Corner Bar Magazine

Corner Bar MagazineVolume 5 Number 4

— ETHOPOEIA by Hayden Moore. Mr. Moore’s excellent yarn “Neither Fish NorFlesh” was in our Freifaxi issue last summer. He lives in Brooklyn, New York with his wifeand cat.Page 8 — KILLING US SOFTLY by Janet Gershen-Siegel. Ms Gershen-Siegel writes, “I’m aLambda Literary Award nominee (2014, Untrustworthy, under SF/F/Horrorhttps://www.lambdaliterary.org/current-submissions/), and I won the 2013 Riverdale AvenueBooks NaNoWriMo award. My work is published by Riverdale Avenue Books, HydraProductions, JayHenge Publishing, and Writers’ Colony Press. My current project is a trilogyof works about time manipulation, called Time Addicts. I live in Boston with my husbandand twice as many computers as we need.” Page 25 — FREEDOM by Shainur Ullah. Mr. Ullah writes, “My name is Shainur Ullah and Iam from England. I like writing short fictional horror stories on the creepypasta site(http://www.creepypasta.org/user/ullahshy). I also have a reddit account called Shortstory1with more horror short stories. My most popular horror stories online have gone “viral” –“Crunched Up Paper House,” “The Camera Man,” and “The Guys Behind Hollywood.” Theyhave also been narrated onto YouTube - check them out!”

‘Simply the thing I am shall make me live’

(Shakespeare’s All’s Well that Ends Well:Paroles, Act IV scene iii)

He was too tired to fly. Drought hadwithered everything but the sand and thecacti, the mangroves and the sea. A generalmalaise had enveloped the island alongwith it, a nebulous fog composed of feelingrather than water droplets, like brush-strokes upon a painting obliterating thelandscape rather than mystifying it. But thelight of dawn was still comforting as themineral breeze played with the waxen leavesof the tree next to the boy. Its forbiddenfruits resembled apples—a resemblance inform rather than Biblical metaphor—a plen-itude of toxic green balls unabashedlytempting in their sweet odor and fecundnature. The tree’s earthbound roots heldfirm to the sand while its canopy drifted inthe immediate sky, a living model of thereefs just beyond. But here the fish werethe birds, no less extraordinary in colorsand markings. The cantankerous eels werethe black-spiked iguanas, a chimera of sortsthat borrowed the needles of the sea urchinmillions of years ago. The boy smiled as hethought of some primordial iguana, neitherfish nor flesh, ingesting an urchin in theancient sea. It was a primeval union, an

amalgamation of sorts that left the spinespoking through the iguanas armored skinin a ruthless exhibition of symbiosis. Thepain of the acquisition left the iguana eat-ing the air in its slow progression throughthe poisoned branches of the tree, the fruitit encountered along the way tasting just assweet as it did all those years ago. It was anacquired taste the boy was too young toappreciate. Solitude comes at a cost. For the her-mit crab, the acquisition of its shell is adangerous search. No less harrowing is theburden of carrying a house upon its back.The blue whale spends most of its lifealone in its monstrosity, the drifting plank-ton and dwarfed fish it passes by through-out its years—years measured in disparatebreaths—are nothing but ghosts as thewhale searches for another of its kind inthe vastness of the sea. Worms dig darktunnels with eyeless bodies in a compactedworld. Sea turtles feed alone on the seagrass and soar through the currents of theocean. But the yellow tangs swim along thelimits of the turtle’s shell feeding on thealgae and scraps of food, something lessthan silent companions. The turtle, like thewhale, breathes the air, a burden thatthrusts them out of the very world they livein throughout the day for the entirety of

Corner Bar MagazineCopyright 2020 Hayden Moore 1

“ETHOPOEIA”by HAYDEN MOORE

their lives in a solitude upon solitude. Here the boy sat alone in his own dis-tinction of being human. Warning signsmarked the Manchineel Trees that sur-rounded him, the familiar open handmarked out with an oblique red line tellingnon-existent passers-by not to touch. ‘Donot touch’ was a common phrase, especiallyfor humans of his age. It seemed like therewas a collective prohibition on curiosity.But danger tended to keep others away. Soit did on this strip of sand flanked by thesea. Behind the boy, the sea was placid as ifasleep. In his field of vision, the windsfrom another realm blew the waters into aturbulent sea, the waves resembling a col-lection of unsupervised children high onperpetual pieces of candy. The boy hadalready determined that this was not a dayfor flying. The cost was too great. Whetherthe morning would be marked by the wateror the land was a question too important toanswer. Something had to call out to him.Yesterday had almost ruined him. Sympathy is a word marked by ill-usage.Self-interest and narrow-mindedness makethe word meaningless. In the best of times,the act of sympathy is a dim reckoning, afleeting feeling or metaphoric glimpseregarding the other person. Like dreams,sympathy follows no course of Time or rea-soning, it is a mood with a general themeand nothing more. Everyone is themselvesalone. No amount of tears or embraces,copulation or psychological analysis canunweave the layered rainbow of the self.Sympathy is a word without a life. It shouldhave been drowned and put out of its mis-

ery centuries ago. Sympathy cries out silent-ly for its own sympathy. It is an endlessregression into oblivion. Art would neveraccount for it and no amount of Timecould change what already was not when itbegan. Sympathy was doomed to misuseand kitsch greeting cards. A deed without aname had to either justify it, or destroysympathy. No more could it dwell in thetwilight between word and deed. The boyknew this as he watched the world aroundhim. Today would not be a discovery, itwould be a justification, a coming togetherof this and that. He would no longer behimself. He would be the thing he trulywas. Contradiction was the force in findingthe form. Absurdity was the state of theworld. He pulled his spent legs into hischest and rested his chin upon his skinnedknees. He looked, he waited and he saw. The greatest tragedy is choice. Bychoosing, all the rest are forsaken. Whatcould have been is far too complex toreflect upon with any meaning. There wasnever enough Time for that. Chance playeda pivotal part in this cruel game. But theboy had planted himself in a place full ofchoices that all belonged to the realm of hispredilections. It would come down to Timeand cultivated chance. With his eyes fixedon the wind-tossed sea, the boy saw theembodiment of compromise. Eruptingfrom the tumultuous surface of the sea, apair of aquatic wings flapped as the formcontinued to emerge from the water. Abarbed tail flapping in the wind looked likea beacon reporting the conditions of theempty world back to the water-bound crea-


tures below. This was a creature from thesame galaxy as octopuses, a collection ofstranded aliens making-do on the farawayisland of earth. The morning sunlightsparkled on the dark skin of the manta ray.It dwarfed the pelican gliding just beyondit. It was a miracle of the godless world.With a few more flaps of its enormouswings, the ray could have taken to the fur-ther reaches of the air and flown back to itsgalaxy at the edge of the end of the uni-verse. But habit is the great deadener. Itdescended as it always had back into thewater. Just before the barbed tail markedthe end of its flight—just as it had themarked the end of the beginning—the boymade his choice. Indeed, the tail was far more than abeacon. It steadied the boy as he navigatedthe waters for the thousandth Time. Butthis was his first experience as a manta ray.Some kind of instinct whispered withinhim. The boy rolled up his pectoral finsand swam through the water just as his for-bear had. Just behind his head-fins, theboy’s eyes looked at the world flankinghim. Never had he experienced the sight tohis sides. The boy realized the wastedmotions of his terrestrial life as he hadlooked from side to side for non-existentpredators. He felt the water driftingthrough his gills, a slight tickle as heincreased his speed made his fins tremble.This was not a world of bated breaths ruledby the automatic. It was a liquid world offlowing breaths governed by the body inmotion. The reefs passed beneath him likefairy castles under the gaze of a dragon. He

could smell the nuances of the seascape.There was no salt. Water was somethingelse. He certainly was not wet. Row uponrow of teeth cut through the water as hefed on something that reminded him ofpine nuts. Just as there was no direct fieldof vision in front of him, there was nofuture. Life as a manta ray was in theinstant. But forgetfulness was not an attrib-ute of this state of being. That was left tothe perversion of fish kept in bowls on chil-dren’s dressers. Every flap of his gracefulfins was forever in an instant. There was noup or down. Even the limits of the surfacewere not limits. That had been provenbefore. The most refined bird could nevermimic the feats of flight of the boy soaringthrough the water. Freedom was impossiblebut this knocked at its hermitically sealeddoor. The boy whipped his tail and shep-herded himself on. When the boy first saw her, he thoughtshe was riding a fish. When closer proximi-ty revealed her for what she was, the boypaused as he caught himself categorizingher as a half-realized form, a girl unwillingto commit to the ocean. But she was thequintessential embodiment of her kind.Even if she were the only one, nothingcould surmount who she was. Neither theboy or the girl were like or as: they werewhat they were. He was a manta ray andshe was a mermaid. In spite of his under-standing, the boy was constantly remindedof his life on land when he saw the mer-maid’s upper half. Her gestures were that ofthe land but possessed a fluidity that madethe earthbound gestures of his former life


