by Ann Christy
“Listen,” I say, reaching for my cup, then pulling back before I send him back into snail-mode again, “I’ve got more questions than I’ve got the ability to ask. I can’t even sort out my questions, I have so many. Mostly, I can’t think too much beyond the fact that this is a giant spaceship, that I’m gone from my planet, that no one else has ever come back, and that I don’t want to die as an appetizer at an alien dinner party. Maybe if you just got the quick and dirty version out of the way and told me I’m not going to die as a meal for squid-people, I might be able to think.”
As I speak, Jack nods a few times at my concerns as if they make total sense, then grins when I mention the squid-people. All in all, they don’t seem like the reactions he would give if the news was bad.
I pick up my cup and he narrows his eyes at me, so I add, “And we can talk while I drink this. It’s fine. Getting answers from alien invaders trumps manners any day of the week.”
Eleven
Jack shakes his head at me and says, “We’re not alien invaders.”
That’s not a good way to start this out as far as I’m concerned. No lying and no prevaricating can be allowed at this point. “First, you are clearly alien even if you put yourselves into the bodies of grandmas and hot guys. Second, you are snatching humans right off Earth and replacing them with something else that is clearly not the original. So, yes, you’re alien invaders by default.”
He tilts his head a little and he asks, “Hot? I don’t understand that one exactly. Do you mean American English slang for handsome or having the characteristic of higher relative temperature?”
My cup hits my tray harder than I intended and my jaw drops a little. I’m not sure which is worse, that I’m going to have to admit what hot means or that he’s really an alien in a hot guy’s body.
“Uh, slang and see, you didn’t know what it meant. You would have if you were human.”
He gives me another of those little grins and says, “Thank you. You’re hot too.”
I’m so glad my cup was already on the tray, because I would have dropped it and wasted this coffee that tastes exactly like the stuff I get from my favorite, over-priced coffee boutique. “I don’t even know what to say to that,” I reply.
“That wasn’t the right thing to say?”
“No. No, it wasn’t. You’re totally not human.”
He shrugs a little and says, “It seemed the polite thing to say. Also, I am human. I wasn’t, but I am now. And I know lots of stuff about humans—ones from where you’re from—but this age group has the most confusing social rules I’ve ever encountered. Normally, I would have been able to spend time on the planet and get accustomed to things more naturally. There wasn’t time unfortunately, and I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing.”
I can tell he wants me to answer him, but I need a minute. Maybe I need a year, but at the very least, I need a minute to process his words. So, he’s human now and he knows enough about us to pass—well, mostly pass—for a teen guy. He would have spent time on Earth as a human to learn about us, which is weird, because it makes me wonder how many aliens are already running around down there. Probably my AP Calculus teacher…no, maybe not, but for sure the soccer coach has got to be an alien. At least one thing he said makes sense. I think I understand where some of the confusion is coming from if he’s having problems with teen social rules and norms.
They clearly know almost everything about us, but if he’s trying to be a regular teen and using our social activity as a guide, he’s going to say inappropriate things much worse than he already has. I’d bet he’s using social media, probably also movies and the internet in general. I don’t even want to consider what he must think of teen socializing if he’s using WinkChat. The things we post on there would curl my mom’s hair if she saw it.
“Are you alright?” he asks, when I sit there staring at him for too long.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” That’s a lie, but it’s time to move on. “So, am I dinner for squid-people? Or any other kind of meal for any other kind of people or whatever you have here.”
He grins again and says, “Nope. You are not to be eaten, drunk, or ingested in any form. There’s nothing like that going on.”
“Is anyone that leaves Earth getting eaten?”
“Nope,” he answers.
“Are you lying?”
That seems to take him aback and he looks confused. “I’m not lying, but why would you ask that? If the purpose was to deceive you, then would asking me if I was deceiving you make me tell you the truth?”
“No, but sometimes you can catch liars off guard.”
“I see. Well, I’m not lying.” He widens his eyes at me for a quick second in an excellent imitation of someone trying to be earnest, while also holding in a laugh or smile. It’s cute.
“I suppose I wouldn’t know if you were anyway. So, good enough. Next questions. Why are you taking people from Earth? Where are they going? What are you doing with them? Why are you sending replacements? And why are you doing it so badly if you don’t mean harm?”
Jack leans back in his chair at my rapid-fire barrage of questions, that same little smile on his face. “You have a lot of questions.”
“You’ve taken a lot of humans.”
“True. You win. First question is why? The why is very simple. There is an event coming that will destroy at least ninety percent of advanced life on Earth within the next twenty-seven years, four months, and six days. The event will have only temporary impacts, but it will still eliminate almost all humans and other animals on Earth. Plants too. The probabilities have recently shifted, so there’s a significant chance now that all life on Earth could perish. That’s why.”
That pretty much takes all the wind out of my sails. “What?”
