Brian Summers’s identity as the prime suspect was leaked to the press to calm the unnerved public. It would take until late afternoon for the full story to come out at a press conference hosted by the Secret Service. Despite straightforward evidence, conspiracy theorists went full ragetard on the blogosphere.
One theory was that the president poisoned Agent Summers, then herself—because of a love triangle with a mysterious lover named Ralph. Another theory involved the Coca-Cola Company—she was going to expose the truth about the lunar advertisement, but Coca-Cola’s assassins killed her first . . .
I was reading a respectful memorial article when the web page went blank. It became pure white. Neither the web page nor the website had crashed, and I was still connected to the Internet. I started checking the web pages bookmarked in my browser. They all loaded instantly, and they were the same, each a blank sheet of whiteness. There was no error message because there was no error. I had never seen anything like it before and assumed there was simply something wrong with my computer.
After only twenty seconds, the whiteness stopped and the Internet functioned normally again. I did a virus scan. Nothing was detected. What I didn’t know was that almost everyone on the Internet had the same experience. The duration of the event was so short, barely anyone on the planet bothered to mention it to anyone else. Considering what happened later that night, it was obviously a preliminary test—the Kardashians were checking their control over Earth’s communications infrastructure.
Francis had left a number of messages on my pink cell phone, but I refused to listen to them until I had completed my ritual. I checked my inbox and found two e-mails. One from Francis, and an apparent piece of spam with the subject heading:
‘PENIS TOO BIG? HERE’S THE CURE.’
I almost deleted it before I noticed the sender: [email protected]. The body of the e-mail was awkward and direct:
Markus,
They’re here. Image file attached.
Call Francis immediately. We must talk. There are secrets you must know.
Love,
Ralph
I started downloading the large file attached, labeled, ???24.jpg, and I wondered how Ralph, Francis, or anyone could know the Kardashians were in the solar system without the whole world knowing. I called Francis.
“They’re here,” he said without a greeting.
“Ralph just told me. Have you talked to the vice president about him?”
“McAllister was at an Asian business conference. His plane is landing as we speak, but let me worry about him. Have you seen the image?”
“Downloading . . . one second.”
“There are other images, but this is the most convincing.”
Their spaceship shined pure optic white and seemed entirely smooth. Not a single symbol, indentation, or shadow was visible on the outer shell. Two large spheres, propulsion mechanisms, I presumed, lay in the rear of the ship. Protruding out from the spheres was a long cylindrical fuselage. No wings, no windows, no ornamentation visible. I chuckled a little.
“This isn’t funny,” Francis said correctly.
“How large is it?”
“Each of those spheres . . . is the size of the Earth.”
The diameter of Earth is nearly 8,000 miles. The logistics of building such a spacecraft instantly staggered my imagination. The vehicle, amusing seconds earlier, struck me humorless when I contemplated its size and what lay inside. The length of the fuselage was approximately 25,000 miles, making it as long as the circumference of Earth. What first looked like a spaceship . . . now appeared as a bomb whose target was Earth.
“What’s the little dot next to it?”
“Pluto.”
With such overwhelming size, people assumed the mass of the ship was proportionally as great. But the so-called Kardashian mothership actually weighed relatively little. It was like a distended blowfish, or a blimp. The functional part of the mothership was a minute fraction of the ship itself, and the rest was mostly empty space. The humungous outer shell was made of the same light, malleable, and programmable substance as Ralph’s cylinder. It was smoke and mirrors, a contrivance, designed to impress us into submission.
“Where did this photo come from?”
“Keck Observatory. It’s in the wild.”
By ‘in the wild,’ Francis meant he had no control over it, which meant it could go viral. Astronomers at the Keck Observatory in Hawaii were doing research on Pluto’s moons and accidentally captured the first images of the Kardashian ship. They knew it wasn’t one of Pluto’s moons or a comet. At that point, the image was circulating through academia, and, of course, their colleagues thought it was a joke. No one took it seriously. If I hadn’t known Ralph, I wouldn’t have either. Regardless of the image from Keck, even an amateur astronomer with a high-end telescope could see it if they looked in the right place.
“That’s not all,” Francis said. “There’s no evidence yet, but Ralph says there will be many more ships, smaller ones. I’ve got someone looking, but it’s difficult to search effectively and discreetly at the same time.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I have to ask . . . What did you and Ralph talk about last night?”
“As if every word we spoke wasn’t recorded,” I said, feeling clever and then remembered we had talked outside of Ralph’s residence as well.
“Yes, of course, there is a recording . . . moron . . . but that doesn’t mean I’m listening to it every night. I have better things to do, and there’s no way I’d authorize anyone else to listen. So are you going to tell me or waste my time?”
I paused.
“He told me the meaning of life.”
Francis paused.
“Write me a full report on that,” he said and hung up.
I didn’t think he’d read my report, but I was on the payroll, so felt obligated to write something. With coffee and cream, I spent the afternoon summarizing my conversation with Ralph about humility.
