Kilmer dropped back in his chair as though he’d been shoved. “So, the attack they had warned about—what they threatened they would do if I didn’t show up—it didn’t happen?”
“No.”
“And since then? They said war was inevitable. Have there been subsequent attacks? Are we at war?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. I can understand why they didn’t retaliate on Day 24—I met their 7 p.m. deadline. But that doesn’t explain why they didn’t follow through on their other two statements. That I would never be allowed to return, and that Earth would suffer. Why did neither of those things happen?”
“We don’t know, Professor. What we know is that two days later—on Day 26—there was another blinding light. Moments later, you were lying on the ground, in the kill-zone, completely motionless. We assumed you were dead, but when we recovered your body, we discovered that you were merely unconscious, albeit in pretty bad shape. The doctors stabilized you and scanned your body for anything discernible that the aliens might have done to it—or implanted inside you—and found nothing out of the ordinary. The only problem, which we discovered later, was that you had no memory of anything that had occurred during your time on the spacecraft.”
“Did we ask ET-1 why they let me go?”
“We asked. And they refused to answer.”
“Do we have any idea why they didn’t attack? We thought we only had a few days, but it’s been weeks.”
“We don’t know. There was almost no communication between ET-1 and Earth-side during the two days you were missing. The only person they could have talked to during that time was you. I don’t suppose you happen to remember what was discussed?”
“I don’t. But you seem to think I somehow convinced them not to attack us.”
“That’s our hypothesis.”
“But I thought you brought me here today because there’s still a threat of an attack—or an invasion.”
“That’s right, Professor Kilmer. There is.”
Silla tried to clarify things. “We’re hoping that what you learned about them—or whatever you said to them to dissuade them from attacking—might help us figure out what to do next. A war is still coming, Professor, and you might have the key to avoiding it. We need to figure out what happened in there.”
Kilmer shook his head. “Except I don’t remember a thing. And ET-1 won’t even explain why they busted me up and tossed me out. Unless they tell us something, I’m afraid we don’t have a clue about what took place in there.”
Silla looked at Art, and he responded with a nod. She then turned back to Kilmer.
“Professor Kilmer. When you were a kid, you had a habit of doing something peculiar after you took a difficult exam. And, at least on one occasion, it got you in serious trouble. Is that right?”
Kilmer stared at her in disbelief. “How in the world could you possibly know that?”
“Because you told me that story on the very first night we met. But that’s not important. What matters, Professor, is that old habits seem to die hard with you.”
“Are you saying…”
“Yes, I am. So, when you say ‘We don’t have a clue about what took place’ while you were inside ET-1… well, that’s not entirely true. We do have one clue. And we’re hoping it might be enough for you to… you know. Do your thing.”
“What’s my thing?” Kilmer asked.
Silla laughed. “Well, I guess we’re off to a bad start. Your thing, Kilmer, is that you figure stuff out—especially when things look bleak.”
He smiled. “Point taken, Agent Silla—although I don’t think I’m entirely hopeless. For example, I did just figure out that you used to call me ‘Kilmer.’ Is that right?”
Silla realized that, for the first time since meeting Kilmer that day, she hadn’t referred to him as Professor. “That’s right,” she said.
“And I probably called you something other than ‘Agent Silla.’ What was it—if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t mind. And no—you didn’t call me Agent Silla.” She dropped her gaze. “Almost everyone calls me Ren.”
Kilmer smiled. “Then I’m sure I didn’t call you that.” He paused. “Was that… some sort of test?”
Silla wasn’t sure what it had been—or why she had tried to misdirect him. She had no answer.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Kilmer said, apologetically. “And I’m sorry for asking. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay. I just meant that I don’t mind if you call me Ren or Renata,” she offered. “We might end up working together again, so you don’t have to keep calling me Agent Silla—unless that’s your preference.”
Kilmer thought about it. “Does anyone call you Silla?”
Silla was sure her heart had stopped beating for a moment. She stared at Kilmer, trying to figure out if he had just remembered something.
No—it wasn’t a memory. He was just remarkably consistent. He was still the same guy. He was Kilmer.
“You would be in perfect company if you chose to call me Silla. I won’t mind it at all.”
He smiled. “Now that we have that settled, might I see the clue, Silla?”
Art handed her an envelope. She walked over to Kilmer and sat down next to him. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder when Silla opened the envelope and emptied its contents onto the table.
She turned toward him. “This is it, Kilmer. This is everything. What do you think?”
Kilmer picked up the photographs and thumbed through them.
What the hell?
Part V
the negotiator
~ 89 ~
Day 24. 7:00 p.m. Inside ET-1.
It had felt like a jolt of electricity coming up from the platform beneath him. That was all Kilmer could remember. He had passed out immediately. The next thing he knew, he was seated in what felt like it had the shape of a reclining chair—but not quite. He had no idea what it looked like because it was pitch black. He also had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He would later find out that it was for just under thirty minutes.
