The holding cell is well-used, but clean. Made for the native Tyulti population rather than the Earth-born, everything is wrong-sized for the group of human women that have arrived over the last few hours. Linda closes her eyes for a moment. Her stomach cramps again. The feeling subsides, and she checks out the cell. Most of the other five women are silent, but their sideways glances speak of suspicion and fear.
Linda guesses them to be a range of nationalities and languages. Two older German speakers occupy the lone, sheetless bunk bed and hold a rapid-fire conversation in low voices. Before she can reach any conclusions about the others, she feels tears welling up. She closes her eyes again and forces herself to think of something else. She calculates whether her worst student has any chance of passing her English class. Maybe. The tears subside.
Linda wishes she had stayed on Earth. She’d swap this cell for an Earth police station cell. Or even a hospital. At least then she’d know why she was here.
The dingy passageway is muted now. Earlier, a constant stream of Tyulti enforcers passed through on their way to other holding cells. The stream became a dribble, then a drip, then no one for a long time. Hours passed. How many? She replays the last few days from memory as she waits.
“Earth-born people play games to learn how to obey rules.” Linda pursed her lips, red pen wavering over the homework assignment she was grading but moved on. “Sokker is a good game for learning rules.” This time a circle. “Earth-born people learn when to bent rules,” at this Linda’s pen darted in to change the ‘t’ into a ‘d,’ “by the use of fowls.” Another mark.
A knock on her apartment door startled her. Who could it be so long after sunset? Sitting at her dining table grading essays on her students’ favorite Earth sports, the knock could have been a relief. It could have been her neighbor, or even the building manager, but it wasn’t.
The monitor attached to the door frame illuminated as she approached, and Linda sucked in a tense breath: three Tyulti in Enforcement garb. Near-human except for coats of fur that blended into the grey-black of their uniforms, two of them stood at relative ease with rifle-sized diasho cradled in their arms. The shortest one, still much taller than Linda, was empty-handed.
She considered ignoring the visitors. But Steve Masser had ignored a visit from the enforcers last year. Mr. Enio, the Tyulti who had recruited them all from Earth, had told the teachers that he’d been repatriated because of a family emergency. No one had ever heard from him again.
Linda opened the door.
“Aaahhhhh,” said the tallest, best-groomed member of the group. “Hello, you speak Tyult?” He blinked. Linda also blinked politely, failing to read the situation.
“No, sorry. Can I help you?”
The official spoke in short, Tyult syllables to both of his junior staff, who answered in the negative with regretful head tilts.
“Passport? Passport? See?” the officer asked with a smile.
“Oh, sure”, Linda said, holding up her first finger. “Wait one minute, please.”
The officer nodded. “One minute, yes.”
Linda grabbed her Earth passport, bringing it back to the door.
After inspecting the document page by page, the officer asked, “Visa? University Visa?”
Linda frowned. “It’s in process; I don’t have it yet.”
The officer at the door asked again, with bared teeth—a Tyult frown.
Linda held up her finger again. She scrambled to grab her handheld, a thin plastic oblong that lit up as she lifted it from the tabletop. Returning to the door, she pulled up the contact details for Mr. Enio, the recruiter of all alien faculty.
“Ahh,” the Enforcer said with relief. With a sharp word, one of the younger males produced a smaller handheld. The young officer tapped it against Linda’s device, the diasho dangling in his other hand.
“Thank you, that is all,” the officer said, and the trio strode back to the apartment building’s elevator while Linda looked at their retreating forms, perplexed.
She closed the door and leaned against it, only then noticing the sweat rolling down her back. She texted Mr. Enio, “Hi. Enforcers came to my home asking about visa status, please advise?”
Wracking her brain, Linda tried to remember what Steve had said in his last appearances in the teacher’s room. Something about regulations? Interpretations of what’s true? As hard as she tried, she couldn’t quite remember. Steve complained a lot.
No reply from Mr. Enio. She sat back down to her students’ assignments but couldn’t focus. At midnight, she went to bed, spending the night with restless dreams.