Lisa began washing the supper dishes as Jennifer skipped into the kitchen. Blond ponytails trailed down the back of the lithe nine year old. Stephanie, gangly and dark-haired as her mother, lumbered in behind her younger sister.
“Isn’t it great, Mom?” Jennifer asked. She opened the refrigerator door and peered in.
“It’s boring,” Stephanie said. She reached around her sister for a soda.
“It is not boring! It’s exciting.” Jennifer took three sodas from the refrigerator.
“Exciting is hardly the word I would use to describe it. What are you doing?” Lisa eyed the three sodas Jennifer balanced in her hands. “I thought your father wouldn’t allow you to leave the tv.”
“Daddy and Mark wanted something to drink and Mark refused to move.” Jennifer hummed the “Star Wars” theme under her breath as she left the kitchen.
“Kids,” Stephanie muttered. She stood beside her mother and peered into the dishwater. “Can I help with the dishes?”
Lisa laughed softly. “Whaddya mean, ‘kids’? It wasn’t that long ago you were a kid yourself.”
“Mom,” Stephanie moaned. “I’m thirteen.” She placed her soda onto the counter and wrinkled her nose. The scent of cooked spaghetti lingered in the kitchen. Spaghetti sauce glued dishes and pots and pans together.
“You know how your father is, Steph. If you don’t watch, he’ll rib you about it for months.”
Stephanie took a dish from the clear rinse water and placed it onto the drainboard. “Won’t he rib you?”
Lisa shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
“I could get used to it, too, Mom. I’d rather be in here than in there.”
“Stephanie!” Lisa’s voice came out sharper than she intended. She was acutely aware that Stephanie stepped back. Lisa regained her self-control.
“Stephanie, I’m sorry. I know you’d rather be in your room looking at your teen magazines, drooling over Leonardo DiCaprio or whatever hunk is in vogue this week.” This remark elicited at least a smile. “But the truth of the matter is that if you don’t watch the broadcast, your father will accuse me of keeping you from it. He’ll just make me miserable later. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I know.” Stephanie knew her mother’s words to be true. Her father’s ribbing, albeit playful in his eyes, was oftentimes cruel and downright unmerciful. “Okay, Mom.” There was still hurt there but Lisa was half-forgiven.
Only half-forgiven as Stephanie left the door open between the kitchen and the den. Without trying, Lisa heard every word of the broadcast.
“For years, man has scanned the skies for evidence of alien life forms; proof that we are not alone in the universe. SETI — the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence Institute — must have been asleep at the wheel yesterday because it was amateur radio operator Juarez Domingo of Mexico who received an unknown signal on his radio satellite dish. Mexican officials immediately contacted SETI which then picked up the signal. Amazingly enough, the signal was sent in Morse Code.”
Roger had arrived home only an hour after leaving for work that morning. The story had broken on the six a.m. news. By 6:10 a.m., it was proclaimed a national — virtually worldwide — holiday. Little had changed since the initial broadcast.
“We know they live on a planet called Serophades in a system several hundred light years away. Due to their advanced technology, we receive their signal at virtually the same time it is being sent. These aliens require organic food, oxygen and water just as we do. They have monitored us here on Earth for some time which explains their knowledge of our language and the use of Morse Code.”
Goosebumps skittered along Lisa’s flesh without the bead of sweat.
“I wonder what they look like,” Jennifer mused.
“I hope they look like E.T.,” Mark said.
Roger barely contained his own exuberance. “It’s doubtful they look anything like E.T., Mark. E.T. was a fictional character in a movie. This is the real thing! We’ve actually made contact with aliens from another planet.”
“Will we ever get to see them?” Jennifer was caught in the wake of her father’s enthusiasm.
As though the anchorman on the television heard Jennifer’s question, he said, “The only questions remaining are: now that contact with an alien life form has been made, what comes next? Will they visit planet Earth? Will we, somehow, be able to visit their world one day? Top officials from around the world are meeting at this very moment to discuss the endless possibilities.”
“Dad? I have a question.”