He assumed he was in the spacecraft. And the fact that he was alive seemed obvious. Beyond that, he had no information about the situation. He felt around him, but he didn’t dare try to stand up. His feet were dangling, and there was no way of knowing what he might land on, or fall into, if he left his seat. Behind him, the chair extended far above his head, higher than he could reach. It had no armrests. At approximately head height, on either side of him, were straps of some kind. Were they for securing his head? To keep him buckled during flight? Or to strap him down for other reasons?
Stop. Get a hold of yourself.
There was no way to be sure this was even a chair, and even less reason to think it was designed with a human body in mind. The aliens might be much larger, and this could be a seatbelt designed to secure their midsection. Or it could be something entirely different.
Be mindful of your assumptions, Kilmer.
He listened for noise. He could hear what sounded like the hum of an engine, but it was barely audible. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but there was no improved visibility even a minute later. Now what? He was about to call out and announce that he was awake, but then decided against it. He wasn’t ready to find out who—or what—would answer his call. And even if there were no monsters waiting to leap out at him, he needed to get his anxiety under control before communicating with anyone.
He slowed his breathing. Then he took a few minutes to come to terms with his new reality. It was a terrible situation. And scary. But still, it might be an opportunity to do some good. And if he could make even a bit of difference, it might be more than if he had lived a full life under normal circumstances.
He wondered how the aliens would respond to his call. Did they already know he was awake? Would they turn on a light? Would someone walk or crawl or fly toward him? Would he be grabbed? Would they flash a message on a screen? Would t
here be no response at all? For how long?
Only one way to find out.
He braced himself. And then, with his voice betraying none of the anxiety that he still felt, he made his introduction—becoming the first human in history to speak to aliens.
“My name is Kilmer. And I have come here willingly. I’m ready for what happens next.”
~ 90 ~
The light did not turn on. No one approached Kilmer. Nothing grabbed him. No screen or message flashed before his eyes. The response he received was not among the ones he had expected.
It was a voice that answered him.
“Welcome, Ambassador Kilmer. I greet you on behalf of my race. We don’t have names the way you do, but you know me as Archidamus.”
The voice had a certain synthetic quality to it, but it did not sound robotic. It came awfully close to sounding perfectly human.
“I am no ambassador, Archidamus. And, unfortunately, I am unable to greet you on behalf of my race. I’m sure you can understand why that is, given the circumstances.”
“I can understand. And I’m sorry. But there was no alternative but to ask that you come immediately.”
“There is always an alternative, Archidamus. I would like to know what it was—and why you chose against it.”
“You’re right. And I will explain that—and much more—very soon.”
“And once you’ve done that? What happens next?”
“Then I will have to ask you a question of my own.”
“And if I answer it to your satisfaction? Will you let me go and leave Earth alone? This can end peacefully?”
“I do not want to give you false hope. You should proceed with the understanding that there is nothing you can do to change our plans. But you are invited to try. That is why you are here.”
“And why are you here, Archidamus? Are you the leader of your people? A diplomat? A soldier?”
“I’m none of those. I was chosen because you were chosen.”
“Why? Who are you?”
“I’m like you, Kilmer. I’m a historian.”
~ 91 ~
For the next twenty minutes, Archidamus answered a flurry of questions.
Yes, they were still on Earth. No, Kilmer would not fall into an abyss or hurt himself if he got off his chair. Yes, it was a chair of sorts. No, he was not in a prison cell. Yes, it was more like a bedroom or an office. No, they had no such things as beds. Yes, he would be allowed to sleep when he needed to. No, ET-1 would not yet turn on a light for him. Yes, there were lots of aliens on the spacecraft.
Yes, the bright light they had used outside was designed to hide what and how ET-1 did things on Earth. Yes, ET-1 had attacked the soldiers who tried to stop Kilmer from entering ET-1. Yes, it was possible they had died. Yes, they would have attacked Silla as well if she had gotten too close to the platform. Yes, ET-1 was heavily armed. Yes, the reserve spacecraft could do tremendous damage to Earth. Yes, the aliens would have attacked Earth if he did not enter ET-1 by 7 p.m. Yes, many people would have died in the first attack alone. No, ET-1 had not been bluffing or lying about anything it said. Yes, Earth-side had tried to contact ET-1 after Kilmer entered the spacecraft. No, ET-1 had not answered any of Earth-side’s substantive questions. No, Kilmer would not be allowed to send a message to anyone on Earth—not even to say that he was okay.
“Why not?”
“Because it is a rule. And as you will come to understand, there are reasons we cannot break such rules. As to why such a rule might exist—it is possible that you have a code with which to communicate the things you have seen, experienced, or learned on ET-1.”
Kilmer had not thought of doing that—none of them had. It was the kind of plan someone should have proposed. What else had they failed to consider? What other opportunities had they missed?
Shake it off, Kilmer.
His questions to Archidamus continued.