look like barbarism. Her flowing black hairwas something altogether different, a magicin its strands exacerbated by her energy.Even her belly-button, the stigmata of thehuman form, mocked humankind as itlooked like she had pulled away from thewomb of Oceana rather than the confinedwaters of an earthen mother. In spite oftheir differences both in species and sex,the boy and the girl knew something hid-den about each other. Things keep theirsecrets. But living myths know the secretsthat make them real. It was a fantasticalsimpatico. She spoke with her green eyeswhile the boy responded with his articulatetail. —This is your first day. —Not living in the water. —I know. I mean your first day as whatyou are. —Yes. —I have been what I am for sevenmoons. —Are you lonely? —No. I was lonely when I was alone upthere. Now I am here. —How did you do it? —I made a choice after I saw the signsgrowing on me. One day, I stepped into thewater and never took a step back on Terra. —Is that what you call it? Terra? —We do. There are others. You are notyourself alone. How did you do it? —I watched and waited. When I saw itfly out of the water, I knew. Here I am. —You projected? —Yes. Wait…you didn’t? —No. I was born to be what I am. I was

imprisoned from the water before. When Ireturned, I finally grew into me. —But… —Where is your other? —Back on Terra. Just off the shore.Sitting beneath a tree. —You have to cast off that vessel. Youcannot be two places at once. Not for long.Come with me. —But here I am. —Come with me, at once. As they swam back towards Terra, thegirl told the boy about the terrors of theocean. Armed with superior intellects, bothof them were at the top of the food chain.But humans, too, were there. With his leftmanta-eye, the boy watched as the mermaidcried while she related to him the Time shehad been taken by the old man in the deep-sea vessel. The steel claw had nearly cut herin two. She still felt remorse for drowningthe old man but desperation transcendedmorality. The girl admitted that the oldman had violated her with his eyes. Even atthe bottom of the sea, pernicious thingsintruded. The boy admired the way themermaid moved through the water at apace that surpassed his own. Even thegrandeur of his wings failed to match thegrace of the girl. Perhaps it was a questionof experience, but she was wholly her ownin this element. The boy still saw Oceanathrough metaphor. Human arms still pow-ered his fins while human thought recon-ciled his new eyes to a thinkable vision ofhis surroundings. He saw the girl throughthe eyes of a boy, her beauty that of his


familiar rather than the beauty of anothergenus. He wondered how she saw him. Sheknew that he was something like her buthis form was altogether different. Wouldshe befriend him or was that sort of rela-tionship impossible with two such creaturesas themselves? There could be an ancientenmity between the two of them, an impos-sibly deep chasm that divided them. Buthere they were swimming through the seawith each other. They shared a languagebut the other sea-life was mute and indiffer-ent to him. She trusted him enough to tellhim her secrets. She was risking her life totake him back to where it all began. Neverhad a girl been so candid with him. Only amermaid could. She had a beautiful name.It was Akaste. When she spoke, he listened. —I can’t believe you ventured out so far. —This body was made for that. —Not with the mind that moves it. Tellme your name. —Reed. —Of course, it is. Neither here northere. —Tell me about the others. —Not until you are wholly one of us. —How do we do that? —You’ll see. —You are beautiful. —You won’t think that for long. —You will always be beautiful. You arethe most beautiful person I have ever seen. —That’s exactly why you won’t thinkthat way later. You are a person. I am some-thing else. —So beautiful. —Reed?

—Beautiful. —Reed?! —Beautiful, beautiful… —Oh, goddess! What do you feel? —It tastes… —What do you taste? —Sweet…apple pie with black pepper…burns… —Where is your body? Where did youleave your body, Reed? —Under a tree…told you. The rain ishot. Lava rain. Sign says stay out. No peo-ple. None but me. —You left yourself under a ^**^~~*^tree?! Why would you do that? —No people, silly. You know, Akaste.Don’t eat this pie. It’s spicy. —Can you make yourself stand? Canyour other stand up? —Nope. Legs don’t work. Haven’t for along time. Fell. Never really got up. Timeflies. Fins work. Tired though. So tired.Still burns. Water not helping. Worse. Somuch worse. —^~~~^* ^^00~~ ~^~ ^*—~~ —dkbnmrtyqwpdklrtvbnmzkkkkk Water and earth were speaking to eachother. No matter the intent, the mediumthrough which the sound passed gargledthe sounds. For Akaste, her wordswere drifting vowels while Reed soundedthe concatenations of rigid consonants.The rich markings that constituted the skinof the boy were fading into sallow ghosts.His barbed tail hung lifeless as his stream-lined body drifted in the water. Akaste tilt-ed towards the shallows. Her tail snapped


up and down at a furious rate as thewarmth of the water increased. She couldsee the rain pelting the sparkling surfacebefore her velocity forced her into thestorm. Rain felt like shrapnel from the sky—a fresh water assault on a saline creature—when she fell upon the shore. The winddeafened her ears. Even the pouring rainfailed to fill the emptiness of Terra. Akastethrust herself forward with her powerfularms. The trail she left in the sand wasreminiscent of the one that led her into theocean. Both trails—the one of memory andthat of the moment—were obliterated bythe waves but neither was like the other inintent. The former no longer existed whilethe current one threatened existence. Aline drawn in the sand: terrestrial thoughtswere already intruding upon her. Akastecould see the boy’s Other twitching justahead. His arms were contorted at his sideswhile his legs lay lifeless on the sand.Within arm’s reach, Akaste saw blisters cov-ering the boy’s face and arms. The poi-soned water droplets did nothing to her asshe watched those same droplets assaultingthe skin of the boy. A black iguana watchedwith indifference from a branch above theboy, its reptilian eye fixed on the scenebelow. The fruits of the tree were scatteredaround the boy, some in his lap while aportion of the last bite hung on his droop-ing lower lip. Only the whites of his eyeswere visible as the boy choked on the air hebreathed. As Akaste pulled her body uponthe boy, she could feel his withered legsbelow her scales. They were nothing butskin and bones. She reached her hands out

and embraced his blistered face. The pussof the wounds ran between her longwebbed fingers. She shook his head andthe boy opened his eyes. Vacant brown eyeswith touches of hazel looked at her. Hemoaned. —No more. —I know. I’m here to help you. —Please, no more. —Not much longer now, Reed. Focuson me. Not on the pain. —Mmmmmmm, Akaste. —Yes. —I can understand you again. —Of course, you can. —Go back. —I will. And I will see you there. —Really? —Of course. —Good. —Now…this is going to save you. Youhave to trust me. —I trust you. Always. Akaste kissed the boy on his ruinedforehead. The wind blew her black hairover his head like a death shroud. Sheclasped his neck with her fingers and felthis throat struggling in her firm grasp. Asshe squeezed, his eyes stared into her own.Tears streamed from the boy as Akastestrangled him. Her own tears magnified theliving portrait as his unseen body flailed inprotest. Everything but the boy’s legs foughtfor life. She felt his neck snap in her hands.His head fell to the side just as his bodywent as limp as his legs. As she wept,Akaste arranged the boy’s body in a peace-


ful position, the same position she sawother loved ones at funerals when she was achild. The gravity on Terra was ruthless,even in death. But love could rearrange it,if only for a moment. Akaste heaved as shedragged herself back to the sea. She couldfeel her skin breathe through every pore asshe felt the living water again. Terra was aplace of emptiness and death. She neverlooked back. As the water nourished herform, Akaste swam towards Reed. It lookedlike he had grown since she last saw thedying manta ray. The magnificence of hisfins articulating the waters made her crydifferent tears. What were the fading mark-ings on his body, were now rich in theircontrasts, the white far whiter and the graystending towards authentic black. Akastelooped around the boy and smiled as shespoke, the first time she had smiled at another in years. —You look beautiful. It hurt to do thatto your other. But now you are free. Howare you feeling? It must be strange to knowyou are here. What I mean is, to know youbelong to the sea now. I hope you are notangry with me. That was painful. Reed?Please talk to me. I need to hear your voice.Especially, after that. Reed? Just a word.One word. Please? Reed? The relative silence of the sea hadalways comforted Akaste. No matter howmany fish she encountered, the exchangewas that of one living thing with another.There was never the obligation of a word.While there were others like her, each oneof them was alone. The sea was a place to

escape the labyrinth of language. Wordswere meaningless in the streams of Oceana.But fundamental truths were often negli-gent of emotional needs. As Akaste driftedin front of the face of the manta ray, shesaw the silence in its eyes. What was, wasnot what she had known a little whilebefore. What was now, was no longer whoshe knew. The ray’s eyes implied the needto move, to feed and to be what it was. Itsbarbed tail moved in accordance with itsinstinct. No longer was it the articulatetongue of before. Goodbye meant nothing.Akaste’s hands felt that back on the beach.She felt the guilt in her hands as the mantaray flew away through the calm waters ofthe sea. She watched as the grandeur of itsform dissipated into an indistinct dot onthe horizon. All that remained was herselfalone in the waters like before. But memo-ry was already haunting the place, no mat-ter where she would go. Just as the mantaray was fading from perception, its tail ges-ticulated into a perfect line above its body.Akaste laughed as she flapped her tail inpursuit of the gesture, an exclamation pointon the horizon of the silent sea. v