“What is it, Stephanie?”
Lisa cocked her head to one side to better hear Stephanie’s question. “We call them ‘aliens.’ What do they call us, Dad?”
In the utter silence that followed — even the television set was quieted for a moment; muted, no doubt, for a commercial break — Lisa felt suspended in time, pondering the question itself as was everyone else in the den.
Lisa muttered under her breath, “Hopefully, they’re not calling us ‘dinner’.”
Once again she shuddered from the cold chills up and down her spine. She placed the pan she held in mid-air during the question onto the drainboard.
Lisa looked through the kitchen window into the blood red of the setting sun, now merely a tip of a paintbrush above the trees. It painted surrounding clouds with rose and purple hues. She closed her eyes again.
The broadcast was back. Above the chattering voices in the den, Lisa heard the anchorman say, “Just think, ladies and gentlemen. From this day forward we live in a world where we know we are not alone in the universe. Someone else is out there.”
Lisa opened her eyes. “And let them stay out there,” she muttered as she placed the last dish into the drainboard.
Lisa gazed into the sky as the last rose of the setting sun faded to leave the clouds purple and ominous; the color of old bruises.
“Oh, God,” she said. “Please don’t let them come here.”
***
The suns barely peered above the tops of the mooyal trees. The mooyal trees were admirable, particularly at this time of day with both suns casting rays through the large five-pronged leaves. Tall and sturdy, there was not a part of the mooyal tree which was not put to good use. The bark of the mooyal tree, thick and leathery, was a staple food. When broiled, it became sweet and tangy, producing its own syrup. The leaves of the mooyal tree were tough enough to use for writing messages and thatching the roofs of huts, yet soft and supple enough to use as placemats or napkins or even window coverings along with a variety of other daily tasks. When stripped of its bark, the white wood within the mooyal tree constructed sturdy huts; fine shelters from the hot morning sun and the Haunted Winds which occasionally blew in from the valley.
The morning sun would quickly make its way across the sky, baking the ground in the few short hot hours of its existence. The evening sun, farther away from the planet, followed the path of her sister, cooling the baked ground along the way. The evening sun would linger its way across the sky until it caught up with the morning sun awaiting its arrival just above the horizon opposite that from whence their rotations began. Once they were parallel to one another, they would then set together to rise together on the morrow.
How wise we are to control the rotations of the suns, Loült thought.
Loült sighed. Try as he might, he could not distract himself long enough from the news on the wallscreen to suit his pleasure. He turned his attention to the business at hand.
On the countertop was placed the dishware from the morning meal. Clay plates, cups and pans and ivory utensils were all placed on a rectangular silver pan with raised edges. From beside this silver pan, Loült picked up a small silver cylinder, roughly four inches long by about a quarter-inch in diameter. He pointed this object at the clay dishware and pressed a button on the end of the cylinder. From the tip of the object came a thin blue beam. In an in
stant, one of the plates, along with the leftover food particles on it, was a pile of dust. Soon the silver pan contained nothing but dust from the dishware. Loült replaced the disintegrator onto the countertop. He then placed the powder into a large rectangular floor unit through a tiny-holed grate in the top.
“May I help you with the dishware, Caj-caj?”
Loült looked down at his youngest child, Dolarn. Loült tried to smile at him.
“I would love nothing more than to teach you to do the dishware, Dolarn. After all, it will be your chore someday, being the male of the family. But your mother wishes for you and your sisters to watch the wallscreen.”
Dolarn’s eyes matched his father’s in their color of violet; the sadness in them a direct reflection of his father’s eyes. “May I at least switch on the processing unit? I know how to do that, Caj-caj.”
“Very well. But be quick about it so that you may return to the wallscreen. I do not wish any part of Koloptua’s wrath this day.”
“Koloptua’s wrath, indeed.” Taller than Loült’s five feet seven inches, Koloptua struck an imposing figure in the doorway.
Heart pounding in his ears, Loült bowed slightly to her. “Forgive me if I have offended, dear one.”
