SIX: Gorgon

Fifteen minutes later, Alden and his friends arrived at the Artonan consulate building. It was a blocky gray cube of concrete and glass, surrounded by a security fence. A trio of poles out front held the multicolored streamers the aliens used as their planetary flags.

Even in the beginning, there hadn’t really been enough Artonans on Earth to justify functional diplomatic consulates in major cities. And now that Earth-Artonan political relations had been settled for decades, the so-called consulate was mostly a place for registering as a superhuman and taking classes.

The building’s interior was more inviting than the outside. In the lobby, pale terrazzo floors shone under a dark wood ceiling flecked with tiny LED lights that formed a vaguely elliptical pattern.

It was supposed to be a map of important stars in the Artonans’ home galaxy, but it came across as abstract art.

Jeremy, who was turning blue around the edges, had insisted that they stop at a coffee shop on the way, so they all had warm drinks. Alden had yet to develop an appreciation for coffee despite multiple attempts, so he was sipping a cinnamon hot chocolate.

A second one was clutched in his other hand.

“Give me a sec,” he said to his friends. “Gotta make my delivery.”

Jeremy and Bo didn’t answer. They were having an absurdly serious discussion about whether or not the coffee run was counter to the spirit of their dare.

Snow-damp boots squeaking on the polished floor, Alden headed toward the lobby desk. Sitting behind it was one of the only nonhumans in all of Chicago.

He was around five feet tall, with smooth gray skin that reminded Alden of a stingray he’d pet once at the aquarium. He had black eyes like a shark and a wide, flat nose with four slits for nostrils. Alden didn’t think the alien had ears, but it was hard to tell. His head was covered in a couple dozen protrusions that were similar to horns, each about two fingers wide and curving down around his skull to flare outward when they reached the top of his spine. Their sharp points made a sort of spiky protective choker around the backs and sides of his neck.

Most people, following a tradition that was pretty questionable in Alden’s opinion, called the creature a demon. He was a deadly horned being purported to be from a dimension steeped in the dark powers of chaos. But still…

He called himself Gorgon, and Alden went with that. Even though he assumed the name was more of a concession to human vocal cords than anything else.

As usual, Gorgon looked bored out of his strangely-shaped skull. He was chained to the lobby desk by glowing ropes of magic that wound around his arms and legs. Alden hadn’t been able to confirm the details, but rumor had it that Gorgon hadn’t left the lobby of this building since he was installed here by some powerful Artonan he’d tried to disembowel forty years ago.

“Morning, Gorgon,” Alden said, approaching the desk. “Brought you a hot chocolate.”

“No thank you.” Gorgon spoke without looking up from the pair of computer monitors in front of him. His voice was high pitched, with an undertone like the tinkle of breaking glass.

“It’s not dairy. I got you one made with coconut milk.”

Alden set it on top of the desk beside a golden tray full of neatly arranged ballpoint pens.

Gorgon turned his head a fraction of an inch toward Alden, but his eyes were still fixed on the screens, which never showed anything but security footage from around the building.

Possibly, direct eye contact was rude among his kind.

Alden liked to assume that was the case anyway. He’d been coming to the consulate regularly for around six weeks now, and he’d never once managed to look Gorgon dead in the eye.

“Thank you,” Gorgon said finally, taking the hot cocoa in long gray fingers and flicking the lid off the top with a thick, black forked tongue.

“I also brought you this.” Alden reached under the flap of his messenger bag and pulled out a plastic takeout container full of chopped vegetables in oil. “It’s hot giardiniera from my favorite sandwich shop.”

He placed a plastic fork on top of it and a paper napkin. It didn’t particularly matter that hot cocoa and spicy Italian relish was a weird combo to human tastes. Alden was still trying to figure out what the alien’s food preferences actually were.

So far, all he’d managed to determine was that Gorgon didn’t mind spices and he was sort-of vegan. As in, he wouldn’t take meat, dairy, or eggs from Alden, but Alden had once seen him eat a fly that landed on the back of his hand.

Maybe he’s an environmentalist? It’s not like it’s his planet, but he is stuck here with us. No more plastic dishes then….

Gorgon slid his arm out, the papers on the desk glowing in the light of his chains, and took the container. He set it beside his keyboard.

“All right,” he said.

Pleased, Alden nodded and turned to go, but Gorgon’s voice stopped him.

“Are you going to keep doing this every day?”

Alden looked back over his shoulder. “Every day I come for classes. Unless you don’t like it?”

The alien tipped his head up toward the ceiling.

“I like receiving offerings. But I don’t know why you’re bribing me. You’re not physically attracted to me. I can smell that sort of thing on humans.” His nostrils flared. “You don’t reek of pity either. I had assumed you were one of those young idiots who thought the mysterious demon could grant you System access or other powers. But I listened in on your lessons last week, and you seem to be slightly less ignorant than others your age. So that’s not likely.”

There was a note in his voice that might have been pensive, but Alden knew he shouldn’t rely on his ability to interpret a nonhuman’s inflections. Especially Gorgon’s.

He’d read literally everything he could find on the internet, trying to get information about the “Desk Demon” imprisoned in Chicago’s Artonan consulate. But there was nothing.

Well…there were a lot of pictures on social media from tourists and extraterrestrial fans who’d sought Gorgon out for a photo op. But beyond that, there was only a listing of his name, a series of runes that apparently described his home dimension, and a few lines about his life sentence.

Whatever Gorgon’s species was, there wasn’t another one of him on Earth as far as Alden could tell.

And apparently he could smell pheromones? Or maybe even emotions? So Alden probably shouldn’t lie to him.

“It’s a little embarrassing, but I thought…if I ever get superpowers one day, it would be great to know someone with better insight into the System than the stuff that’s available to the public. And it’s not like there are a lot of options for that kind of thing.” He gave the alien a nervous smile. “I guess I was hoping to make friends with you in advance in case I ever needed your advice.”

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Gorgon continued staring up at the ceiling.

“Ah. How unfortunate for you. I am specifically barred from giving humans any information about the Artonans, the System, my own kind, magic, chaos, extra-dimensional incursions, and a veritable encyclopedia of other interesting things. If it’s not widely known by your species already, then I’m not allowed to discuss it with you. And the bindings on me are quite…thorough. You’ve chosen a very poor advisor.”

He sat up straight then and cracked open the giardiniera. He shoved a forkful in his mouth.

“Though maybe you don’t actually care much about the fact that I will most likely be useless to you?” He smacked his lips. “If you’re already making plans for the day when you might be one of the…fortunate…few, you must have a high tolerance for disappointment. Your chances are worse than one in a thousand, you know?”