Strumming our pain with their fingers

Singing our lives with their words

Susan stared up at the night sky. Theview was off-the-charts spectacular, withmore stars than she could possibly evercount. It was one of the perks of being sta-tioned in the middle of the Australian con-tinent. The downsides were the abysmal shop-ping and dining choices, but sturdy dronesand a trusty helicopter – which she flewherself – fixed all of that. She even had atiny airfield at her disposal, in case anyonewanted to fly in but choppers gave themthe willies. The new president was gaga over any-thing to do with space. And so GeneralSusan Sheffield’s agency, SETI, was morehandsomely funded than it had ever beenin its history. She had her Bluetooth earpiece in herear and was listening to a bit of late-nightradio when she heard the SETI ringtone. Itwas one special tone, directly linked to thearray. She picked up and heard a repeatingseries of tones. The first few times they iter-ated, she sat in silent contemplation. Afterthe eleventh repetition, she let out a whoopto the outback. As if in response, she got

the ringtone for her assistant. Reluctantly, she interrupted the repeti-tive tone. “Marshall?” “General, I think we’ve found some-thing.” “Yes, I know, Mr. Porter. I’m listeningto it right now.” “Oh, well, there goes my news. But seri-ously, this is incredible! It’s historic.” “Have you run it through the usual pro-tocols yet?” “I have, and it checks out. It’s a repeti-tive signal, and it is definitely not comingfrom Earth or any of our satellites. I alsochecked probes and whatnot, even the oldVoyager spacecraft. Equipment also checksout perfectly.” “So there is no other conclusion wecan possibly draw.” Her earlier excitementwas replaced with an inner calm. Susan hadno idea how she was maintaining her com-posure. “Correct,” said Marshall. “That signalis coming from outer freakin’ space.” “Screw the time. I’m calling the presi-dent.” The president was as excited as Susanand Marshall were. There was a hastily-called press conference, and Susan revealedall. Then the calls for interviews started to

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“KILLING US SOFTLY”by JANET GERSHEN-SIEGEL

pour in, from both the American andAustralian press, among many others.There were dozens of editorials praising thecooperative efforts of the Aussies and theAmericans. Other world governments start-ed to talk seriously about copying suchobviously fruitful collaborative efforts. Zealous religious leaders divided intotwo camps. In one, they threatened fire andbrimstone, claiming any alien intelligencewas proof of the existence of Satan and awhole host of demons. In the other,ancient myths and tales were reinterpretedso as to be up to date with the latest find-ings. None of them wanted to lead a faithsuddenly made obsolete. There was even an effort to contort theso-called prophecies of Nostradamus into atortured connection to the discovery. Susan and Marshall headed up anynumber of teams. There was one dedicatedto trying to pinpoint the exact genesis ofthe signal. Another was dedicated to tryingto translate it – somehow, as if a bunch ofnumbers could truly be translated properly.And yet another, led in a joint effort withthe armed forces of both Australia and theUnited States, was determined to decide ifthere was some sort of a threat. It was a few months before a transla-tion could be considered at all complete.Marshall sent his report to Susan.To: Brigadier General Susan Sheffield, US

Army, Chief of SETI for Australia and the

United States

From: Marshall Porter, Chief Technologist,

SETI

We are quite sure, with an 85% degree of cer-

tainty, of the contents of the alien message.

One rather interesting observation, which my

staff members and I all made independently of

each other, is that the message was designed for

ease of translation. Therefore, the writer or

writers wished to be understood. Here are the

contents of the message:

‘So beautiful!

We are happy to meet you and hope you will

permit us to visit. Or if you have capable tech-

nology, then let this message be considered an

invitation to visit us.’

Then the remainder is a series of precise coordi-

nates.

Susan stared at the memorandum for afew seconds. It could have been, as it wason its face, an invitation. Or it could be atrap. She muttered to herself as she hit apreset on her phone, “I don’t get paidenough to decide on the fate of PlanetEarth.” The usual clerk came on the line.“President Brookfield is having supper andwill call you back. What is your message?” “We can talk to aliens. That’s my mes-sage.” “I, oh dear.” The clerk was flustered. “Ican connect you now.” “Thanks.” The clerk made the connec-tion and dropped off the line. “Talia?” “Susan, this had better be good. Thesushi tonight is intensely spectacular, best Ihave ever had.” “We translated the message.” “And?” “I’ll send it to you. I’m guessing this isabout where the UN gets involved and Istep off.”

Copyright 2020 J. Gershen-Siegel 9 Corner Bar Magazine

“No, no, you’re the expert. You’ll stillbe on this one.” Susan was nonplussed for a moment.“Uh, all right. Talia, between you and meand the Australian outback, I don’t thinkthey’re hostiles.” “Maybe let’s reserve judgment for thenonce. After all, we’ve only gotten the onemessage.” “Yes, yes, of course.” It was over a month before theresponse was written and finalized, translat-ed into a series of numbers which the teamhoped was accurate. Susan and Marshallwere the ones to relay it although they didnot know exactly where to send the mes-sage. This was despite the precision of thecoordinates, for there was any number ofsystems in that celestial neighborhood. They pointed the Palomar Telescope inthe general direction as submitted by themessage, and crossed their fingers.‘We appreciate your message. Thank you for

contacting us. Our planet is called Earth.

What is yours called?

We are naturally curious about you. We hope

this is just the start of a long-lasting and peace-

ful relationship between our two worlds. We

look forward to hearing from you again and,

perhaps, eventually meeting you.’ It took another few months beforethere was a response. Fortunately, becausethe team already had the right tools inplace, the translation took only about atenth of the time.‘So beautiful!We received your message and were so very

pleased once it was translated. Our language is

rather different from your own, as you well

know. So we will instead offer a translation.

The name of our planet, in your language,

means: “perfect home”. What is the meaning of

the name of your world? We have been monitor-

ing your transmissions for a while, and our

translators believe it means “dirt”. Is that cor-

rect?’ “It’s like interstellar pen pals,” Susanmuttered once she’d read the message. “Or a first date,” Marshall commented.She shot him a look, so he hastily added, “Imean, don’t you think there’s somethinglike that going on? And then the relation-ship end game is an alliance of some sortand not a marriage, of course.” He lookedat her expectantly. “We never should’ve used the word‘relationship’ in our response. Egad, dothey think we’re flirting with them?” “Good lord,” Marshall said. “I sure ashell hope not.” It was another few years of pen pal-stylecorrespondence, back and forth. Questionswere sometimes answered, often not. Thetone of the correspondence from the alienside seemed to be getting more and morecoquettish. That is, if there could be anytone inferred from numbers. At times,Susan felt the whole correspondence waslike a cosmic Zapruder film, subject to aton of interpretations, depending on a per-son’s agenda, beliefs, hopes, and desires. Susan took to sending a few short mes-sages – preapproved by the president – onher phone. She could go on vacation andstill talk to aliens. She also talked to Talianearly every day, as the notes started to

