Patients. Births. Surgeries. Sexual injuries. Muscular problems. Pelvic anatomy. The hearing that ended her career. The anger afterward. The humiliation. The bills. The first time Lucinda quietly paid her cash to examine one of her women. The second time. The twentieth. Jane released her hand. Kufhille now understood more about the human female body than she had known five seconds earlier. Jane checked her pulse. “Slow.” Lucinda leaned against the counter. “Bad?” “Not necessarily.” Jane checked her eyes, breathing, reflexes and joints while Kufhille cooperated easily. Jane became quieter. Lucinda noticed. “What?” “She isn't built quite like us.” “No shit.” “I mean internally too.” “How different?” “I don't know yet.” “That is literally what I'm paying you for.” Jane gave her a look. “You're paying me six hundred and fifty dollars not to ask why there's an alien in your kitchen.” “Fair.” Jane tested Kufhille's arm and leg strength. “Push.” Kufhille pushed lightly. Jane frowned. “Harder.” Kufhille increased the pressure. Jane had to brace herself. “Jesus.” Lucinda smiled. “Strong?” “Very.” “How strong?” “I haven't finished.” Lucinda looked at Kufhille. Kufhille looked innocent. Jane picked up her bag. “Upstairs.” Lucinda's smile changed. “Now check what I actually called you for.” Jane did not bother pretending she misunderstood. “I know exactly what you called me for.” Kufhille followed Jane upstairs. The examination was clinical, direct and much shorter than Lucinda expected because Jane already knew precisely which questions she needed answered. When they came back down, Lucinda was waiting with coffee. “Well?” Jane put her bag on the table. “She is female.” “I had worked that out.” “She is close enough to human that a customer would never know unless somebody told him.” Lucinda's eyes sharpened. “And?” Jane sighed. “And you are about to become unbearable.” Lucinda smiled. “That good?” “Her flexibility is exceptional, her muscular control is far beyond normal human range, her recovery is almost immediate and the muscle groups relevant to the work you have in mind are stronger and more independently controlled than anything I've examined before.” Lucinda stared. “How much better?” “A lot.” “That's not a number.” “I don't have alien comparison charts.” “Would she be better than my girls?” Jane looked at Kufhille, then back at Lucinda. “Yes.” “All of them?” “Yes.” Lucinda slowly smiled. Jane continued before she could speak. “And her endurance appears ridiculous.” “How ridiculous?” “I stopped testing because I was getting tired before she was.” Lucinda laughed. “Oh, sweetheart.” Kufhille looked at her. Lucinda stepped closer and took both of Kufhille's hands. The contact opened her mind again. Money. Rooms. Customers. Prices. Competition. Lucinda already imagining advertisements she could never actually publish. Lucinda wondering how much wealthy men would pay. Lucinda deciding Kufhille would not go near an ordinary customer until she knew exactly what she had. And beneath all of it one clear thought. I just found the most valuable woman I've ever had walk through my door. Kufhille squeezed Lucinda's hands gently. Lucinda smiled. “You have no idea what's going on, do you?” Kufhille looked into her eyes. By now she knew what a brothel was. She knew what sex work was. She knew what Lucinda expected. She knew what Jane had tested. She knew what men paid for. She knew how Lucinda negotiated percentages. She knew where the cash was kept, which women hated which customers, which police officer was dangerous and which bedroom had a pistol beneath the mattress. She also knew something neither woman had considered. Kufhille had not come to this house because she was lost. She had come because she had spent several nights reading enough human minds to understand exactly where a woman without documents, history or identity could survive. Lucinda thought she had found an alien. Jane thought she had examined one. Neither understood that Kufhille had chosen them first. Kufhille smiled. “No idea.”