Understanding the Stars

by Xela Culletto

  “Go with you?” I said. An absurd part of me suddenly wanted to laugh—a boy was asking me to go with him. I wanted equally to laugh and bawl my head off. “I really don’t know what to say. Give me some time to think.”

  “Understandable,” he said. “But you need to understand that we don’t have much time. We must leave in 24 hours if we want to be out of here in time. And Alex?”

  24 hours!

  “Yeah?” I said, frowning down at the faded white stripe on the blacktop.

  “I know the situation is horrible. But I promise I will do my best to make you happy up there.” Then he reached out, took my hand, and placed something small and smooth inside it. “It’s called a Tarke. It works kind of like a phone. Tell it if you want to contact me and it will. Or just ask it for directions when you’re ready to leave—it will guide you.”

  Then he let go of my hand and walked away. I unlocked my car and climbed in. I sat there, breathing deep breaths, trying not to think too much. Then I started the engine and drove home, feeling very lonely.

  Isn’t it amazing, how you can drive down a street countless times in your life and then suddenly notice something new about it? I kept thinking how Ronan had been “watching” me and it made me aware of so many things I’d never paid attention to before. How long has that house had that huge tree in front of it? There’s a vacuum repair shop on that corner?

  I pulled into the familiar driveway, and at the sight of my house, I suddenly broke down into tears. Somehow there was a part of me that knew what Ronan had said was the truth. And if that was the truth, I really had no choice—I had to leave.

  My pale blue house with the large front porch had never looked more beautiful. Somehow I managed to get control of my emotions before going in, though I knew my red eyes would betray the tears.

  Part of me wanted to run into my parents’ arms and tell them everything, and let them fix it. But when I walked in the house, all was quiet. Everyone was already asleep.

  When I flipped on the light in my room I suddenly noticed the shirt I’d left lying on the floor, the dresser drawer left open, and the candy bar wrapper that hadn’t quite made it into the trash. Stop that, I chided myself. You’re worried about Ronan seeing your messy room when you’re never going to see your family again?

  And then—I couldn’t help it—I started sobbing again. I climbed into my bed and pulled the blanket over my head. My pillow was soon wet with my tears, but sometime during the night the weeping subsided and I fell asleep.

  There was a soft knock at my door. I dug my way out from underneath the thick white comforter.

  “Mmm?” I answered looking at the clock on my nightstand. 7:36.

  “It’s me,” my mom said. “Can I come in?”

  “Mmm,” I answered again.

  “Hi sweetie—sorry to wake you up so early on the weekend, but there’s a man at the door who says he’d like to talk with you. I told him to come back later, but he’s very insistent—says it’s important and urgent. You haven’t … been doing anything illegal, have you Alex?”

  “What? Mom! No!”

  “Well why don’t you get dressed and come down,” she suggested. “I’m going to get some breakfast for your father—you know how he is in the morning.” Then she slipped out.

  In the light of the morning, with the birds chirping and dogs barking, the conversation last night seemed unreal. Surely this was going to be just another day.

  And yet.

  I was pretty sure it was Ronan downstairs waiting for me. No doubt with more bad news. Maybe I’ll make him tell my parents why I wouldn’t be attending college, I thought grumpily.

  I threw on an old t-shirt boasting my school’s mascot on the back, and some gray sweatpants. I glanced in the mirror and saw the unflattering effects of crying yourself to sleep—smeared mascara and puffy eyes. Well, who cares anyway, I thought miserably.

  I followed my mom down the stairs and to my great surprise, it wasn’t Ronan who was waiting for me. The man on our sofa was old—graying—and wore a dark suit. His stern eyes and angular nose made him look like an angry hawk. He rose as we entered the room.

  “Good morning,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I apologize for disturbing you so early, but, like I told your mother, there are some things I need discuss with you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You can call me Nash.”

  “What’s this about?” I asked. “I don’t have a lot of time,” I wanted to spend my last day with my family, not some intruding suit.

  “I must insist that our conversation be held privately.” He looked pointedly at my mother.

  “I think I’d prefer to stay,” my mother said, somehow both politely and stiffly. I could practically see her thoughts: If this guy thinks he can just prance into our home and start telling me what to do, he’s got another thing coming.

  Nash reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a gold badge. He held it up for my mother to see. “I’m afraid it’s not up for debate. I’m here from the CIA and my orders were to talk to Alex alone.”

  My mother glared at him, then turned it on me. What on earth is going on? her eyes asked. I shrugged, though I had a hunch.

  “It’s okay, Mom. We’ll just have our chat and it’ll be done before you know it.” I glanced at Nash. “Right?”

  “Of course,” he said. “We’ll just slip down to my office.”

  “Now hold on,” my mother said, all politeness gone from her tone. “Nobody is taking anyone anywhere.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not up for debate,” Nash repeated stonily.

  “Let me see that badge again,” my mom demanded.

  He handed it over and she examined it. Then she took out her phone, and dialed a number.

  “Hello, police? Yes, there’s a man here who is trying to take my daughter against my will. “ Pause. “Yes, I would appreciate that.” She rattled off our address and hung up.