Yes, ET-1 planned to stay on Earth for at least another day or two. No, they would not take him to their home planet afterwards. Yes, there was a home planet. Yes, it was in the same galaxy as Earth. No, it would be better for Kilmer if they took him elsewhere—to a colossal space station. Yes, it would be very far away. Yes, they would be able to keep him alive for years. Yes, he would be living alongside the aliens—but not among many. No, he would not be in prison.
Yes, he would be allowed to meet the aliens on board ET-1—but not yet. Yes, it was because it could scare or distract him. They needed Kilmer to focus on the conversation that Archidamus was going to have with him. There would be plenty of time—years, in fact—for Kilmer to get to know the aliens. No, not all aliens were friendly. Yes, he would be safe. No, the aliens did not plan to hurt him.
And yes, human beings on Earth were still doomed.
“I know you have many more questions, Kilmer. I would as well if I were you. But I suggest we set them aside for a while. There will be plenty of time later. We have to get started on the reason you are here.”
“You have some things you want to explain to me.”
“That is correct.”
“Are you going to explain why you think it’s okay to kill millions or billions of human beings? Because if so, I think you overestimate my capacity to empathize. I can’t imagine anything that would justify it.”
“I do not intend to justify it, Kilmer. I only intend to explain it. There may be no justice in what happens. But we want you to understand why.”
“What’s the point? Whether I understand or not, I can’t do anything about it. If you’re just trying to clear your conscience, then there are another seven billion people to whom you should explain things. Maybe one of them will tell you it’s okay.”
“We did not pick you because we thought you would tell us it is okay for us to attack your planet.”
“Then why?”
“We were looking for someone who might convince us there was a way to avoid it. We have tried hard on our own to do that—and we have failed. We believe it is fair for a human to have the opportunity as well.”
Kilmer considered the statement. ET-1 had already said he was unlikely to change the outcome. Was this just a formality? Had he entered a kangaroo court—a show trial with the verdict predetermined? If so, who was the jury? And what choice did he have but to go along with it—even if it was a charade?
But if there was a chance to convince them—no matter how small—then he had to get this right. He couldn’t afford to miss a thing. Not one hint. Not one opportunity. Not one piece of the puzzle.
“You say that you’ve tried, Archidamus. How long could you have possibly tried? You’ve only been here a week. You’ve only just started to learn about us.”
“You are working from a flawed assumption, Kilmer. Time works a bit differently in our world. The physics are the same—we cannot shrink or stretch or reverse time—but the pace at which things happen on our planet would be unfathomable to you. Think about how much faster humans can calculate, transmit data, process information, or acquire knowledge today, as compared to one hundred years ago. Now imagine the technology you will have one hundred years from now. You might accomplish in a few days what currently takes a year. You might find ways to augment your brain’s storage and processing capacity, changing the very nature of learning. Can you imagine how fast things will move a thousand years from now? Ten thousand years from now? You cannot. But that is what you would need to do to appreciate how much work has already been done by us. You were probably impressed by how quickly I learned to speak in English. But this is not a difficult task—many others on my planet have already done so as well in the last week. And, as for human history—I probably know more of it than you do.”
“Then why do you need—” Kilmer stopped himself. He already knew why. “You still can’t think like a human.”
“There is always a difference between natives and foreigners, no matter how much a foreigner has studied. Some elements of understanding lie in the spaces between what is said or written
or debated. Some knowledge is implicit. Some of what is known remains out of the grasp of conscious awareness.”
“So, I’m the native you’ve picked to fill that gap. Is it because our people sent you my book? I should tell you that it wasn’t meant to be a signal of any kind. It was added to the list of things we sent only as an afterthought. No one on Earth would have picked me to represent humanity.”
“We debated that—whether it was a signal or not. I was sure it was not. Historians are very highly respected on my planet, but I know how they are regarded on yours. Humans would not have sent us a historian.”
“Then why still insist on me? Why not let humans decide who will represent the planet?”
“Because only we know the task that awaits Earth’s ambassador. Humans are not sufficiently informed to make the right decision—whereas we have considered it carefully. You will be surprised to learn that your book, Heirs of Herodotus by Earth Historian D. Kilmer, has already been widely read on my planet. Its ideas have garnered much attention. A few dozen excerpts of the book, especially, are a source of tremendous discussion and deliberation among our policymakers and scholars. Some of your ideas will, I predict, influence political and military debates on my planet for years to come.”
Kilmer was stunned.
“As I said, Kilmer, I probably know more about Earth’s history than you do. And yet, I was surprised by some of the lessons and insights you gleaned from your study of human history. Some of your analyses I might disagree with—as is the right of any fellow historian—but much of it is quite profound. You see and say things others do not, Kilmer. And that is the point. That one quality is the only chance your planet has. Because unless you see something that I and others have missed, there is no hope. The problem is that we are very capable and very thorough. We do not think we missed anything that would change our conclusions. We are confident Earth’s fate is sealed.”
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