“Too much honesty?”
“What?” I ask again. I mean, I know what he said, but I can’t accept what he said.
The smile falls away and he leans forward again, his hand sliding across the table toward mine. “That was too much. You seemed very eager for the truth, but I think you probably aren’t ready for it.”
It takes me a second to parse the words, but then I get a flash of alarm. If they think I’m too fragile to take the truth, then they’ll start lying. “No, I’m fine. I just…well, I just didn’t expect that. All life on Earth?”
He nods, but hedges his bets with his next words. “Almost all life. To the best of our ability to predict it anyway. It will be a temporary event, but the immediate impact will be lethal to most forms of life, including plants, which will further hinder chances of survival. The planet will recover given enough time, if I can use such a generality.”
“That seems a long time from now. Why take us so soon?”
His eyes widen and he asks, “Do you know how many of you there are? How many animals? Species?”
That information surprises me. I had no idea they were taking animals too. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever even heard that mentioned as a possibility. Then again, that might be something our government would want to keep secret, since that would impact everything from our food supply to people’s pets. I doubt many people would be willing to keep eating beef if they thought the cows were alien replacements.
“You’re taking animals too?”
“Some now, some later. But yes, animals and plants. Bugs, fish, bears…all of it.”
“Wow.”
“That sums it up fairly well.”
“But again, why now and why send replacements? Why not just come down and say, ‘Hey, you’re all going to die, so we’re going to take you so that you won’t.’ I mean, that would be easier.”
“And you think that would work?” he asks, as if that were a serious question.
Now that I think about it, it probably wouldn’t work. Some would believe him, most would freak, others would destroy the world just because they’re angry or confused. Humans do not, as a rule, react well to bad news. I sh
rug.
“No matter. We’ve determined that it wouldn’t work, though this way doesn’t seem to work very well either. And talking to humans on Earth would be against the rules anyway.”
“Duh, definitely not working as it is.” I didn’t mean that to come out like it did, but it is sort of appropriate.
He purses his lips at me for a second, then says, “Anyway, the replacements are so that your world will keep operating as normal. That’s the intention anyway. A smooth transition with no hardships on those not yet transferred. And no changes in available biological organisms for the future. That’s a rule too.”
There are some logical flaws inside his explanation, but I’m guessing the entire process is probably super-complex and can’t be relayed by a simple yes or no answer. “Okay, but aren’t the replacements going to die too? What about having kids? What about all the stuff the people who are taken might have done?”
One of Jack’s eyebrows rises quickly, like he’s either impressed with my questions or has just realized I really will keep asking endlessly and always find more questions to ask.
“Lysa, here’s the thing. There are almost eight billion of you. That only counting the humans and that’s a whole lot of moving parts and decisions. Not everyone will get transferred, only a small portion really. It’s very complex, very carefully timed, and very well thought out. Yes, the replacements will live out their lives and die like regular humans. There are many calculations considered when deciding who gets transferred and when. The process is exceptionally complicated.”
I sit back in my chair and try to parse things out for myself. I can’t imagine all the things they consider, but I also can’t put an order to it in my mind. I don’t understand the reasoning behind the calculations, so there’s no way I can truly absorb it. I’m going to have to settle for pushing the “I believe” button. That isn’t something I’m generally comfortable doing.
“Okay, I get that it’s complicated and some will be chosen before others for whatever reasons. What about telling me why people don’t get transferred then?”
He inclines his head for a second and I know we’re getting to the meat of it. Oh, I probably shouldn’t think of meat and non-transfer in the same thought train. The way his eyes soften when he looks at me also warns me that I’m probably not going to like his answer. I take a deep breath and twist my fingers together.
“There are many reasons a person wouldn’t be a transfer, but only one applies to you. Well, it’s the primary reason and all else follows from that. Are you sure you want to know?”
Is he serious?
“You can’t set up a mystery like that and then ask that question. Do I want to hear it? Probably not. Do I need to hear it? Yes.”
He nods after considering me for a moment, probably deciding if he really should tell me whatever it is he’s going to say. “You wouldn’t have continued your genetic line.” At my slightly confused expression, he adds, “What I mean to say is that you wouldn’t have had children. In addition, the profile indicates you had a high probability of death before the event, and were almost certain to have no dependents prior to that time. There are other factors, including available genetic variations, predispositions, transfer dynamics, and the like. There were other, more efficient combinations available, so you weren’t on the transfer list.”
I’ve never considered myself particularly maternal. When I imagine my future, I see working in a lab, doing cool science-y stuff, or maybe being an artist. I see myself in the field, digging up ancient civilizations or discovering something new. I can maybe imagine finding a guy that looks as hot as Jack to marry. I don’t generally imagine pregnancy and diapers. It would be weird to think of me having kids.
But to have it said with such certainty. I wouldn’t have kids and I, essentially, wouldn’t have anyone that depended on me before I died. Alone.