  “The police will be here momentarily,” she said coldly. “I would appreciate it if you’d wait outside for them.”

  Nash sighed, then opened the front door and stepped out.

  “Alex, what is going on?” My mom sounded almost hysterical.

  “I don’t really know, Mom. I promise I haven’t done anything.” I sounded almost in tears myself.

  Suddenly there was a sharp rap at the door. “Police,” a deep voice said. They must have been practically next door to get here so quickly.

  Mom opened the door and invited the two officers in. I saw Nash standing on the porch.

  “What’s all this about?” one of the officers asked, and Mom explained the situation.

  “We’ll have a talk with him.”

  They stepped out onto the porch and we waited in silence, hoping to overhear some of the conversation. They were out there for some time, and I saw Nash handing over his badge, and the policemen making several phone calls. After a while, one of the officers shook hands with Nash, then both they came back into the house.

  “Ma’am, the CIA has jurisdiction over this matter. That agent there is within his authority to require a private audience with your daughter at a location of his choosing.”

  My mom looked as if someone had slapped her. “But—“ she began, her voice appalled.

  The officer interrupted her. “I understand your concern, ma’am, but I can assure you there are no laws being broken here. I’m sure he’ll have your daughter returned soon.”

  I saw panic in my mom’s eyes and suddenly I was seized with a feeling of dread. The police left and Nash stepped in before the door could even close behind them.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered me. I couldn’t understand how this could be happening. I gave Mom a quick hug and told her I’d be back soon. She hugged me back tightly.

  Fearfully, I followed the man out to his black sedan. It had darkly tinted windows. I climbed into the passenger side then turned back to wave uncertainly. My mom waved back, looking alarmed.

  As soon as we
were alone in the car, Nash said, “Alex, the more cooperative you are with me, the more smoothly this will go for you. Please bear that in mind.”

  “What’s this all about?” I asked in a voice that came out much more self-assured than I felt.

  “I think you know.”

  “I don’t,” I insisted.

  “Well, let me give you a hint,” he said a bit sarcastically. “I work for a very specialized department in the CIA. It’s called Extraterrestrial Affairs.”

  “Extraterrestrial? Like, ET?” It was my turn to be sarcastic, though truthfully a feeling of panic was starting to develop in my chest. What had Ronan gotten me into?

  He didn’t reply and we drove in silence, except for the humming of the tires on the road.

  Chapter 4

  Time is very short—we must leave. The Kema’dor will be here very soon.

  “Alex is in trouble.”

  We cannot wait.

  “…..”

  Nash drove for a while—longer than I expected. Long enough for me to go from feeling panicked to tormented to bored.

  At first I tried to keep track of the roads so I knew where we were going, but after a while I lost track and simply stared out the window at the mountains going by.

  I guess my escort didn’t believe in music because it was silent the whole way. I had a ton of questions, of course, but each one was answered with stony silence. Not until we came to a large white windowless building in the middle of nowhere did Nash finally slow the car.

  After going through two security gates the car was finally parked and only then did Nash finally speak.

  “Come with me,” he ordered.

  I fumbled for the car door handle and let myself out. I followed him as he unlocked a door on the side of the building and down an empty hallway. The nervousness came back—a full-blown butterfly attack.

  I expected to be led into some sort of interrogation room—the kind you see in the movies with just a table, chairs, and a one-way mirror—but after several turns down fluorescent-lit hallways, we ended up in a large office. It was comfortable with plush green carpet and dark brown furniture. Nash sat down in the large desk and picked up his phone.

  “Yes, we’ve arrived,” was all he said. Then he turned to me. “As I said before, Alex, this process will go more smoothly if you are cooperative.”

  I nodded a little, but didn’t say anything.

  “Good. Now, why don’t you take a moment to collect yourself before we begin. There’s a bathroom just there,” he pointed, “ and you’re welcome to help yourself to anything in the kitchen area.” He pointed again to the back corner of the office that held a counter, a sink, and a fridge situated on black tile.

  Gratefully I went to the bathroom. My reflection was nothing to be proud of. I still had on my shabby t-shirt and sweats, my hair was a mess, and I had a frown that I hadn’t even been aware I was wearing.

  Well, whatever I was facing, I would do it better if I was more awake. I splashed some water on my face and finger-combed my hair. Feeling a tad more presentable, I went out to check out the refrigerator; I was starving. Inside I found a bottle of water and an orange. Nosing through a cabinet also rewarded me with a granola bar. I took these with me and sat down in one of the chairs facing Nash’s desk.

  He had company with him now—a man and woman. They were both dressed in business attire and stood stiffly on either side of Nash, who sat in his impressively large chair. It was very intimidating.

  Which is probably exactly what they want.

  “I want to warn you,” Nash began, looking at me hard. “that this conversation is being recorded. So it would be best if you don’t try to change your story along the way.”

  “I haven’t done anything.” My voice came out croaky; I hadn’t talked much all morning.

  “All we want are answers,” Nash said. “Give us the information we need, and we’ll be done here before you know it.”

  “Okay,” I said worriedly. I didn’t really feel any particular need to keep anything that had happened a secret (well, other than the fact that people would think I was crazy), so I wasn’t sure why they were being so pushy.