Next, I wanted to do something normal, figuring this may be my last day on Earth to do so. I let my first draft sit to go grocery shopping—though I didn’t need anything. I had hoped the mundane activity would be a soothing escape from the events circling my life.
I went out the door to my car on the street and noticed a black SUV, an apparently unoccupied Cadillac Escalade with New Jersey license plates, parked on my block. The area was residential, far from the tourist attractions, so Jersey plates were unusual. I drove five blocks and then saw the black SUV following far behind. I called Francis.
“Am I being followed?”
“Why would anyone follow you?” he said with a blank tone.
“Can you not be a cagey asshole and just answer directly?”
“No one is following you,” he said and hung up.
I continued to the supermarket at a busy, brick strip mall a few miles from home. The black SUV followed but hung too far back for me to spot the driver. Arriving, I parked close to the stores, and in my rearview spied the SUV backing into a spot at a far corner of the oversized, suburban parking lot.
I turned off the engine and immediately launched out of the driver’s seat. Running, I aimed for the parked SUV, hoping to glimpse the driver. But it was getting dark. Before I got close enough, the SUV sped out and fled the lot, narrowly missing a minivan as it exited.
I turned around with clenched fists and aimed to shop. Along the way, I saw an event, which I know Ralph would want me to include. A middle-aged woman who ran the tanning salon was outside feeding some stray cats, and a black girl bumped into her. The older woman snapped, “Watch where you’re going, ya’ dirty welfare nigger.” The girl glanced at me and just laughed. If I had been in a better mood, I might have laughed too.
Hunger and aggravation made it difficult to shop properly. I wandered around the store, constantly checking if someone was watching me. If I did see someone eyeing me, I looked away. When the supermarket became too crowded, I left without buying
anything.
My heart felt choked. I feared I had somehow been poisoned. I got some cheap Chinese take-out next door and headed to my car.
Before leaving, I scanned the parking lot. The black SUV was absent.
I did not see the SUV on my drive back. I opened my front door slowly and quietly checked every room and closet in my place. Then, feeling safe and alone, I sat down and ate my shrimp almond ding. A full stomach calmed my head.
On the news, I learned the vice president had officially become the new president of the Unites States. John McAllister, a former five-star general, was inaugurated in an undisclosed location. No media, though photos were available to the press—revealing far fewer witnesses than those present at Lyndon Johnson’s inauguration on Air Force One after the assassination of JFK.
I reread my report for Francis, edited it, and e-mailed it. I took another long stare at the image of the Kardashian ship. Before seeing that image, I had hoped the Kardashians weren’t real; that they were just another joke. When I reviewed it, I knew my expectations were worthless. The only person on Earth who knew what to expect was not human. I had to talk to him.
I went out on the street filled with suspicion. I didn’t see the black SUV on my block, but that wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t risk being followed to Ralph’s. I walked around the block, and after two right turns, I saw it, from the back. The engine and lights were off.
I found what I was searching for and stood still. The supermarket parking lot had been filled with people. Here, there was almost no one, and it was night. There was no shortage of parking spots in front of my home; the SUV was deliberately parked around the block so I wouldn’t see it.
Looking around 360 degrees, I saw a middle-aged couple holding hands, an old man walking his dog, and a teenage boy with a hooded sweatshirt—no one worthy of suspicion. I continued my approach to the SUV.
Seeing no one inside, I took a closer look. It was an older model, and the interior was dusty. Peeking inside revealed nothing. Most people have a few personal items lying around in their car . . . an air freshener, a hat, a lighter, music, a piece of clothing, something—there was nothing at all.
I tried Francis again.
“Francis, someone is definitely following me.”
“No, they’re not.”
“I have the license plate. Just check the New Jersey Department of Motor Vehicles.”
“No one from Jersey is following you.”
“Just check the goddamn plates.”
“Just check it? Markus, you’re an idiot. You ever heard of the Driver’s Privacy Protection Act? What you’re asking is illegal.”
He hung up.
I reminded myself I was not trained to deal with any of this and was probably lucky to not find the driver. If they wanted me dead, I’d be dead. It was Francis monitoring me, and he wouldn’t admit it, I told myself.
I walked back around the block and got in my car. As I drove to Ralph’s, I took every opportunity to check my rearview mirror. I pulled into random parking lots, twice, and waited ten minutes, intending to throw anyone off my tail.
I assumed the driver had switched vehicles and was behind me, somewhere. This assumption was correct. The person who had been following was directly behind me—in the back of my own vehicle.
XXVI
BROTHER
A quarter of the adult population of Earth watched the president’s live interview in the Oval Office, including Alice Higginbotham. When Alice heard the president whisper ‘Ralph’ just before death, she inferred this was the same Ralph I screamed about on the phone.
While there was speculation over the president’s last word, few concluded it was meaningful. Doctors specialized in palliative care were interviewed on TV, all declaring, based on years of anecdotal evidence, that last words were often random and nonsensical. But, Alice knew better.
When she knew there was a connection between the president’s assassination and the cylinder, her curiosity was impassioned. Her parents in New Jersey let her borrow their old SUV. She then drove to DC to spy on me.