Copyright 2020 J. Gershen-Siegel 10 Corner Bar Magazine

Copyright 2020 J. Gershen-Siegel Corner Bar Magazine11

come in more frequently, thick and fast. Atleast they still took a month or so to get toEarth, and then another to get back. Until they didn’t. Talia called Susan in a panic when amessage arrived in two weeks instead of thecustomary two months. “What the hell ishappening?” Talia moaned. “They’ve gotten closer,” Susan said.“That’s got to be what it means. I doubtthey can send a message any faster than thespeed of light.” “But if they’re closer, doesn’t that meanthey can already break the light-speed barri-er?” “I – oh God.” There was a frenzy of preparations.More importantly, the president and otherworld leaders broadcast speeches to theirpeople. The general public had not yetbeen told much about the existence ofextraterrestrial life. The fear of a panic hadbeen more than justified. But this was different, as any panicfrom the revelation would, they hoped, be alot less than the panic that would haveensued if the people had not been told any-thing, and then a race of intelligent alienssuddenly showed up on their proverbialcosmic doorstep. Susan was in the thick of it, givingpress conferences to tell amateurastronomers where to point their tele-scopes, meeting with religious leaders to tryto assure them that the existence and prob-ably imminent arrival of aliens was not asign of the Apocalypse, and then assure thegeneral public that the aliens seemed to be

benevolent. At the absolute, barest minimum, theyhad never said anything that was at allthreatening. She couldn’t tell them if thealiens could be trusted as she, too, had noidea. Zapruder film, indeed. A few months later, the sound commu-nications started, read by what soundedlike a mechanical voice. As the written oneshad, these messages all started with thesame two word greeting: ‘So beautiful!’ The communications also provided thefirst indication of the name of the alienspecies. They called themselves the Callade. Still months later and the first videotransmissions were received. But it was a bitof a disappointment as the Callade hadonly shown images of the exterior of theircraft, which was in a kind of barbell shape. Rumors spread. Were the Callade shy?Secretive? Grotesque? Planning to kill every-one? Or was it something else? Susan endedup fielding those questions as well, and itwas all she could do to keep from losingher patience as the same queries weremade, over and over again. People speculated constantly. Childrenin schools drew pictures of what theythought the Callade were like, and localnews programs would hold contests to seehow imaginative the kids could be. Crayondrawings ended up on the nightly news.They were as good a backdrop to thereporting as any. Susan reasoned the aliens’ reticencewas understandable. After all, her fellowhuman beings weren’t exactly laying out thewelcome mat just yet. There was no map

for the Callade to follow, for Talia and theother world leaders had refrained from sim-ply handing over the Earth’s precise coordi-nates. So they were guessing at Earth’s loca-tion. She had an occasion to sit down withthe former president once the new one wassworn in. “Talia,” she said as a soup coursewas served, “We’re getting to a weirdimpasse with the Callade.” “I agree. If we welcome them and theyturn out to be horrible – against allobserved behavior, over the course of sever-al years – then we’ve sealed our dooms.And if they really are as friendly and won-derful as we hope, but we passive-aggressive-ly let them just gad about the galaxy anddon’t even so much as point them one wayor another, then even the most patient peo-ple are bound to get a little miffed.” “It’s a touch like the Israelites wander-ing in the desert for forty years. And maybeit is for the same purpose, to just let anolder generation die out.” “You’ve been answering too many Biblethumpers’ questions lately.” Talia put herspoon into her now-empty bowl. “Susan,there’s no way to know what’s right.” “That’s true. And not to continue theBible theme any further, but seriously, ittruly is a leap of faith.” “No doubt,” Talia said. “What I would-n’t give for a little deus ex machina rightabout now. You know, someone withauthority, who we could trust, who couldjust swoop in and tell us what to do.” Susan chuckled a little. “I’m afraidwe’ve got to be the grownups in the room.

No one’s going to come to our rescue, oranything.” Two months later, it was more or lessdecided for them. “As of today,” the newpresident proclaimed, “I have authorized amessage to the Callade with clear informa-tion about our location and what we looklike.” Once the president’s speech was over,Susan angrily turned off the screen. Sheimmediately contacted Marshall. “Do youknow what the hell is going on? And howcould the president ever have another teamto translate the Callade’s language?” “Susan,” Marshall said, “There’s justthe one team.” “Wait, wait, hold the phone,” she said,hearing a chime signifying a caller was try-ing to reach her. “So they made you trans-late their message, is that it?” “No, not exactly.” The chime was still ringing in her earas the full import of what he had just saidbecame clear to her. “You, you volun-teered.” “Well, kinda.” “No, wait,” she raised the volume ofher voice considerably; “they offered yousomething.” “I,” he swore under his breath. “Justtalk to the president.” Without so much asa goodbye, he hung up. The call waiting chime was still ringing,so she answered it, none too happily. “Yes?” “I have the president for you.” A moment later, there was a boomingTexas-accented voice on the line. “GeneralSheffield! I’d like to make y’all an offer.”


“I beg your pardon, President Jensen?” “An offer. You’ll get a handsome retire-ment package and even another star just atthe point of retirement. That ought toincrease the payout significantly.” “You’re pushing me out.” “Y’all are 73.” “So? I can still do my job, sir.” “I got Porter for that.” “So you promoted Marshall Porterwithout my knowledge or consent? Andyou also underhandedly had his team trans-late a welcoming message to the Callade.Tell me, Mr. President, did any of the otherworld leaders agree to that?” “It wasn’t their call. Now, darlin’, wecan do this the easy way, or we can do itthe hard way.” “Oh?” “Either you retire voluntarily with asweet package, or I fire you and you getnothing. Your choice.” “I take it that retirement packagecomes with some sort of a nondisclosure.” “Naturally. Y’all shouldn’t be blabbingthis to the overly nosy press, now, ya hear?” It only took a second for Susan toweigh her options. “Screw you, Mr.President. I quit!” “Pity ya’ll won’t get that sweet pack-age.” “Pity you can’t bribe me into silence,Jensen.” She cut the connection and con-tacted her favorite member of the press.“Jeremy? It’s Susan Sheffield. And have Igot a story for you.” When the news broke the followingday, Jensen was, by turns, furious and then

panicky and then cocky and then overlyapologetic. Apparently Susan had not beenthe only person left in the dark. The entireminority party delegation had been, too. The panic which Susan had so carefullyworked to avoid arrived that very same day.And her phone wouldn’t stop ringing forhours. It was even annoying on vibrate, soshe took to answering it. She fielded questions, complaints, andaccusations with as much finesse as shecould muster. The public’s demands wereunending and the barrage of communica-tions lasted for nearly half a year. Sleepcould only come with the phone in anotherroom, ringer off, and some chemical assis-tance. But she had to count her blessings. President Jensen had it far worse.Members of his own party flipped left andright as calls for his impeachment turnedinto charges and proceedings. Convicted oftreason and hounded out of office, he puta bullet in his brain, rather than face thepeople back home, or prison, or both. His Vice President and successor was astern and sober Oregonian named ElmerDavies. After less than a month in office,Davies contacted Susan personally, apolo-gized profusely for his late boss’s behavior,and offered the general her old job back,with an extra star to boot. Marshall Porter received a lateral pro-motion in name only. He was none toopleased that Susan was back and again incharge, and let everyone and his brotherknow all about how he felt about it. Susan remained coolly professional inthe face of his displeasure. For the most


part, she left him alone. All she wanted tohear from him was if there had been anyreturn messages from the Callade, andwhat those messages translated to. It took nearly a year after the death ofthe disgraced President Jensen before theyheard anything from the Callade. And itwasn’t even a specific message at all – it wasjust the Voyager probe’s message, playedback. At 75, Susan had been the point per-son for contact with the Callade for thebetter part of a decade. But the work wasgetting more wearying, particularly with theloss of the collegial relationship she hadhad with President Talia Brookfield. But it was the rift with Marshall thathurt the most. Once the Voyager messagewas received, she took the initiative andcontacted him. “Marshall, what do youthink it means?” “It means they found the goddamnedprobe,” he snapped. Although she didn’thear him say anything beyond that, Susanexpected Marshall would have loved to haveadded a cheap shot, such as, “Well, duh!” “I understand that,” she said evenly.“And we had had a handle on Voyager upuntil about the time we heard the firstCallade signal.” “Yes, yes, go on.” “Have a little patience, will you? I’mtrying to reason something out here. If theypicked up the probe at its last-known loca-tion, just where would that be?” “About three-quarters of the way fromhere to Proxima Centauri.” “Okay. But what if they took the probe

somewhere and are transmitting fromthere?” “We have no way of knowing that.” “I agree. The main point I’m making isthat we can conjecture where they are –and the last-known position of the probe islikely our best guess, but it’s not the onlypossible guess.” “Maybe the probe just appeared ontheir cosmic doorstep.” “Possibly. Or maybe they encounteredit somewhere in deep space.” “If it did get that close to them,” hesaid, “then they’re probably close to us, cos-mically speaking.” “Of course they’ve got interstellar trav-el. I wonder how they beat out the Theoryof Relativity.” That gave Marshall pause. “I knowwe’ve been all wondering if they’re comingto eat us and all of that. But they knowwe’re not their equals in terms of technolo-gy. It’s not really an even exchange.” “Perhaps not. But maybe we’re the onlygame in town, that they’re so starved forcosmic companionship that they can toler-ate their country cousins.” “It’s like speed dating where there’sexactly one match,” he said. “So they take it or leave it.” “Look, Susan, I’m sorry.” Susan was taken aback by his abruptchange of subject for a second. “It’s allwater under the bridge.” “No, seriously, we’ve worked togetherfor how many years? And then Jensen dan-gled money and academic fame in front ofme. I shouldn’t have done what I did. Not


