Just Plain Weird

by Tom Upton

  “It doesn’t make any sense, does it?” I said. I said it aloud, but also as though to myself.

  “That’s an understatement,” Eliza said. “I still don’t understand: was that a meteor crater or not?”

  “I think not,” I said, and then finally explained to her, “I really think if it had been a meteor strike, there would be a lot more damage to the surrounding area-- a lot more debris, too.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “I might just be a dumb jock, but for the life of me, it looked as though everything within that area had been-- scooped out of the ground, just scooped out of the ground and carried off--somewhere.”

  Eliza blanched at the suggestion. It was too much to comprehend.

  “What could possibly cause something like that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Whatever it was must be gone by now, though, right? It must be long gone.” When I didn’t answer, she looked at me and said, “If it isn’t gone…well, we’re probably going to be needing a bigger gun then that.”

  We returned home to find Doc working. Long before we reached the doorway to his office, I could hear him muttering to himself. I could hear, also, the whine of his short wave radio, that eerie whine the radio makes when you are searching for signals, that high-pitched woooooo-wooooooo sound, like an earthbound ghost crying out to be heard by the living.

  Doc was hunkered over the radio. He had cleared his desk of piles of papers and books, and it was now littered with electronic things: parts and bulbs and precision instruments. He had the back off the radio, and was tinkering with something inside. When he noticed us standing in the doorway, he plopped down in his chair and looked up at us with eyes that were weary and frustrated.

  “Is it working?” Eliza asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m afraid to turn the dial. What if we don’t pick anything up? What would that mean exactly?”

  “Just try,” she urged him.

  He leaned forward in his chair, and reached for the radio. He turned up the volume, so that the woo-wooing sound grew louder and seemed to be coming from all directions. He slowly turned the tuning knob. When no signals were in evidence, he paused and looked up at us. “Not a thing,” he said dismally. “Not a single signal coming through in all of North America-- at this time of day, there ought to be hundreds of signals strong enough to tune into, from Nova Scotia to Galveston, Texas.”

  “Well, try Europe,” Eliza suggested.

  Doc turned the dial more. The woo-wooing the radio made remained unbroken. Just as there seemed no one was broadcasting in Europe, we all heard a distinct noise come through the radio speakers-- it sounded like snick as he passed the live signal.

  “Hey, we got something,” Doc said brightly, trying to isolate the signal. “Sounds pretty strong, too.” But when he was fully tuned into the signal, it sounded like a coded transmission; there was nothing but the sound beeps in a continuous series-- like the dots and dashes of Morris code, only much more complex. “Must be military,” Doc commented.

  “Well, that means someone is out there,” Eliza said.

  “Might be automated,” I said.

  “Oh, please--” she began to protest.

  “He’s probably right,” Doc told her.

  “Can’t you guys ever think happy thoughts?”

  “You’ve seen what it looks like out there,” I said.

  “Well, I refuse to believe we’re the last living human beings on the whole planet,” she said. “There has to be somebody out there-- somewhere.”

  “Eliza, whatever happened,” Doc said, “happened three years ago. It’s entirely possible we are the only ones here.” He leaned back in his chair, and looked up at us with woeful eyes, as though in the back of his mind, he tried to calculate the chances the human race reestablishing itself with Eliza and me as Adam and Eve, and concluding the obvious: if the human race even had a chance to go on, everybody would end up being nuts or half-nuts. “But,” he said finally, “we will keep looking-- no matter how long it takes. We have all the time in the world, such as it is.”

  We were silent for a while, then, as the radio receiver relentlessly emanated an odd series of beeps.

  Beepbeepbeep…beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbebeepbeep…beep…beep…beepbeepbeep…beep…

  The only thing I could think of at the moment was the strangeness of our situation: the world had ended, and we missed the party. Everyone had grabbed their coats and went who knows where, and here we sat in the world that had been left in a shambles. I wondered at the unreality of it all.

  The radio signal suddenly stopped, beeping its last beep, and left a channel of dead air.

  We all looked at each other dumbly.

