Time Out
- or -
The Critical Importance of Always Wearing Clean Underwear
The world, as we knew it anyway, came to a shuddering stop on February 12th, 2019. Which for me was a bummer, as I was this close to my Ph.D. with my thesis on the people of North Sentinel Island nearly ready for printing. That and my gig managing a Starbucks were my tickets to mere survival.
It was on that day that the aliens showed up. We all learned a lot of science in the next few weeks as scientists tried to explain what had happened. The alien ship - calling a sphere nearly the size of our moon a “ship” feels wrong - didn’t just suddenly appear in the sky. No, it came to a complete stop after moving at 99-point-a-lot-of-nines to get to our L-4 point. Another thing we all learned; that’s a place where the gravity of the Earth and the Moon cancel out.
So it shows up and just sits there as the planet goes nuts. People were claiming that it was Jesus, others were screaming we were being invaded, and others were packing their bags because they were going to hitch a ride. There were riots in a few places, and nations that had a history of clamping down clamped harder. North Korea announced it was Kim Il Sung, come back to lead the people to victory and True Communism.
But after one of the longest days ever, after everyone on the planet had a chance to see this weirdly purple orb hanging in the sky, the First Message was received by humanity. And I mean humanity. Everything that had a speaker carried this message, and it was broadcast in all the local languages. It was one word.
“Ten.”
The voice was clear and unemotional, unlike the talking heads on every channel who began debating the meaning of the message. Me? I turned on the Classic Cartoon Channel. Underdog was on.
Exactly one hour after the first message, a second one was sent. “Nine.” At that point, there was a global consensus. It was a countdown. But to what? Preppers took to their bunkers, churches were filled, and the president was tweeting about how he had been right about needing a Space Force. I decided to get stoned and grab a nap. I thought about calling my ex and reminding her that I told her leaving me would be a disaster but resisted the impulse.
It wasn’t a good nap. Turns out, switching off the radio didn’t stop the countdown from coming through. So there I was, watching the planet go insane as the final hour ticked away. At five minutes to go, there was a sudden calm. Even the idiots on CNN stopped yelling. The final seconds melted away and all of humanity leaned forward to hear what was coming.
There was a pleasant chime. Then a very different voice from the countdown.
“Are we on? Yes? OK! People of Earth, humanity, whatever you call yourselves these days, hi. As you’ve probably guessed, we are representatives of sapient species from other star systems. Yes, we’ve been buzzing Earth in UFOs, and did, in fact, kidnap some people. We did put everyone back, and we do apologize for the anal probes. We’ve been examining you for about, oh, 200 years now, and our mission time is up. We’ve got to head back and present our findings.
“I’ve got good news and bad news for you, humans. The good news is . . .” There was a triumphal flourish of horns. “You are not alone! This globular cluster you live in is just teeming with life! Thousands of intelligent races of us have come together and formed a society that has endless energy, no want, no war, and pretty good civic light opera. Most of us think planets are pretty passe and live in structures much like our little ship here. In fact, and here’s a big spoiler for you, what you call Tabby’s Star is my home system, and those are giant megastructures orbiting it! The universe, even our small part of it, is filled with wonders and things beyond your imagination!
“Now the bad news. You’re not invited. Honestly mankind, we’ve been struggling to find an excuse for your behavior for centuries! We get war when it’s about resources, we’ve all been there, but you guys fight over stupid things! Variations in skin tone, outdated governmental styles, even insults between members of inbred ruling classes!
“And you’re so tribal! Yes, being a successful technological civilization usually means evolving from social animals, but you, you take it to extremes! You fight and loot when your team wins! That is not normal, mankind! Sport is supposed to be relaxing and enjoyable, not an excuse to beat each other silly for wearing the wrong color!
“I could go on, but I’m getting stern looks to cut it short. So, while you aren’t being invited, we aren’t leaving without a few parting gifts even though we really shouldn’t. First, we're deploying a cloud of satellites. They will both continue to monitor you and report back to us on your progress but are equipped to neutralize any nuclear weapon they find. All of you are now out of the mass destruction business. These satellites can defend themselves, don’t even think about it. They also serve as excellent GPS transmitters, amazing weather sats, and will be broadcasting HBO for free to everyone. Just kidding about that last part. We’ll also be removing the 206 million pieces of junk we’ve found in orbit around your planet. Clean up after yourselves next time!
“Secondly, along with the extensive, painful, and detailed list of your utter failings as a planetary society being sent to your so-called leaders, we will be sending data to various organizations and people on ways to look better next time. This includes pan-immunity, effective birth-control that women control by thought and spreads like a virus, a couple of hints on fusion power, and the formula for Coca-Cola.
“Kidding! But look for a lot of answers to the past so you can focus on your future. Seriously, we’ve come to like you humankind, but you just aren’t ready for the big leagues yet. See you in a few centuries! We are Eastbound and down!”
With that, the alien ship vanished, leaving over 2,000 new satellites orbiting Earth.
What followed was pandemonium. If not knowing was bad, being snubbed was worse. A few quiet tests showed that the alien wasn’t lying; every nuke on the planet was inert. A Russian attempt to inspect one of the alien satellites ended with a very surprised crew back on the ground while their shuttle was eventually spotted leaving the solar system at close to the speed of light. A rogue lab released the birth control bug, and suddenly women had control of family planning in a way never imagined. Coupled with pan-immunity, condom manufactures went broke around the world.
But now, five years later, there are bright spots emerging. Almost all of the Americas have joined into an economic union, defense spending has dropped worldwide, and the message along with “Kim Il Sung” vanishing, led to a revolution inside North Korea.
But there is one thing that is bothering me.
A few days after the aliens left, I finally decided to get back to work on my thesis. The mystery of the people living on North Sentinel Island had fascinated me since I was a kid, and now I was betting a doctorate in anthropology on my being able to offer new theories into that isolated tribe. But when I opened my work folder, I saw three new file folders.
- ENOUGH TO GET YOU BY
-THE BIGGER PICTURE
-THE WHOLE STORY
The first folder held references to sources I hadn’t known existed. They confirmed some of my ideas and forced me to change some conclusions. I eagerly made use of those resources, easily earned my degree, and landed a teaching post at Colorado State. I’ve peeked at the second folder, but only skimmed a couple of items.
That last folder, the one promising the whole story, was huge: nearly 2.4 terabytes, with dozens of sound and video files. I have to wonder if that last file is a test. Am I greedy enough to just take the information? Or do I really want to work for the answers? Is one of those alien satellites monitoring my decision?
It’s 2:37 AM. I have to be at work in four hours. My pointer has been on that last folder for two hours just waiting for me to click it.
What do I do?