Page 19 of Whisked Away By the Alien

My mood sours at how excited she is to see Bubbe. I have a rival I did not expect. I never expected to have feelings for Golda either. I’m still not sure if she’s my sholani, but even if she isn’t, she’s special, and I cannot allow her to be with this Bubbe alone. While I was sent here to observe and learn, I’m still a warrior and will always protect those in danger, especially Golda.

Ready to take down the visca who’s terrorized my female in the past, I punch the swinging kitchen door open to make a statement and warn this Bubbe not to challenge me.

Instead of finding a male with Golda by the front door, there’s an older female, shorter than Golda and with more wrinkles than dried quirty fruit.

Golda takes the female’s coat and links her arm to the elderly woman, escorting her toward the eating area with the table big enough to fit my family back home. Drekk, I miss my mother, sisters, and their younglings. I haven’t even met the two born last year. Or the one the year before.

The older female finally notices me standing by the kitchen door. Blue eyes, as bright as my mother’s, peer through thick glasses. They move over my body, taking in my warrior tattoos, the weapons on my belt, and my horns, which I strive to keep back in a non-threatening stance.

My body tenses under her scrutiny. I’ve been through this type of meeting several times since landing on Earth. Usually the humans, females and males alike, spit or curse at me then walk away. A few take up whatever lies nearby to use as weapons. Bricks, pipes, chairs, even a shoe. I never engage. I understand their fear. The Coalition occupied Earth for nearly two decades. Aliens from many species brutalized these people. Their enemy, as they see it, is any person not born of Earth.

“What are you?” the woman asks in a strong voice.

“I’m a warrior. From Zyan.”

“Sten, this is my bubbe. Bubbe, this is Stenikov. He’s staying here for the week as part of a cultural training program.”

“Bubbe?” This frail female is Bubbe? This female barely comes up to my stomach. If I blow in her direction, she’ll fall over.

“Bubbe is Yiddish for grandmother,” Golda explains. “Her given name is Helen Katz. She’s my mom’s mom.”

“Take me closer, Golda. I can’t see him. From here he looks like a giant blue margarita with two straws sticking out of his head.” Golda sucks in both lips to keep from laughing as she escorts her grandmother to me.

When the females reach me, I fully bend my head forward, aiming to get on Bubbe’s level so she may see me face to face. Likewise, the female tilts her head back, straining to see me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a tiny female who was full grown.

“Stand up straight, young man. Slouching is unseemly.”

I snap to my full height, surprised she has the demeanor of my former commander. Everyone in his command towered over him, but no one challenged him, not with the way he carried himself.

“Bubbe, Sten’s a guest. Be nice.”

“Nobody trusts a person who slouches. He should remember that. You both should.”

Golda’s back straightens, then her head lifts as her eyes lock with mine. Her face fills with empathy as she nods her head toward her grandmother. Ruby-red lips move as if she’s speaking, but I don’t hear what she’s saying.

Once again I remind myself to be patient. This is why I am here. To learn about humans, which includes the various ways they communicate.

“Bubbe, Sten is here to help for the week while Mom babysits Sadie for Rachel.”

“He doesn’t look Russian,” Bubbe says. “Your mother said he’s Russian.”

“I only said his name sounds Russian, Ma. He’s from Zyan.” Mrs. Birnbaum enters the house with the sleeping youngling snuggled against her chest.

“I don’t care where he’s from, you need to turn the heat up in here. The young man’s turned blue.”

“Is that all you notice that’s different about Stenikov?” Mrs. Birnbaum asks.

Blue eyes in a withered face move up and down my torso with an intensity that reminds me of warrior training. I stand taller, clasp my hands behind my back, and let my horns rise.

“He’s bigger than that schmendrik you married, Gertrude.”

Golda rolls her eyes. “Daddy’s not a schmendrik. He works very hard, and he loves all of us, including you, Bubbe.”

“He got your mother pregnant. She was seventeen. A child.” The woman starts sputtering in a language that is neither English nor Common.

I look to Golda for guidance. She sighs and throws me a weak smile.

“Excuse my bubbe. She has a long memory. And it’s one-sided. Dad’s only a year older than Mom but Bubbe makes it sound like he was twenty years older when he got her pregnant.”

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