by P P Corcoran
Jonah knew a jab when he heard one. And they were right. Humans never accepted existential end, and it was no doubt how religion took its hold in all facets of human development. Now, knowing they were the outliers in a universe full of immortal intelligence, what even was religious faith at all?
That’s when he realized the gravity of the discussion. Humans built society around the idea of life after death. Now, reality came to light: death wasn’t even a concept for other intelligent beings. Humanity was an outlier, a tragedy. A race of beings that spent most of their lifetimes and energy focused on prettying up the void that came after their existences’ end.
How horrible that surely looked from the outside.
Peering to the observation window, Jonah found the room empty. Wherever Wilberforce had gone to, he figured it couldn’t have been for any good reason. Most likely, he stormed out like Roundy, too frustrated to comprehend the realities that were arising. Jonah didn’t blame them. He glanced to Dr. Nagobi, noticing the beads of sweat forming on his brow.
“What are you thinking?” he questioned the weary doctor.
“I...” Nagobi took a breath. “This is not something that humanity needs to know,” he muttered, a suspicious eye stuck on the aliens. “It would not be an easy comprehension. It would be destructive.”
“You can live an untruth,” the beings replied. “Your existence will expire...and it will have meant only...progression of that untruth.”
Nagobi appeared to stifle a sneer. “Watching us does not teach you anything. You do not know of our intricacies, our needs. Humanity...needs their faith, their beliefs.”
“Their faith...leads them astray. You are advanced life...but you advance in a cycle...in a circle. This is our antithesis.”
At that, Nagobi rose from his seat, the metal chair squeaking sharply against the floor. “Excuse me, I must take a moment. I’m sorry.” He headed for the door before Jonah could breathe a word of protest. In no time, Jonah was alone in the chamber with the extraterrestrials he feared encountering mere minutes before. Somehow, it felt like he’d been speaking to them for years.
“So,” Jonah hummed, “I understand why your existence is troubling to ours. But I don’t think I understand it the other way around. Why are we so troubling to you?”
The feedback came through in ebbs and flows. Experiencing it alone, Jonah found it a little unsettling, like something that would play in a horror movie to puzzle the audience before a big scare. He stirred in his seat as the beings continued pondering.
“Considering existence...finite...is new to us. It was...never anticipated,” they let another stretch of silence hang. “When we return this information...to our home...what will we say?”
Jonah could only shrug. “That we’re existentially different from you?”
“Not acceptable.”
“Why? Why can’t we accept that we’re...fundamentally different,” Jonah trailed off. The more he considered what this information meant, the more he knew they were right. An equal and opposite reaction was likely to rip through every other species in the universe. So many existential crises happening simultaneously wouldn’t result in any positivity.
Reality was harsh, but no one could fight it. Science taught Jonah that whenever it found the opportunity, and this was a moment ripe for the taking. While he’d never found a need for religion, he knew many people who thought otherwise. To know death as a universal anomaly, and human belief structures as just dissociations from the pain of reality, would be a crushing blow.
There was more to it than that though, Jonah knew. Human beings were more than willing to hand their existence off to causes that would long outlive them, and often not pay societal dividends for generations to come. But, they did so with the promise of afterlife, with the expectation of continued existence on some other universal plane. If they learned it was a lie of their own creation, would they still work towards progress? Would society fall back into selfish subsistence?
“Do you have to tell them?” Jonah wondered.
“No,” the beings replied. “There are...ways to avoid. Do you...have to tell your world?”
Jonah shook his head. “No. As a matter of fact, it’d be far better if we didn’t. They don’t know about any of this. I only learned a few seconds before I got here. And they never have to.”
“We feel...similar.”
One more long, intense silence drifted through. Jonah considered the ethics of hiding the truth, and the ethics of revealing it. It would require humanity to make massive, sudden life changes, mostly despite themselves. Humans had come a long way from the days of cavemen, but Jonah figured they’d need thousands more years to reach that level of acceptance and understanding. But maybe he was too cynical.
Regardless of his thoughts, it wasn’t up to him. He wasn’t sure if he had any say in the decision at all. Although, based on how everyone else had cleared the room, he doubted that they would oppose the idea of closing the lid on it.
“I would have to discuss it with the others,” Jonah said. “The people who left. But I think those are agreeable terms.”
“Good.”
Jonah nodded. “I hope we still have a lot to learn from you.”
“Yes,” they concurred.
With shaky, adrenaline-drenched movements, Jonah rose and headed for the door. He looked over his shoulder and gave the looming beings a wave. They remained still, not so much as fluttering a tentacle at him.
Once back into the hall, Jonah wasn’t sure where to go. He had a basic understanding of the building, at best, and no real idea where everyone else went. The best he could do was retrace his steps and hope they turned up. Crossing through those basement halls to find a stairwell allowed him more time to stew in his thoughts, and it only heightened the anxiety. No one else had sat through the whole conversation. Maybe they were thinking of revealing the truth to the world. What a disaster that would be, he thought.
After he found a staircase and headed up, things became familiar again. Despite the wall-to-wall white halls and little variation, he found his way to the set of doors from before. The lines of statuesque soldiers stood exactly where he left them, standing at attention, awaiting instruction.