My address and home phone were unlisted, so how did Alice know them?
The short answer: I was doxed.
‘Dox’ is Internet slang for information on personal documents. When you get doxed, this means your information is exposed and freely available on the Internet—typically posted on sites like Pastebin. It is a way for hackers to attack anyone they don’t like. Because of my global unpopularity, everyone wanted to dox me.
In my case, my home phone number, address, Social Security Number, and the make and model of the car I drove became public knowledge. Even my credit card number was exposed briefly. Thankfully, I convinced the credit card company I did not order twenty Jennifer Lawrence hermaphrodite blow-up dolls from Japan.
I changed my home phone number several times, but it kept getting doxed, despite being unlisted, so I just stopped bothering to change it. Eventually, the prank calls and unwanted pizza deliveries stopped, but the information was still out there when Alice searched.
She discovered I drove a 2018 Lexus Hybrid RX. Then searched and found, on the Internet, instructions on how to break into that exact make and model of car. I’m sure she only planned to search it, but when she knew that I knew I was followed, plans changed. She broke into my car and hid snug in the rear of it.
Oblivious to my stowaway, I continued to Ralph’s.
Reaching the barracks, I slowed at the gate. Lieutenant Barber nodded without looking at me, and I continued up the driveway. It was night, and I saw no lights on inside.
The pervasive animal activity from the previous night had vanished. The night before, Ralph was joyous from his successful journey to Earth, and the wildlife adopted his enthusiasm. Now, the mood of the forest was quiet and cold.
I parked my car and turned off the ignition. The only available light source was the night sky. The moon, still beautiful despite the lunar ad, struck me calm.
I approached the entrance, but then heard Ralph outside.
“Over here, Markus,” he called from the grass.
He was near the other side of the barracks, laid out in the strangely plush and healthy winter grass, staring at the sky. His usual pink glow was now a blackish purple. His voice was deeper, and I wondered if he had been breathing oxygen. I walked over to him silently and lay next to him.
“My mind has healed well,” he said. “I am . . . better.”
He sounded older.
“Better?”
“I am . . . humbled,” he said. “I was arrogant to think I could do this on my own. It was arrogant to think everything would go as planned.”
Moments passed and I said nothing. I wanted hope, but I could not convince myself. Ralph was the guide and he was lost.
“I’m afraid, Markus. I fear it will be my fault. I was sent here to study, and now I may be entangled in your . . . genocide.”
‘Genocide’ echoed in my mind as a furry animal approached, a plump young raccoon. With moonlit eyes shining through a black mask, the curious animal looked more playful than hungry. Ralph looked at the raccoon and waved to shoo him. It scampered away without a second approach.
“You enjoy looking at the stars?” Ralph asked as he raised his hand and swept it across the sky. He knew the answer.
“Of course, I do.”
“One of these shining points of light could be a Kardashian ship,” he said. “Light can be so deceptive.”
His hand fell slowly back down to the soft grass. “Markus, there is something I must say. I was afraid to say it last night.”
I nodded.
“Last night . . . I almost died. This is not exaggeration. I was humbled severely last night, and you cushioned the blow just enough.”
“I don’t really understand.”
“It is not mysterious. It was the threshold of mental annihilation, but you comforted me.”
He was deflated to admit it, and I still didn’t understand.
“
Now,” Ralph said, “symmetry demands I guard your life as if it were my own. You are a good being, Markus. I must look after you. There is a deeper connection now. We must protect it.”
His tone was too serious to question or even respond to.
“We are brothers.”
“Brothers?”
“On my planet, all friends become brothers.”
I wondered if he meant it literally, as if by an extraordinary feat of alien genetics, one could actually make a friend a brother. My mind wondered, but my gut agreed.
We were not equals, but we were more equal than before. I could not explain it, but somehow we had humbled each other, and this made us brothers. Of course, I was still the younger brother by about 19,000 years.
“Together, maybe, there’s a way.”
“All right,” I said, “what’s the plan?”
“The plan is to find a plan. You still don’t really know what’s happening, I’m sad to say. The rules of the game are not what you think they are, and the stakes are greater than you imagine.”
XXVII
MISTAKES
“I need you to focus,” he said. “Do you understand how humility works? Do you see how and why I was humbled last night? Is it obvious?”
“I think so,” I said. “You made a mistake.”
“Yes,” Ralph shouted, as if I said something amazing. His purple glow pulsed and brightened. “That is exactly it, Markus. Exactly! I became something I did not want to, and it humbled me. It is so simple, frightful, and beautiful, is it not?”
“I understand what you’re saying, but . . . I don’t share your enthusiasm.”
Ralph laughed the way I’d imagine a lion laughing—a deep, slow laugh that rolled over me in waves. He reacted like a dog owner teaching his pet a new trick. Like the dog, I was not impressed.
“You understand, but not completely,” he said. “This is where you need to take the next logical step. To me, it is obvious, but for your people, it may be difficult.”
“You made a terrible mistake, and it humbled you; it’s a good thing. I get it.”
The Book of Ralph Page 14