just to translate and send his foolhardymessage, but also to throw you under thebus in the process.” “Thank you; I appreciate that.” The SETI ringtone went off, and theyboth tapped their Bluetooth earpieces.“Oort Cloud? Really?” he asked. The reply from the researcher inJakarta was just, “It’s been confirmed.There is definitely a vessel entering theOort Cloud. Whether or not it’s theCallade is currently impossible to tell.” This time, they kept the finding topsecret. President Davies agreed with the pre-caution. There was no sense in causing yetanother panic unless there was truly some-thing worthwhile to panic about. It was only world leaders and top scien-tists who knew – and one General SusanSheffield. There were daily reports. Visualconfirmation was difficult; due to theamount of debris is the area, not to men-tion its remoteness. All they had were wobbles and reflec-tions from the bigger objects in the Cloud.It wasn’t until the vessel had reached Sednathat anyone could get a handle on its size.The French and Israeli research teams putit at a very large size – as in close to the sizeof the Saturnian moon, Europa. Such a vessel, in addition to its space-faring capabilities, was beyond the capacityof human construction. To create some-thing so huge on the ground would haveblanketed most of the Australian continent.And to construct such a monstrosity inorbit would have caused numerous eclipses.Not to mention the fact that any major

construction accidents that came crashingback down to Earth would have had thepotential to be extinction events. Howeverthe Callade had so much as constructed thevessel, that was beyond anything humanscould do. And that wasn’t even getting intofaster than light travel. Susan attended meeting after meetingafter meeting. World leaders and foremostscientists were getting scared. And the gen-eral public, if they could have heard evenone-tenth of what was currently secret,would have returned to a state of full-blownpanic. It likely wouldn’t be possible for anymembers of the general public to be talkedoff that kind of a ledge. So the meetings were divided into onefaction which was tasked with trying to fig-ure out how to tell the public without set-ting off a maelstrom, and the other faction,which spent its time trying to figure outhow the hell to deal with the Callade. Not being a scientist or a politician,Susan shuttled between the two commit-tees. Some considered how to meet an alienthreat with force yet at the same time notpanic the populace. That seemed an impos-sible combination. Others wanted to continue believing inand trusting the Callade. Maybe Jensen hadbeen right all along. Maybe what had beenmore or less a hastily blurted-out invitationhad been a good idea after all. Still others wondered if Jensen’s suicidewas the only reasonable reaction to every-thing that was happening. And through it all, Susan and Marshall


worked with the rest of the SETI team tocommunicate, somehow, with theapproaching vessel. It was plowing along at a 1% of thespeed of light clip. Hardly the stuff of hardcore science fiction, but still far faster thanany human or human-made object had evergone. Scientists estimated that the craftwould get to Earth in about two Earthyears or so. There was time enough to fig-ure out what the hell to do. And then there wasn’t. For when thealien vessel left the Oort Cloud andentered the Kuiper Belt, someone musthave hit the gas. The vessel traveled fromQuaoar to Pluto at a speed that was closerto one-tenth of the speed of light. If that speed could be maintained, thenthe vessel would be on the Earth’s doorstepin around a week. Adding to their prob-lems was the start of scattered reports byamateur astronomers seeing somethingmoving out there, between Pluto andCharon. Davies and the other world leaders hadto act, ready or not. They all made speechesat just about simultaneously, urging calmand prudence at the same time. To the surprise of Susan and everyoneelse who had been privy to the Callade’simminent arrival, most people stayed calm.It wasn’t a festival of looting, althoughchurch, mosque, temple, ashram, and syna-gogue attendance was way, way up. The news followed the craft as it orbit-ed Neptune and some of Neptune’s moonsa few times, and then moved onto theUranian System.

Suggestions poured in from all over theworld about what to say and who would sayit, and how. The general public got hungup on the minutiae of First Contact. Theysent in everything from fashion choices tothe protocols of who should talk first,where they would meet, whether refresh-ments would be served, and hundreds ofother nagging details. Susan’s name had been in the pressbefore, and she found herself inundatedwith suggestions on makeup application,how she should wear her hair, and even theheel height of her shoes. It was all too much – but it was, shefelt, the only way the general public couldinject themselves into the process. She triedto be patient with their many, many bizarreideas. Meanwhile, the Callade continuedwhat was looking more and more like asearch. They circled Uranus and thenSaturn and also both of those gas giants’biggest moons. They treated Jupiter a littledifferently, only circling the largest planetone time. Marshall remarked on that toSusan, who replied, “You know that somepeople suspect Jupiter is a failed star.Maybe the Callade feel the same way.” The craft then made its way throughthe asteroid belt, circling larger bodies likeVesta, Pallas, and the largest asteroid,Ceres. By the time it got to Mars, every per-son who could broadcast – or so it seemed– was doing so. Radio stations got in on the act, offer-ing the Callade everything from a lifetime’ssupply of music to a new car if the aliens


would land somewhere close by. Amateurpodcasters put their two cents in, too, andold timers hauled out their CBs and hamradios so that they, too, could participate. “We sound needy and kind of desper-ate,” Susan remarked to Marshall. Theirtruce was still on, and they were in her liv-ing room, enjoying a glass of wine. “Well, right now, they’re the only gamein town.” He checked his phone. “At theirpresent course and speed, they should beorbiting Earth in less than an hour.” “I would have thought I’d be morenervous, or scared. It’s funny, but I’m nei-ther.” “So how do you feel?” he asked. “Intrigued – I suppose that’s as good aword for it as any. I’m curious when itcomes to what they look like, of course.But right now, they don’t scare me.” “You may very well change your mindin an hour.” “Always the optimist, eh, Marshall? Butin all seriousness, it just feels like we’re in atheater, waiting for the curtain to go up.” “Let’s just hope the genre isn’t horror.” A little over an hour later, the craftorbited the moon once and then the Earth.Its orbits were in bands. First it circled theSouth Pole, then farther up to the Tropicof Capricorn, and then north to theEquator, and then the Tropic of Cancer.Then it circled the North Pole andswitched everything up. This time, it followed longitudes ratherthan latitudes, circling the Earth aboveAfrica first. Maybe the Callade were start-ing with the larger land masses first, or

southerly ones, or… something. There hadto be some sort of logic behind their behav-iors. The flight path was deliberate and care-ful. It was obvious even to the smallestchild, that this was a search grid. But there were no communications.The craft was utterly silent, and didn’tseem to even make engine noises. The sus-pense was killing people. Bored, nervous,scared and on edge, rioting started. Itfanned out from major cities in waves. Thatis, except for the areas just below the craft. Just within the craft’s shadow, therewas an eerie calm. Were the Callade some-how mind-controlling people, throughdrugs or vibrations or other means? It cer-tainly seemed that way to Susan. The craft finally stopped just above, ofall places, Kampala in Uganda. The Calladereleased a shaft of golden light that reachedall the way to the ground. The vessel itselfremained in geostationary orbit. The light’spurpose revealed itself shortly thereafter –it was some form of space elevator. What eventually looked like two indi-viduals took it down to the surface as thepeople of Earth sat and rocked and collec-tively bit their fingernails as longtime quit-ters chain smoked and others paced somuch they threatened to wear out the car-pets. The light was dim enough to obscurethe details, but that didn’t stop peoplefrom speculating about the Callade’sappearance. The descent took several min-utes. So there was plenty of time for everyhuman crackpot from Saint Petersburg to


Rio de Janeiro to tweet or post or broadcastor just shout out their terrified, addlepatedtheories to whoever would listen. Once the descent concluded, the shaftof light disappeared. And the sight of theCallade – for there really had been two ofthem – made the people of Earth collective-ly gasp. Every prediction and speculation as totheir appearance had been wrong, wrong,wrong. Instead, they perfectly matched themale and female archetypal images on therecord which the Voyager probe had beencarrying. This was even down to the goldtone and utter nudity. They stared at the people of Kampalafor a moment, and then the pair of Calladeshifted. They mimicked the looks of severalpeople, altering their appearances every halfa minute or so. The one that had initiallypresented as female would change to eithermale or female, and the one that had ini-tially presented as male did the same.Therefore, Susan reasoned, they were prob-ably not male and female as understood byhumans. Maybe they didn’t even have gen-der – or maybe they had as many gendersas they had appearances. They went through iteration after dizzy-ing iteration, but they never said a word. They were silent even when peopletried to speak with them. It wasn’t untilthey had seemingly cycled through everyonein the immediate vicinity that one of themfinally spoke. It was the one that had origi-nally presented as female, currently imitat-ing the look of a little girl. She stated thestandard Callade greeting, “So beautiful.”

