“I don’t know how you mean to bring about this biological change to humanity, whether it is by means of some DNA-altering virus or by tampering with our ecology, but I implore you to see reason.”
Bower could feel Elvis shaking. His hand trembled in hers, but not out of anger, and perhaps not out of fear either. She felt it too, it was the awe, the intimidation of the moment.
“Put yourself in our shoes,” she continued, wondering how well such an idiom would translate. “What if it was your adolescence that was stolen from you? What if some other alien intelligence fast-tracked your progress to the stars? What if they robbed you of the chance to learn for yourself?”
Suddenly, the violent rumble of thunder broke around her. Bower found herself instinctively cringing beneath the breaking, raw power above in the darkness.
Was she right? Was this what they had endured? Were they playing out the same paternal acts that had once been forcibly imposed on them? Had their innocence been taken from them? On one hand, she wanted to ask, but deep down she felt these were questions she didn’t need answered. She felt she knew the answer.
In the darkness beyond the light, thunder rolled, staggering around her, giving her a sense of an immense void above. What did this mean? Had she said too much? She had to close this out, to solidify her argument.
“Of all the lessons we have learned, the greatest is what it means to have contact with another interstellar intelligence. You must give us time to learn from this.”
Bower paused, breathing deeply before presenting her final appeal.
“Your restraint is the only possible answer. To intervene would prove mankind was right to be afraid of you. To intervene is to admit reason has failed both species.”
Bower was exasperated. She didn’t know what more she could say.
The brilliant white light saturating the ground immediately around them vanished, plunging them into pitch black darkness as the thunder continued to rumble.
The ground beneath them shuddered and Bower dropped to her knees, feeling the warm sand beneath her hands.
“What’s going on?” she called out.
Elvis touched her arm, saying, “Don’t be afraid.”
She wanted to believe him, but words were cheap, meaningless. Bower was terrified. The ground beneath her pitched and tilted. Even though she was crouched on all fours, she lost her balance and fell sideways against Elvis in the darkness. He put his arm around her, holding her tight.
“It’s OK,” he said. “We’re going to be OK.”
How did he know that? Her rational mind demanded answers, reasons. He had no way of knowing they would be OK, and still the sandy ground shook beneath them. They were sinking. Bower could feel the sand shaking, enveloping her legs.
They dropped, plunging into the darkness. One moment, she felt as though she was sinking in quicksand, the next she seemed to be in free-fall. The sandy floor dropped away. She could still feel the sand beneath her fingers, but it no longer provided any substance. She felt detached from the ground, as though the cable in an elevator had snapped and she was plunging down a darkened shaft.
In the chaos of the moment, the only constant was Elvis. He never let her go, and she found herself clinging to him as she screamed.
Bower shut her eyes. They were useless in the darkness, but she shut them anyway, if only to mentally shut out what was happening to her. She had to hold on, to endure, to make it through the moment. Still the ground shook, and then as suddenly as it had begun, the tremors stopped. The sand seemed to surge beneath her before settling.
Bower could hear the sound of the ocean.
Waves lapped at the shore.
She opened her eyes, as did Elvis. They were kneeling on a beach at night. Moonlight lit up the shore. Palm trees swayed in the breeze. Leaves rustled as the wind blew through shrubs on the edge of the beach.
“Where are we?” Elvis asked.
Bower had no answers.
Waves crashed, breaking on a distant reef. She could hear the sound of an engine in the lull between the rhythmic surge of the waves, a motorboat was racing toward them.
Elvis stood, helping her to her feet. She dusted the sand off her trousers.
“Hey,” Elvis said, staring up at the stars.
Above them, a floater rose into the air, returning to the mothership visible high above the stratosphere. Already, the floater’s tentacles looked distant. From what she could tell, the alien vessel had to be several thousand feet in the air and climbing fast.
She turned, looking around.
They were on an island. Tall palms stretched along a beautiful beach, curving away from them into the distance. The sand was pristine, as though no human had ever set foot in this paradise.
“There’s a ship,” Elvis said. “I think it’s the Lawrence.”
A calm lagoon opened out beside them. Beyond the lagoon, breakers crashed on the outer reef. Sitting on the horizon was the distinct dark silhouette of a warship. Two inflatable boats raced into the lagoon with flashing lights marking their position in the night.
“We’re home.” It was all Bower could bring herself to say. Physically, mentally and emotionally, she was exhausted.
“Everything’s going to be OK. We’re going to make it,” Elvis said, putting his arm around her.
Bower hoped he was right. She couldn’t help but feel this was the end.
Epilogue
Dr. Elizabeth Bower stood beside the United Nations building in front of a statue dedicated to the premise of peace on Earth. Seagulls floated on the breeze behind her, drifting above New York’s East River.
She couldn’t get used to reading from a teleprompter, but her producer said she looked natural. As she came to the end of her speech, Bower smiled graciously for the camera, watching as it panned to capture the freeze-frame action depicted by the statue.
How remarkable, she thought, looking up at the statue as the producer called, “Cut.”
She was standing before a bronze statue of a man beating a sword into a plowshare. The weather had long since rendered his muscular frame a pale green color, but his physique spoke of strength, discipline and determination. He stood mid-stride, his hammer raised high above his head, poised for another blow.
Was it irony, she wondered, that such a testimony could come from a communist country at the height of the Cold War? At that time, fingers on both sides had been poised over the mythical red button that could have destroyed civilization. Times had changed, but the message was the same: reason was mightier than the sword, strength could be a catalyst for peace.
Humanity was changing, but not because of any alien intervention, not out of fear, but out of a desire to grow up. Whatever that alien species was, regardless of where they originated, reason had convinced them mankind deserved a second-chance. Reason had given them hope.
Perhaps they’d seen statues like this one, Bower wondered. Perhaps they understood that, even in the darkest hour, reason shone as a beacon of light for humanity.
Dr. Ambar walked up to her. Bower hadn’t seen him for months.
“Liz,” he said warmly, shaking her outstretched hand with both of his hands. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too,” she replied, smiling.
She seemed to do a lot of smiling these days. Apparently that was part of the job description of UN ambassador to the stars. It was a figurative title. There was no real representation. There had not been any contact with the aliens since the mothership had left orbit barely an hour after Elvis and Bower found themselves on the northern beach of a small island off the coast of Madagascar.