  “What’s this all about?” Doc asked, frowning. “The channel is open.” He grabbed the microphone, then, and leaned forward. “CQ--CQ-- this is Ariel Foxtrot 157, come back.” He awaited a response, but there wasn’t any. He tried a couple more times, but the channel remained open and silent-- in a way reminding me of the artifact’s presence in my mind. “Well,” Doc said finally. “It looks like they’re just transmitting. Either nobody’s there to receive, or they don’t want to receive.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Eliza said. “If somebody is there, why wouldn’t they want to answer?”

  Doc looked at her, and shrugged.

  “Maybe they don’t speak English,” I suggested.

  “Very possible,” Doc said, adding glumly, “And of course none of us speak anything but English. So if there is anybody out there, we may have a communication problem.”

  A voice issued from the radio. The volume was turned up almost all the way, and the voice sounded so loudly that every one of us started. “YOU ARE NOW TUNED IN TO ARMED FORCES RADIO. PLEASE STAND BY…”

  Doc reached over and reduced the volume.

  A moment later, an announcer, with a silky calm voice, came through the speakers, saying, “The following is a pre-recorded message from the President of the United States.”

  After a chorus of “Hail to the Chief”-- the insertion of which seemed incredibly inane, considering the situation-- the President’s voice boomed over the airwaves.

  “I am now addressing all the peoples of the world, as the direness of the situation, which has been developing over the past weeks, has rendered obsolete the concept of a world divided along national lines. We are all of us united as victims of a nameless, faceless enemy that has, without provocation, lain siege against humankind all over the world. Though we know next to nothing about our attackers, we do know by experience the savageness of their nature, their lack of compassion and mercy, the total disregard of human existence. They are not interested in peaceful communication with us. Our attempts to establish a diplomatic dialogue with them have not only been numerous but continually offered. As yet they have not deigned to respond. They appear intent only on ravaging the natural resources of our planet. They continue to strip our world of everything of value and of beauty, everything that has over the eons made this the home of mankind. Even as I speak, they are laying waste to the oceans, the forests, the mountains. They are scavenging the cities for raw material-- destroying the monuments of human achievement, without regard to culture, aesthetics, or the human spirit with which our creations are endowed. They mean only to sack and loot and plunder. They are salvaging the metals from our most magnificent skyscrapers. They are flattening the forests for mere wood. They are draining the oceans and seas of water-- water, which is the source of the life of the planet itself, as well as all living things upon her. They intend to leave the earth an empty lifeless husk in space.

  “All efforts to deter them have met with failure. Although there has been among countries an unprecedented level of military co-operation, all efforts to expel the intruders have met with dismal results. We have been only a vague hindrance to their salvage ships, which orbit the planet, stealing at will all the raw materials their massive hold
s can contain. Our combined military forces have been decimated and are in disarray, and it is clear that we cannot even attempt to fight any longer.

  “Although our situation seems as bleak as possible, I implore everyone not to lose hope. The human spirit thrives on adversity. We are falling back collectively to regroup. Our best minds are safe and working hard to formulate a method to route our enemy, a way to defeat their technology, which allows them to savage our planet while still in orbit. For the time being, we are advising the following: that everyone avoid urban areas-- these, at the moment, are the prime targets of the invaders, because they are rich in refined metals. Even if you live in a relatively small town, it is advisable that you leave and head out into the open country. Stay off the expressways. Avoid bus stations, train stations and airports. Avoid ports and military installations. Take with you as few personal belongings as you can, but as much food and water as you can find. We are basically asking that the peoples of the world begin mobilizing on a scale that has never been seen in history. We believe that this is absolutely necessary in order to preserve the human race.

  “This message will be repeated every four hours, until updated messages with further news and instructions take its place. My finally plea at this time is that everyone cooperates with each other, that nobody panics but proceeds in an orderly fashion to do what must be done to ensure survival. Until my next announcement, I wish everyone good luck, and please take care of each other. Thank you.”

  There was a brief paused, followed by an announcer who said, “This has been a message from the President of the United States, recorded May 2nd, 2003.”

  The channel then returned to dead air.

  Silence filled the small, cluttered basement office, as we all stared mutely at the radio.