Susan could have sworn those wordswere in perfect English, but the entireassembly in Kampala seemed to understandthe greeting without effort. English wasspoken in Uganda, but by everyone? Weren’tthere some people who only spoke Swahili? She’d been only half-listening to vari-ous news reports, and they started to reportthat foreign news bureaus claimed thegreeting was in Thai or Portuguese,Mandarin or Navajo. So they had some sortof a translating device. Or maybe theCallade themselves were, somehow, able tospeak in hundreds if not thousands of lan-guages simultaneously. Marshall looked her in the eye. “Thisfeels weird. Nice but weird.” “Definitely weird.” No one in the Kampala unofficial greet-ing committee – obviously – had any formof experience in First Contact protocols.There wasn’t even a leader among them, sothey all started to talk to the Callade atonce. “God, I hope nobody accidentally caus-es an interstellar incident,” she muttered. “So far, so good. They’re weird – as weagree, and I’m sure a lot of people feel thesame way – but they haven’t done anythingthat we could possibly construe as a hostileact,” he said. Then the news broadcasts reported thatmore shafts of golden light were starting tobe spotted, appearing over dozens of areason Earth. The locations seemed random,and maybe they were meant to be. It wascities like Wilmington, Delaware and Cairoand Helsinki and Montevideo. But there


were also rural and suburban areas includ-ing, ironically, Mars, Pennsylvania. Susan could hear rustling outside. Shedidn’t really have neighbors off in the out-back, so that in and of itself was highlyirregular. She threw open the door andthere was a shaft of light just in front of herdoorstep. So she had more company, and theyhad traveled a long way. Marshall got up and stood just behindher. A pair of Callade arrived on that samesort of golden stair. They had assumed theappearances of Susan and Marshall, appar-ently before they had even reached theground. “So beautiful,” they said together. “Uh, so beautiful,” Susan replied. Sheelbowed Marshall, who responded withwhat was looking an awful lot like theCallade standard greeting. Then she froze in panic. What was shesupposed to do? Offer them a soda? Taketheir nonexistent coats? Ask them whichsports team they preferred? It was also unnerving to see her andMarshall’s doppelgangers. At least the voic-es didn’t match. Much like the first soundtransmissions, the voices sounded mechani-cal. The one that had her shape said, “Donot be afraid. We are only interested in apeaceful connection.” “I see,” she said. “Can I ask why you picked this house?”Marshall asked. “We’re off in BFE here. Imean, it’s the middle of nowhere.”

“We have been investigating the mes-sages we were receiving from you,” said theCallade who looked like Marshall. “Andsome of the shorter earlier messages camefrom right here.” Those few short messages – she’d sentthem from her phone! “Yeah, that was me,”Susan confessed. “The leader of our coun-try approved of them. Marshall here led theteam that cracked the language barrier andperfected the first translation.” “Then this is most fortuitous,” said theone who was in her shape. “We had hopedto meet you. There is also the leader whoinvited us.” The other Callade said, “That verbiagewas radically different. We suspect a part ofit was not authorized.” “Oh, yeah, you mean Jensen,” Marshallsaid. “He’s not the leader of our countryany more. He’s also not alive anymore.” “That is most unfortunate,” said theCallade that looked like him. “Was itrecent?” “A few years ago,” Susan said. “So it is too late to try a resurrection.” “Don’t you mean resuscitation?” sheasked. “A resurrection is a lot more of a reli-gious term for us,” Marshall explained. “Understood,” the Callade replied inunison. “Can I ask you a question?” Susanasked. “Of course,” the Callade replied, againin unison. “What’s your mission? And I mean real-ly.”


“We are curious about other lifeforms,” said the one that looked like her.“So we travel, we meet them, and we estab-lish relations in much the same way as wehave done so here.” “How many times have you donethis before?” Marshall asked. “Over one thousand times,” replied hisalien twin. “There are that may intelligent speciesin the galaxy?” Susan asked. “Can we meet any of them?” Marshalladded. “We have encountered hostility attimes,” his alien twin explained. “Othersare more interested in maintaining theirprivacy. Allow us to be the go-betweens.” “We must go,” Susan’s doppelgangersaid abruptly. “Go?” Susan asked. “Yes. It is our intention to meet all ofthe humans on your world. This will takeus a while,” said Marshall’s alien twin. “There are people who are going toshoot at you,” Susan pointed out. “We will be careful,” said her alientwin. The two Callade stepped back outsideand were whisked right up the shaft ofgolden light. They were both quiet for a while.“Well, that was weird,” Marshall finally ven-tured. “I could use a drink.” Similar scenes, apparently, played outaround the globe. As Marshall and Susanhad warned, the natives weren’t always sofriendly. And then there was the matter of the

other species which the Callade had alreadyencountered. Where were they? And, evenmore importantly, why were the Calladebeing so damned patronizing when it cameto the question of meeting them? President Davies called a meeting. “I’drather not look a gift horse in the mouthhere, but I got a funny feeling about all ofthis. It feels like we’re their pets and I don’tlike that, not one bit.” A number of governments soon after-wards changed hands, as people voted over-whelmingly, time and time again, to justgive the Callade free rein. Investigationsinto elections fraud and hacking turned upnothing. And so when he expressed his concernsto the newer versions of his fellow worldleaders, he was outvoted by an overwhelm-ing majority. The Callade inserted themselves intohuman society. Laws were passed so as toprevent wily shapeshifting aliens from com-mitting fraud or stealing trade secrets. Rapeand breaking and entering laws werestrengthened as well. But none of that seemed to be at allnecessary. To a person, the Callade werepolite, respectable, prudent, sober, stu-dious, and law-abiding. There were none ofthe feared incidents – not even by accident.They never, ever broke the law. Eventually, humans and Callade startedto intermarry. They could not have off-spring. But otherwise their unions werevery much like fully human marriages,except for the part about a spouse neverhaving to age. And they could be anything


or look any way, at any time. Adulterynever happened, and divorce was unheardof. Foundling wards emptied out. The Callade, it seemed, loved humansmore than themselves. Humans were allbeautiful to them, with no exceptions what-soever. Susan was nearly 90 and still at SETI,in a way, as was Marshall, although he wasstill in his late seventies. They both movedmore slowly. Callade medicine and technol-ogy had done nothing to stall or reverse thehuman aging process. All they had was thepotential promise of reviving the dead, butonly if the dead could be attended to nearlyimmediately. But revival did not last forlong, and no one got any younger from it.A lot of humans made their final inten-tions clear in their wills and other direc-tives – no revivals. For Susan and Marshall, their tasks atSETI were largely superficial. They weretreated with reverence, having been part ofthe team that had first contacted theCallade and translated their language. Butthey really didn’t have anything to do. The Earth was prospering, as thethreats from overpopulation and faminestarted to disappear. Lines were shorter.Traffic eased. Unemployment was verynearly nonexistent. There was competitionfor adoptions. Susan was sitting on her front step, justoutside the home she still had in theAustralian outback, even though she wasno longer cleared to fly the helicopter solo. The night was crisp with just a slightbreeze. The visibility was off-the-charts gor-

geous. It seemed as if every single star inthe Milky Way galaxy was out there to beseen. She still wore her earpiece, and she stilllistened. It was getting harder to listen, asthe numerous messages from the Calladeon Earth to the Callade elsewhere werehard to figure out. Wherever ‘elsewhere’was, no humans knew. But at least she was-n’t losing her hearing yet. But whatever promise or hope of spacetravel with the Callade was gone. Still, noone much cared, or at least it seemed thatway. Things were far too exciting and won-derful at home. But the messages had gotten annoyingto Susan. If she didn’t know any better, shewould have sworn the Callade were eitherblocking transmissions or preventing SETIfrom listening to them. But that wasabsurd! The Callade only had humanity’sbest interests at heart. But that night, she heard a rhythmictapping and a repeating tone. She contact-ed Marshall immediately. As a precaution,everyone on the team was sworn to secrecyas they worked on a translation, for themessage was neither human nor Callade.The numbers didn’t match. It was slow going but finally, after near-ly a year, they had something.Beware the Callade

They sent back one message with thetop-secret approval of two former Americanpresidents, Elmer Davies and TaliaBrookfield. The current president, CasperPennington, approved but didn’t want tobe in on the nitty gritty details.


Why?

The answer came back swiftly. Andbecause they had practice translating thosealiens’ numerical patterns, the translationwas relatively quick.They mean to drive you to extinction. And they

do it through intermarriage and interbreeding

with the native species. We have seen this hap-

pen before. They will either take you as mates

openly, or they will use their shapeshifting abili-

ties to do so by fraud. If you do not stop them

now, your species will die off in no more than

four generations.

Susan and Marshall stared at the com-muniqué. “Do you think that’s at all accu-rate?” he finally asked. “I mean, maybetheir motives aren’t such pure ones.” “Right,” Susan replied, distracted. There was a hasty meeting called foreveryone in on the message. Davies finallysuggested, “Well, why don’t we just askthem for proof?” Marshall translated and sent theapproved message himself.We need proof.