And how do they even know that?
“I’m useless? Eating food and using air for no reason, so I don’t get a ticket on the rescue boat. Is that about the sum of it?” I ask. I hate that I sound bitter. I hate it even more that I can feel the sting of tears filling up my eyes.
I guess it’s a good thing I jumped through when I did. Otherwise, I would have just had to die on Earth all alone with no one to love me and then the world would end.
This freaking sucks.
Twelve
Jack doesn’t answer me for a long moment and when I look back at him, he looks distinctly uncomfortable. There’s a rosy flush near his neck and his eyes flick away when I meet his gaze. He’s sorry he had to break this news to me. That’s as clear as if he’d written a sign and hung it around his neck.
Still, the whole thing is supposed to happen in twenty-seven years. Of course, I would be over forty, but maybe I was divorced or had a long-term boyfriend. Maybe we were adopting and waiting for a baby.
It could be worse. Right?
Well, the whole being dead by then thing bothers me, but I’d rather not think of that. That said, if I do find a way back, I will be careful crossing the street and never get on an airplane.
“I’m not going to have kids. So what! And that can’t be the only reason. You guys take old people and I know they aren’t having any more kids. Or are they? Do you make them young again or grow babies in pods for them? Are you guys going to do something bad to me because I’m a non-transfer? Tell me straight.”
I really need some reassurance on that last point. Worrying about others is hard to do when I’m worried about my own imminent death.
I expect him to give me another of those sideways smiles and tell me no. My heart plummets to my feet when I don’t get that. Instead, the smile fades, and he says, “Not because of us.”
My immediate thought is that I’m going to die because I went through the portal. Maybe from radiation or something. All I can say is, “I’m going to die?”
Jack takes a deep breath and then leans forward, folding his hands on the table and looking directly into my eyes. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. No, you’re not about to die. Not from us or from anything else.”
“I’m definitely going to die,” I whisper. He was way too quick to come out with that answer.
He tilts his head again for a second, then says, “I should clarify, because this isn’t coming across accurately. You’re a non-transfer because of your physical condition, the assessment of your future, and because the genetic variability required could be filled more efficiently with other humans. That said, you’re here now. We can correct your condition.”
I’m completely confused. My physical condition is just fine. I have nothing wrong with me that I know of. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to have kids because there’s something wrong with me?” I ask. “If you fix me, does that mean I transfer?”
Now it’s Jack’s turn to look confused. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
This time the head tilt is accompanied by closed eyes and a long silence. Jack is clearly listening to someone. While I want to shake him and maybe slap him around a little to get answers, I know that the answers are probably what he’s listening to, so I wait.
When he opens his eyes, Jack says, “This didn’t go right. Let’s get this part over and then I’ll begin with the rest of it.” At my nod, he continues. “You have a problem with your reproductive organs caused by a genetic defect. It causes them to experience early failure. There are other effects, though most people aren’t bothered by those. In your case, it will cause premature failure to parts of your circulatory system. Your assessment indicates you will likely expire between the ages of thirty-five and forty-five due to cardiac insufficiency. That’s only if your problem isn’t corrected.”
My mouth drops open and my hands go to my belly. If I weren’t so horrified by what Jack said, I’d be more embarrassed that he was talking about my internal lady-parts.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because you were assessed. Everyone on Earth was assessed. As you already surmised, this isn’t my original form, but I’ve got the basics of human biology down, and we’ve got your terminology well in hand.”
Oh gosh, that’s even worse. He understands human biology…including my internal lady parts. My flawed internal lady parts.
“And I’m going to die from it? It’s messing with my arteries or my heart or something?”
Again, he inclines his head, but this time he’s not listening to anyone. This time it’s body language and I know he’s trying to be upbeat. “Not exactly. It would contribute to an earlier death, but only if it wasn’t discovered and corrected. I’d assumed you knew something was wrong, even if not the precise details.” He pauses, tilts his head to listen, then adds, “Ah, I understand that particular genetic flaw has not yet been discovered on Earth. It doesn’t matter now. You don’t have to keep that flaw. Since you’re here, we can fix it. It would take only a couple of minutes.”
Yeah, I’m not going to let this go on for one second longer. I can feel my arteries hardening and I swear by all the ice cream yet uneaten that my heart is thumping erratically in my chest. The sensation is probably being generated in my mind, but what if it isn’t?
With that, I lurch up from the table so quickly that I rattle the tray and dishes. “Let’s fix this right now. Make all that artery business good to go. You can fix the other stuff too, but I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.”
Jack gets up more slowly, looking at me cautiously, as if I’m suddenly dangerous again. “I’m so sorry this upset you. We can do that now, but it’s not going to matter if we talk first. You’re in no danger at this moment. And treatment might be…surprising. I think it would better if we got some orientation done first.”