  “We’ll start at the beginning.” It was the woman who spoke. She, at least, sounded slightly more friendly. “What is this?” She held up her hand and in it was the Tarke. In the midst of everything, I’d forgotten about it.

  “Where did you get that? I thought I left it in my car,” I said.

  “We acquire what we feel is necessary,” she said formally. “What can you tell us about it?”

  I wondered how much I should tell them—these people who broke into my car to “acquire” my belongings—and myself, for that matter.

  “Can you tell me more about who you are?” I asked, apprehensive.

  “We’ll be the ones asking the questions,” the man standing on the other side of Nash said brusquely. He had a sour face.

  “It’s all right,” Nash countered. “She’ll feel more comfortable if we tell her a bit about us.” He looked at me. “Go ahead and eat.”

  I began peeling the orange as Nash spoke. I didn’t see a garbage can so I set the peelings on my lap.

  “I told you before, we work for the CIA in a specialized division devoted solely to alien activity. We know that you have recently had contact with the extraterrestrial. We’ve been aware of their presence and location for some time now, but our investigations are all covert. Much of our time is spent watching them watch us.”

  He paused to scratch his beard. “We are constantly on high alert, but as there haven’t been any aggressive relations thus far, we’ve remained incognito.”

  The woman continued. “Last night, however, marks the first time anyone has been given anything from them. We want to know what you know about that. So I’ll ask you again, what is this?”

  I swallowed a slice of orange. It was surprisingly good.

  “Ronan called it a… Tarke? He said it’s like a cell phone that is used for calling.”

  Pause. “Calling who?”

  “He told me it would contact him if I wanted it to.”

  “And why would he give such a device to you?”

  How much do they know?

  “He … said that he’s leaving soon—leaving the whole planet—and he wanted—wants—me to go with him,” I stammered. The three of them continued to watch me closely, and I added, “I told him I needed to think about it, and that’s when he gave the Tarke to me. He said to use it once I’d decided.”

  I didn’t mention the part about it giving directions. I had no idea what these people’s intentions were, but I did know one thing: as much as meeting Ronan had completely screwed up my life, I still didn’t want to get him into any sort of trouble. These CIA people certainly had their own agenda.

  “Did he say when they were leaving? And to where?” Nash asked.

  “He said they’re leaving today—tonight. And he didn’t mention where—just … off the planet.” It suddenly struck me as odd that I hadn’t even bothered to find out where I’d be going to spend the rest of my life. The focus had been on what we needed to get away from, not where we were getting away to.

  The scowling man on Nash’s left suddenly burst out. “But why,” he sneered, “would he invite you to go with him?”

  I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure how wise it was to tell about the lovely “gift” the Solamure had bestowed on me, but I did know for sure that they would be able to tell if I straight-out lied to them. I’d never been a good liar and this was the CIA, after all.

  “Well....” I began. I had a sudden surge of sympathy for Ronan; this wasn’t an easy story to tell. “The alien race that Ronan corresponds with implanted some sort of gadget in my head to aid in ... observing me. He mentioned that there were some, well, basically bad aliens that were after it. But in order to get it, they’d have to kill me. So I guess you could say that Ronan is trying to save my life.”

  Wow, that came out sounding dramatic.
But I suppose it was true—even if the only reason my life was in jeopardy was his fault in the first place.

  This news had a perplexing effect on my small audience. They exchanged glances and then Nash put his head in his hands and looked down, while the woman started wringing her hands. The other guy glared at me as if everything was all my fault.

  After a moment, Nash looked up from his desk and said stonily, “Tell us what you know about these ‘bad aliens’.”

  “Um, well, he didn’t say much,” I said apprehensively. “Just that they were power-hungry and that they’re after advanced technology.”

  Nash suddenly stood up. “Thank you, Alex, for the information. We’re going to need a moment alone.” He pointed at the door, and I stood up uncertainly, orange peelings falling to the floor (I’d forgotten about them). Embarrassed, I scrambled to gather them and made a quick exit.

  I was surprised to see a guard in the hallway outside the door.

  “Oh, hi,” I said.

  He pointed at a lone chair sitting across from him in the hallway. “Sit there,” he instructed.

  I had hoped to go for a walk—use my phone to call Mom—but I guess that wasn’t happening.

  I sat down on the hard plastic chair and looked awkwardly down the hall. It’s unnerving to sit alone in an empty hall while a guard stands at attention across from you.

  I took out my phone to at least send a message.

  Hi Mom. I’m okay. They’re just asking me questions about someone I met delivering pizza—I guess he’s a person of interest. Please don’t worry, home soon.

  I hit “send” and my screen flashed up an error message. Then I realized I didn’t have any service here. I should have known.

  Thankfully I didn’t have to wait too long before the door opened and I was asked to come back in. The four of us resumed our positions, then Nash spoke.

  “We appreciate your cooperation thus far, Alex. Now we need to move to the next step of our investigation. We have two requests: the first is that you use the Tarke to call Ronan and invite him here. The second is we’d like to have our medical team run some tests on you to see what sort of implant you were given.”