They got their response in a month. Ittranslated into a set of schematics withattached directions. Nobody in the groupwas particularly handy, so an engineer washired. She wasn’t told anything about theorigin of the schematics or the nature ofthe project. She had but one task: to buildwhatever the schematics were for. The prototype was ready in two weeks.It was a kind of metallic slat, about the sizeand shape of a standard six-inch ruler. Itwas to be implanted in one’s forearm. Withlittle to lose, Susan and Marshall volun-

teered as guinea pigs. The implantation process was doneunder local anesthesia and it didn’t hurt.The device was covered with skin and thewhole thing was seamless as a plastic sur-geon sworn to secrecy created the tiniest ofincisions and sewed the tiniest of dissolvingstitches which no one could see unless theywere really close up. Once her barely noticeable scarshealed, Susan was flown home and thoughtvery little of it for the next few days. Itseemed as if nothing was happening, andthe warning and the prototype were bothtime-consuming lies, possibly designed todrive a wedge between humans andCallade. After four days, her doorbell rang. Sheshuffled over to answer it, still half-asleep.“Yes?” It was the letter carrier with a package.And it was far too early for that. “Signhere, please.” Something must have kicked in, for shelooked into his eyes and the whites weren’twhite at all. They were green. “Callade?” “Nice folks. See ya.” After the letter carrier had left, shecalled Marshall. “Have you seen anythingyet?” “What am I supposed to be lookingfor?” “Green sclera; you know, the whites ofthe eyes. Except they’re green. Once you seethem, you can’t un-see them.” A couple of hours later, he called herback. “There are a lot of them. Haven’t younoticed, Susan?”


“Well, I kind of live out in the middleof nowhere, you know. But a lot of Calladeisn’t necessarily a sign of malice.” “Understood; so we need to test thetest.” They thought for a few moments, herin Australia and he in Brazil. Finally, shesaid, “We need to test the people who weknow are human – or at least they shouldbe human, no matter what. Have you testedwhether you can get a reading from imageson the viewer, or does someone have to beclose by for it to work? I looked at myself inthe mirror and I look normal, but maybethat’s a function of the reflection or some-thing or other.” “Hang on; I’ll test it right now.” Heflipped on his viewer and surfed throughthe channels as she listened in. “Aha!” “What did you find?” “That home shopping gal who sellsthose puff paint angel paintings with datesof birth and stats so they look like heavenlybaseball cards? She’s Callade.” “So maybe the Callade are just here tosell tchotchkes?” “Very funny, Susan. The whole thing isdamned fishy.” “But which part of it is fishy – theCallade or these other aliens?” In a few more months, they got theiranswer. It was the State of the Unionaddress, which was to be held on the WhiteHouse lawn and not inside, so as to accom-modate a ton of both human and Calladepress. President Casper Pennington was wear-ing sunglasses, as were all of the Supreme

Court justices, former presidents likeDavies and Brookfield, and all of thehuman press corps. That made sense, atleast on its surface. It was a bright sunshinyday, after all. But then they took off their sunglassesas one and, to a person, they all had greensclera. Shaken, Susan called Marshall. “Didyou see? It’s Brookfield and Davies, and,and Pennington! So they know about themessage and, and the implants.” “You’re probably right.” “Marshall, what do you think hap-pened to the real Brookfield and Daviesand Pennington? Do you think they’redead?” “I - oh God – I bet they are. I mean,how else could the Callade cover up theswitch?” She felt a scratchy lump in her throat.Talia Brookfield had been a good friend fordecades. “Poor Talia – and the rest of them!Marshall, this is appalling! We have got todo something!” “What do you have in mind?” “There have got to be people left whocan broadcast. We need satellites and all ofthat. Get a reporter on the air. Even somecub reporter can warn the people. We’vegot to get a message out, before it’s toolate!” Grief was set aside for the moment,in favor of mobilizing. She would deal withher feelings later, like she always did. “Calm down, okay? I’ll get flown outthere, and we’ll strategize. Just sit tight.” “Okay.” She was expecting a helicopter, but


instead, nearly a day later, at the end of theday as the sun was setting, Marshall arrivedin a Cessna, which touched down expertlyon her tiny airfield. He wasn’t alone. The moment Susan saw he and histhree cohorts were wearing sunglasses, shestarted to hoarsely scream. And when theytook them off, all showing green sclera, shefainted. She came to a few minutes later. “Iwould have thought you would have killedme for knowing.” “No. You are an older human, near theend of your expected life span,” said theCallade in the shape of Marshall. “You must want something, then. Tellme, how many humans – real humans – areleft?” “About one hundred thousand, maybe.And you’re right that we want somethingout of you. We want you to broadcast amessage through SETI.” “Whatever for?” “The ones who warned you? We hadthought we completely crushed their rebel-lion.” “Apparently not.” “Exactly so. Therefore, Susan Sheffield,it is your mission to lure them here. Theywill believe you, as you are the only one leftwho was in on their initial communica-tions.” “Oh? I take it Marshall Porter refused?” “Yes. And so he has been replaced.” “What if I refuse, too?” “Then we’ll kill you, too.” Susan thought for just a second. “You’llkill me anyway. So you can just go to hell.”

She wasn’t as nimble as she had oncebeen, but she knew the area better than anyCallade and even better than most humans.Under cover of twilight, she escaped intothe bush. They would not be able to findher. Her phone was still linked to SETI,and she sent a message.Beware the Callade. They have killed my peo-

ple. And if you give them half a chance, they

will kill yours, too.

Once satisfied that the message hadgone through, she dug a hole with her barehands into the Artesian Basin. She threwher phone into it and covered it up as bestshe could, wiping her muddy hands on herclothes. With no food or water, she would sure-ly die. “But at least it’ll be on my terms.Besides, everything in Australia is alwaystrying to kill you. All I’ve got to do is wait.”v


Ed. Note: Welcome to episode two of ourserialized short novel Freedom. In thisstory, alien beings feed and survive off thefreedoms of humans, who can only com-bat them by restricting their own rights,even to the point of slavery. See episodeone in our January 31 (Disablot) issue tocatch up and...enjoy....

Episode 2

The house was not far from where Iwas, just a few streets, just down the centralavenue, I walked for about 15 minutes,absorbed in my thoughts, I thought a lotabout the way I would address the issue,although I think maybe not I am the onlyone who has approached this house for thispurpose, I would soon discover it. In front of the house there is a garden,quite careless to be realistic, it looks like acompletely abandoned house, and if I hadnot seen the reflection of his face peekingout of the first floor window, I probablywould not have noticed the human pres-ence in that place. I proceed to my work,and I slowly approach the door, I play it acouple of times, I wait a while and nobodycomes to my call, I play again with forceand insistence, nothing, apparently Mr.Wilson does not need visits in his home; I

value myself and think about what I woulddo. I knock on the door, but this time Iscream "Mr. Wilson, I am Jacob Bradley,and as for your son, they also came for me,help me, I beg of you", and I stood for alonger time, approached the door and Iplaced my face on the threshold, closing myeyes, begging to really attend, I do notknow how many minutes passed, but aftera moment the door opened, and a smallman was approaching me, I saw how itcame From the shadows, I knew it was him. "What do you want, boy?" And I couldnot speak, the words did not come out,when I saw his face, I could see the sadness,the years of emotional and physical wear, Ican almost see my father reflected in thislittle gentleman , I regained my composure,cleared my throat and told him I neededinformation about what had happened inmy town, from my experience with thesebeings who wanted to take me away frommy family, offering me a much better life ifI left them behind, simply opened the doorcompletely, and with a kind gesture mademe go home. I went in and I could immediately seethat there were family portraits in severalvisible parts of the house, evidently thisman loved his family, but he looked lonelyand tired, after analyzing the situation a bit