While he moved by, the thought returned to his head. Humans gave their individual existences to something greater, hoping for afterlife. Afterlife that would never come. In the image of those soldiers, loyal and dedicated to the defense and safety of their home nations, Jonah saw no better personification of that existential tragedy.
The moment Jonah stepped out; the harsh rays of Mediterranean midday blinded him. Once he’d rubbed the spots out of his vision, he saw that’d his search had concluded. Roundy, Wilberforce, and Nagobi leaned against the water-textured building side-by-side, staring out into the sea. Both Roundy and Wilberforce puffed on cigarettes, while Nagobi only chewed at his nails.
“How’d it go, mate?” Roundy asked, not taking his eyes off the horizon.
“No one can find out,” Jonah said. “Humanity isn’t ready for this.”
Wilberforce nodded. “We know. If we weren’t ready for it, why would the public be?”
“So, what happens now?” Jonah asked. Although it seemed like he had a great first day on the job, it also seemed like his job might not last.
“Keep learning,” Nagobi answered. “We cannot turn away from such opportunity. But we also must realize the impact of what we may learn...and what we have already learned.”
“They sound like they intend to leave here at some point,” Jonah figured.
Nagobi nodded. “And we will let them. More reason to continue working now.” He let out a sigh. “But, perhaps not today. I have thinking to do...notes to take. We have recordings of everything spoken. When we are ready, we will listen to what we missed of your communication, Dr. Edwin.”
“They’re not gonna tell anyone else about us,” Jonah said. “They figure...it’s in the best interest of the universe to keep us a secret.”
All three of them pushed off from the wall, but Nagobi headed back for the door. “I have work here, I will catch the night flight.” He looked to Jonah. “We will see you here tomorrow, Dr. Edwin.” Jonah nodded and waved him off.
No one said anything the entire walk down the runway. Jonah could see deep thought still entranced his companions, and he didn’t blame them. It’d take more than a few hours, and few drinks, to digest what they’d just learned about the universe. And, that wasn’t likely to be the only disturbing realization they’d have. A sobering moment for every living thing who heard it.
The familiar roar of jet engines filled the air as they approached their antique ride. Even though the other two stayed stoic, the sight of the plane made Jonah perk up. As he ascended the stairs to climb on board, he paused and looked it over, remembering what Roundy had said about it.
It was the first commercial plane to use jets and pressurized cabins, two things on every plane Jonah had ever seen. And yet, as Roundy so eloquently explained, ‘they went through the sky in flames.’ But Roundy had also noted that it would have happened to some airplane sometime.
Mistakes cost lives sometimes, ended finite existences. Humanity had written so much progress in blood and tragedy. Jonah swirled that thought in his mind with everything else he learned that day, still staring at the exterior of the old plane. He couldn’t help but smile a little, when he thought about it.
Humanity, and their uniquely finite lives, may have been the universe’s saddest tale. But their sacrifices were noble to their society. That airplane, and all others like it, became safer and more well understood by human sacrifice. Jonah peered beyond, to the watery facility, and considered the multinational guards keeping watch. He couldn’t imagine how many soldiers died over the decades for that level of peace and interrelation.
To other life forms, humans may have seemed like an unimaginable tragedy, beings given intelligent life only to have it snatched away after a few decades. But Jonah saw it a little differently. Heading to the top of the steps and entering the plane, one more of Roundy’s earlier quips came into his mind: ‘Sometimes tragedy is needed to make a little progress.’
- THE END -
About Mitch Goth
A prolific writer and avid daydreamer, Mitch Goth wrote his first novel at age 14 in his free time between high school classes. Since then, he has written twenty-five books across a variety of genres, from pulse-pounding thrillers to thought-provoking sci-fi stories. In 2017, he graduated cum laude from Antioch College, where his final thesis was a novel based on the US military’s LSD experiments.
When not getting lost in his own daydreams, Mitch is a seasoned paranormal researcher, having investigated dozens of hauntings across the midwestern United States. Surprisingly, his writing backlist doesn’t include any ghost stories...yet.
Connect with Mitch here:
www.castrumpress.com/authors/mitch-goth
A Series of Anomalous Phenomena
by D. B. Crelia
“Is this really necessary, Captain? Our cells are full of candidates for the Butaka. This just seems . . . reckless.”
Captain Rilga swiveled his chair to face Humm, his shape shifting first officer. Rilga’s irritation at being questioned deepening as he was confronted by Humm configured as an Olek female. “Do you have to do that?”
“What?” answered Humm innocently.
“Make yourself look like one of my women.”
Humm’s hand drifted up, as if to confirm the captain's observation. “Sorry . . . it's a subconscious thing.” His face and hands transformed into something almost, but not quite identical to an Olek male.
Rilga regarded the shape-shifter’s new incarnation for a moment. “What is that?”
Humm's new face contorted into a grimace. “A human. They are the predominant sentient species on this planet you insist upon visiting. Somewhat akin to an Olek, don't you think, Captain?”