  “This is unthinkable,” Doc finally murmured. He looked up at us with eyes that were lost. “This can’t really be happening, can it? Or I should say, can’t have happened?” He paused and rubbed his forehead nervously. “Invaders,” he wondered. “Invaders from space?”

  “Oh, it’s possible,” Eliza assured him. “I’ve always believed something like this could happen.”

  Doc looked up at her. Annoyance passed over his face. “You-- yeah…” His voice trailed off, as if he were about to make a sarcastic remark, but then decided, What was the point? When he looked at me, then, he seemed to fill with grim determination. “Travis,” he said. “You need to communicate with the artifact. That’s all there is to it. We need to figure out how all this happened. We need to fix it-- put everything back where it belongs.”

  “I’ve been trying to--” I started.

  “All right,” he went on. “Let’s reason this all out. This message was recorded over three years ago, right? That means, presumably, what? That they failed, of course. They failed, and they failed so quickly, no other messages were ever recorded. All right, then what?” he asked, letting the question hang.

  “I don’t understand,” Eliza said. “How could they steal the planet’s resources without even landing on the planet?”

  “Obviously they had some kind of technology that allowed them to do it,” Doc said.

  “This can’t be the same people who built the artifact,” I put in.

  “Oh, and how do you know that?” Doc asked.

  “Because they are peaceful. If they wanted to do something like this, they would have done it thousands of years ago.”

  “And what?-- the artifact told you all this. How do you know it wasn’t lying?”

  “It just wouldn’t make any sense,” I insisted.

  “Well, it’s not talking to you now, is it?”

  “I told you-- it seems scared.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Doc snorted. “Right, a scared machine.”

  “I think it’s a little more than that-- more than what our idea of a machine is,” I told him. I was really starting to get aggravated-- by Doc and by the entire situation. All I could think of at the moment was the time Raffles had told me that it was human nature for people to be unable to leave things alone, that they just had to tinker with things, and that they usually ended up making a mess. The thought seemed very relevant at the moment, and now thinking back, I was getting irritated-- it always irritated me when Raffles ended up being right about something. My right temple began to ache, and I rubbed it; it felt as though I would have a doozy of a headache in a while.

  “You all right?” Eliza asked, closely studying me.

  “I think I need to lie down,” I admitted.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” she suggested. “You can lie on the sofa. I’ll take your shoes off.”

  “Yeah,” Doc said archly. “Go upstairs and take a nap. It’s only the end of the world we’re talking about.”

  “Your father can be a real pain in the ass,” I commented, as I stretched out on the sofa.

  “He’s just not used to stress,” she said. She was kneeling on the floor next to the sofa, looking over at me as I tried to prop my head comfortably against the sofa arm. “He’s an archeologist, for gosh sake-- can you think of a less stressful job than that? When something like this happens-- well, not exactly like this-- but when something intense occurs, he tends to respond badly. You should have seen him after he lost my mother. The man was an utter wreck.”

  “Well, he needs to calm down some. He’s completely useless, otherwise. I mean, sure, maybe we goofed up, and because of that everything is the way it is. But he can’t be expecting immediate answers for problems this complicated.”

  “Never mind him,” she said soothingly. “Just try to relax. Do you think the artifact is trying to communicate with you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I shut my eyes and tried to clear my mind. Come on, old buddy, I said to the artifact. I know your still there. But still I got no response. It was like having an itch I couldn’t scratch, knowing the artifact was still linked to my mind and yet stubbornly remained silent. All right, then, don’t talk to me. Just be quiet and let all this madness continue. Just leave us in the dark, not knowing what to think, or what to do. Fine-- be that way….

  Eliza reached over and started combing her fingers through my hair. She probably meant to calm me so that I could fall asleep, but it wasn’t working.

  “Do you have to do that?” I asked.

  “Why, don’t you like it?”

  “Well, yeah--”

  “Is it making you feel a little better?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the problem, then?” she asked, and though I didn’t open my eyes, I could see her frowning.

  “Maybe I don’t want to feel better.”

  “Well, then you’re just going to hate this,” she said, and I heard her shift around somewhat, and then I felt her kiss me. Her lips were warm and soft, and she pressed them against mine, letting them linger there for a few endless seconds before she pulled away. “And how to you feel now?”