Copyright 2020 Shainur Ullah Corner Bar Magazine25

“FREEDOM”by SHAINUR ULLAH

more, I realized that he was not I knewwhere the wife was, and not even theauthorities had mentioned it, maybe I wasin the same state as him, sad and disconso-late, or maybe he just left home, but thesewere just theories that were hardly formu-lated in my mind , and that they werediverting me from the main objective. I returned from my thoughts, anddecided that I should start the conversationabout myself, so I started to contradict Mr.Wilson how was the first time theyapproached me, what was my reaction, howwas it that I felt, my thoughts, and every-thing, I came to tell you that there was atime in which I no longer feared, I justignored the signs and their presence, theirsad eyes looked at me with attention, and Ithought I saw a hint of amazement whenyou listen to my words, I suppose that yourson the same thing happened to him, andthe difference was evident, I was stillamong us and he had left with them a longtime ago. Mr. Wilson explained to me that hehad been pointed out long ago by membersof his community, who did not believe intheir stories, even when they became offi-cial statements by the highest authorities ofthe town. That is, he was partly blamed forthe death of his son, but he told me thathe did not care that anyone believed him,his wife, the authorities and he had seenwhat happened, and that it was enough forhim that these people had witnessed thisfact. When I asked about little William, butnot only wanted to know about that horri-

ble day where these parents had to saygoodbye to their little one, but wanted toknow about their personality, their tastesand preferences, all the information theycould collect from the child would be use-ful. , so I could create a kind of relation-ship, a common factor, maybe I could getto know why they chose us both to betaken from this earth, I needed answersand it was very difficult to put together acase or a theory with so little information,with so much ignorance. The father made a description of hisson, which was quite similar to how I wasas a child, very skillful, intrepid, with agreat desire to learn from everythingaround me, curious, restless, was always incontact with all the elements inside andoutside the house, and he was always lovedby all the people under his command;that's how I was as a child, a very curiousbeing, completely free to live by my stan-dards, always eager for information, andquite intelligent for my age, I could under-stand, in my short life, many issues and sit-uations that were difficult to process evenfor some Adults. I began to make assumptions, maybethe "others" wished to have in their powerthe mind or spirit of a child so awake andattentive to the details of our world, orother things like these, it was not knownfor sure what was I tried. The Lord tookme out of my thoughts, he told me that hisdaughter had become very ill, somethingabout a respiratory illness, the diagnosiswas not encouraging, the people who didthe medical evaluation of the little Sarah


advised her parents to try to make her livehis last days in the happiest way possible,and they obeyed that way; According towhat the man said, Sarah was quite similarto us (William and I), but as soon as thedisease began to attack her she lost herspark, however, she said that she hadvisions of people who wanted her to accom-pany her, they all carried these hallucina-tions to high fevers suffered by the girl dueto infections. She was just 10 years old when it hap-pened, Sarah was in her room, and her par-ents were downstairs, there was a loudscream and then a thud, as she ran downthe stairs, the little girl was on the ground,lifeless. This was a hard blow for the family,they spent years of darkness, they dreamedof the little one, they did not stop thinkingabout her, the pain was unbearable, and itstayed that way until the arrival of William.The boy represented a light in this homethat had become so gloomy, and theWilsons were gradually forgetting what hadhappened years ago, always talking to thelittle one about his sister, and how muchhe would have loved the company of agood boy like him, I guess he drew a visionof his little sister. He became suspicious, after William'sdeparture, that perhaps they also took herto her, that perhaps she was the first to seethem and that the hallucinations wereattributed to the illness that the little girlsuffered. I asked myself the same. The gentleman said that after seeinghis daughter take William, he changed hisform to a terrifying being, which produced

fear and disgust, a rather disgusting crea-ture, there they knew with certainty that itwas not Sarah, who took the form friend-lier than he found to be able to approachthe child and take his wishes to live. Thetruth is that I did not find much usefulinformation in the story, but one thing didseem strange to me, when the Lorddescribed the visits of these beings to hisson, said that he seemed in a trance, thathe was definitely completely under his con-trol, and that this surely would have accept-ed the first request if it were not for thepresence of his parents who had rescuedhim. I remembered the first time that hap-pened to me, I was in a small trance, butnot under his complete control, and Ithink it was the most vulnerable time i was,because for the rest of the visits, I was veryclear that my answer would always be nega-tive the requests of these beings. We talked a little more about what hap-pened, it was getting late and I had toreturn to my town, I swore to return if Icould get a little more information, becausein a way I felt that this man deserved anexplanation about what was happening, Ialso I deserved it, but for now we did nothave anything else, I said goodbye to Mr.Wilson and I started my way home, withmore doubts than before, but with informa-tion I did not know before, since my fatherhad not heard the complete story of Mr.Wilson, In any case, I felt uneasy, less satis-fied because I had fulfilled the objective Ihad set for myself. I came home again, with new hope,thinking that perhaps I would find a way to


evade these beings, or that some personwould discover some fantastic secret bywhich we could defeat this pair of beings (Ithought it was a few) and we would get ridof their existence for the rest of our lives, Ireally had great hope in this, and I wouldreally do everything possible to make thishappen, I was not going to let my familywear out what's left of life to this matterthat torments them since I was little, Icould no longer resist their suffering, and itis not that before it seemed normal to me,only that before I could not take this mat-ter with more seriousness, due to the limi-tations of age, worse I was ready to face myfears and those of my parents, and I wasalso sure that something good would comeout of this. The days went by quite normally, andthe commotion of the "workers" who werepreviously slaves was a matter treated by allthe homeowners, like us; the truth is thatin our town these things were carried muchmore calmly, and at least in my house wasnot much difference, we always liked totreat slaves well, they performed better intheir work, and I liked to believe that theywere happier that way, the fact that theywere workers now made me think that theywould be much happier than they were atany time, and I kept thinking about it for acouple of months, however, one day every-thing changed. Since that day when I got home I feltthat things took an unexpected turn, thatis, I thought that in a long time I could notfind any news about these beings, but I waswrong, and in what way, at that moment I

thought that this it would mark a beforeand an after for our town and all its inhabi-tants, and it was. Before dawn, I rememberhaving slept peacefully, I felt safe, firm inmy idea of making a plan to get everyone(in this case my family) away from thepower and influence of these beings, butapparently soon we would need more that aplan to protect a few, we would need astrategy to protect all the people, and allthe surrounding areas, because apparentlythis evil would spread. I woke up the next day, it was a reallylong night - I had a rather strange dream, Iwas visited by one of the beings, or rather, Iwas like in a kind of place where I was the"stranger." I was surrounded by the crea-tures, I assumed it because they asked meto stay with them, to give me their strength,their influence and I would be free, I feltlike fighting, but for some reason I couldnot do it, I felt that the hopes left me a lit-tle, but I did not want to give in to them. Iwoke up quite exalted, with pain in thechest, I suppose the dream prepared me foreverything that came after, and I greatlyappreciate it. As soon as I got up and knocked onthe door, it was the person who gave methe information about Mr. Wilson, abouthis case, or rather the little son. He told methat many more cases had been registeredin just a few days, he could not find anexplanation as to why, at that moment,cases had increased, why these beings hadended the lives of so many people in such ashort time, and More frightening was thathis attacks had become more frequent. He


said that one of his companions had movedto one of the most important capitols ofthe nation, where apparently they hadalready confronted the creatures and hadalready found a solution, something tempo-rary, this gave me great hope, if there was away to evade these beings, I wanted toknow her, to protect us all. Apparently in a few days we all wouldhave information about how to avoid every-thing that was happening, in the town wewould not wait too long to know the mostcommon methods to get these creaturesaway from here, and apparently they werejust beginning their visit, to all the townsthat we knew. This was a threat to whichyou had never confronted us, but we had tohave faith that this strange and frighteningsituation would end soon, for me it wasvery difficult, I felt personally affected,because of all the cases that were talkedabout, none the victim resisted, all accom-panied these beings to what they called "abetter life". I sat down to think about thesituation, I had the need to meet someonewho has also escaped the clutches of thesebeings, this thought became frequent in mymind, but the chances of finding anotherlike me were hard to imagine, and that Iwas terrified, however there was an evenworse thought, that there was only one per-son in the world that these strangers couldnot take, me. The cases were increasing, what I foundmore curious is that many of these involvedthe slaves who were now workers, I decidedto dig a little more, with my trusted work-ers, one of them told me that rumors were

running about these beings , which one oftheir ancestors had told them, he told them"freedom is beautiful, there are freedoms ofmany kinds, and if they wanted thembefore, they must now renounce them", heexplained that they had never beenattacked by these beings before , but sincethey were given a little freedom, most ofthem (slaves), began to fantasize about allthe freedoms they could get, and that rightat this stage was when beings realized theirexistence. Many of the workers, especiallythe elderly, were encouraging other slavesto surrender their freedoms, to leave thefigure of worker, so they would be safer,away from the sight of all evils, had tomake a sacrifice for the greater good At firstit seemed like a crazy idea, but if you spenta few minutes understanding why theattacks increased in the last few days, thismade some sense, and honestly, I neededto believe in something more concrete thanmy own assumptions, I definitely needed it. Later another case had been registered,of a slave, of a nearby house, apparently heasked his master for some kind of right,which some acquaintances had, and heaccepted gladly, after this, one of the beingstook away the life, the theory of the workerwas gaining strength, but we would onlyknow what would happen in a definitiveway when the information of the cityarrived, and while this did not happen,surely I could not sleep, I felt them close, Ifelt they were coming for me, I wanted tobe prepared, but for now, just as always, Ionly had my determination not to go withthem, that was my best weapon, and I


could not do without it just at this momentso dangerous for humanity.v


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