Rilga glared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment then spun his chair to face the console again, continuing to speak over his shoulder. “The Butaka pay very well for these specialty items. We have coordinates. It's in a sparsely populated area. We're in. We're out. No problem.”
“It's rarely 'No problem' for us, Captain,” said Humm, the edge of sarcasm blatantly obvious.
“They're pre-emergent. They don't even have any satellites in orbit,” countered Rilga.
“Radio waves pour out from that planet like light from a star!” Humm argued. “They have industry and motorized transport. And if all the data we've collected can be believed, practically the entire planet has been very recently embroiled in war! I've even detected evidence of nuclear detonations! Fusion as well as fission mind you! Fission! You know what that kind of dirty radiation will do to our more sensitive systems!”
“Calm down Humm. If it’s bad, we'll call it off,” Rilga said in an attempt to placate his subordinate. “And our holding cells aren't exactly full, now are they?”
Humm fidgeted nervously but didn't answer.
“Did any of the Pleems survive?”
Humm released a soft, resigned sigh before answering. “One still lingers. The other two have perished.”
“Tell me one more time what happened?” asked Rilga, spinning his chair around again.
Humm contorted his human face in an odd way. “The crew was
blowing off some steam. The Pleems look so damned funny. Those big heads and tiny bodies. You should have seen them running from the Saurgs. We didn't realize how fragile they were though. Kordon's tail swept all three into the bulkhead, and well . . . the medic suite couldn't get a read on their vitals and they just died, except for the one.”
Rilga ground his teeth in exasperation then took a deep calming breath. “I suppose, if they were that fragile, the Butaka wouldn't find much use for them in the fighting pits anyway. Remind me to space them, when we leave this back water. Now get the crew ready, we're going in.”
In a quiet and slightly mocking voice Humm said, “Yes, Captain.” Exiting the bridge, Humm walked down the corridor toward the crew quarters attempting to transform into a Saurg as he did so, but he simply didn't have the mass to pull it off. He knew that if he showed up as a miniature version of the massive, lizard-like Saurgs that made up the majority of the crew, they’d rib him incessantly and want him to do it all the time.
Settling once more into human form, Humm stepped into the crew’s open bay. Moist heat and reptilian stench assaulted his senses as he approached the sleeping heap of tails and limbs. Snoring vibrated the walls.
“Mmm hmmm!” Humm loudly cleared his throat.
Eyes opened here and there in the pile of reddish lizard skin. “Are you trying to look like the captain again?” asked a voice.
Humm stiffened at yet another instance of the Suarg's borderline insubordination. “No, this is what humans look like. We are visiting their planet for a little snatch and grab mission.”
“Haven't we collected enough slaves for the Butaka arenas?” demanded a different voice from the yet-to-move mass of bodies.
“We are not here for slaves. Humans are pre-emergent, which, as you know, makes them off limits for slaving. We are here for a DNA capture.”
“That just seems greedy,” came yet another voice.
Humm examined his new fingers. “Well, if someone hadn't smashed our Pleems . . .”
Snickers coursed through the pile of lizards as they began to untangle. The crew started to stretch and flex and Humm affected what he thought was a human smile, spun on his heels calling over his shoulder, “Stations in thirty!”
An hour later they were beginning their descent. Captain Rilga piloted the ship while Humm monitored a bank of sensors and Gozh, one of the Saurg crew members, operated the various shields, including a cloak, and the weapons array if it was needed.
“Are you sure broad daylig
ht is the best choice, Captain?” asked Humm.
“They have extremely limited detection capabilities,” replied Rilga confidently. “With the cloak deployed, they won't even know we're here. If we came in at night, we'd burn atmosphere and light up the whole area.”
“Their primitive active systems could show us as an anomaly which they might choose to investigate,” persisted Humm.
“And if they investigate, what will they see? With the cloak in operation we are invisible to the naked eye. Furthermore, we'll see them coming long before they get close. Now close your face and let me pilot.”
Humm stopped talking.
The normally smooth-running ship rumbled and groaned as they encountered the steadily increasing air pressure of the planet's stratosphere. On reaching sufficiently thick atmosphere, Rilga activated the atmospheric maneuvering system and the ship settled down to a steady vibration.
Humm experienced a brief moment of vertigo as the gravity generator switched off and the ambient gravity of the planet took over. Rilga seemed unaffected. Gozh vomited noisily into the chute beside his station, installed for just that purpose.
“Cloak status, Gozh?” Rilga’s voice was full of irritation, as if the Saurg were distracted by some dalliance.
Gozh belched, spat and croaked, “One hundred percent, full spectrum.”
“Coordinates acquired, Captain,” said Humm.
A few minutes later Rilga ordered, “Alert the crew, touch down in five.”
Humm activated the ship-wide comm and relayed the order.
When the ship had made a jarring landing, Rilga spun his chair around. “All right Humm, put on your human face and go get that nugget.”
Humm looked at the captain as if he didn't quite understand. “With no escort?”
“I don't think big red lizards will fit in here,” half joked Rilga. “We're already skirting the pre-emergent contact protocols. It's fine, you'll be done before you know it.” He spun his chair back to the console, effectively dismissing Humm.