Koloptua waved a tentacled, three-fingered hand. “Nonsense. I am more amused by your apprehension than I am angered by it today.”
“It was my fault, Mamon,” Dolarn said. “I am bored by the wallscreen and asked if I might help with the dishware.”
Koloptua smiled at her offspring. “I admire your shoonka, your honesty, little one. But it is important that you are aware of what is happening. Just as it is important that your sister, Priedt and Ekka are aware. Now switch on the processing unit for Caj-caj and return to the wallscreen.”
Dolarn placed one of his tentacled digits onto a small square pad atop the processing unit. The square pad began to glow a soft amber hue, then dissolved into a deep red. The processing unit issued a soft hum and white-blue glow. Inside the unit, clay particles and food particles were already separating. The food particles would be flushed from the unit and would join a larger processing system. This larger system would process the leftover food particles into fertilizer for fields of vegetables. By the evening meal, the dishware would be clean, sanitary and whole, ready for use again.
“Loült, you, too, must come and watch the wallscreen.”
With a slight tilt of his head, Loült said, “I do not understand why it is so important for me to keep up with current events. I have no say in these matters.”
“Nooshka!” Electricity flashed behind the violet eyes of Koloptua. “What happens now affects us all. We must help this primitive alien species.” The storm in Koloptua’s eyes passed. “Finish in here and join us at the wallscreen.”
Inwardly, Loült breathed a sigh of relief. He had tested the ire of Koloptua and received only a gentle reprimand.
He did not test the ire of Koloptua often and with good reason.
In the viewing area, the wallscreen cast a yellow glow to the room and its occupants. Loült did not wish to be here. He was not interested in the aliens. He needed only to be interested in them to have compassion for them. And compassion for them was something he could ill afford.
But he caught Koloptua’s watchful eyes and remained in the viewing area.
“What does it say?” Dolarn asked.
Ekka read the message for him. “It says, ‘At long last we have contacted the aliens we have monitored. They are a somewhat primitive species, subject to war, violence, famine and hate. We were correct in using Morse Code to contact them.
“The ‘humans’ as they call themselves, are only too ecstatic to learn of our existence. They are eager to communicate with us and to learn more about us. And we are only too eager to learn more about them’.”
“How do you know what it says?” Dolarn asked.
“I can read it, Dolarn. See, you begin in the lower right hand corner, reading up. Then you read across and down, across and up, across and down, until you come to the middle where the message ends.”
Dolarn pouted. “I’m never going to learn how to read.”
“Oh, you will learn, Dolarn. Someday,” Koloptua assured him.
Ekka turned her attention to Koloptua. “What do they look like, Mamon?” she asked. She and Priedt looked to their mother for answers. Dolarn occupied himself with his pet miptoo.
Another message scrolled across the wallscreen, repeated several times: “All Tasheedas are to convene immediately for the purpose of determining how next to proceed with the aliens.”
Koloptua rose from her chair.
“Please, Mamon,” Ekka pleaded. “As a Tasheeda of the Supreme Council, you are one of the few Serophids to have seen these aliens on the monitoring screen.”
Koloptua looked fondly at her two young females. Ekka, at fourteen mecs would be old enough to reproduce soon. Priedt at twelve mecs gave her older sibling stern competition when it came to beauty and intelligence. Dolarn at eight mecs could not be expected to take an interest in the world around him. Not that it would matter. Like other males on Serophades, Dolarn was destined for a life of domesticity.
Koloptua shook her head. “I am not supposed to speak of what I know.”
“We understand that, Mamon,” Priedt pleaded. “But Ekka and I will serve Supreme Council one day. Should we not know about these things?”
Koloptua laughed. “It is impossible to argue with such logical reasoning, Priedt. Very well.” Koloptua returned to her chair. “I will tell you but a little, then I must go. One must not keep Council waiting.
“The skin of this alien species is soft and smooth, not leathery and tough as ours is. We know their skin is thinner. They have only one sun and do not need the extra protection.”
“How do we know what kind of skin they have?” Ekka asked.
A look passed between Koloptua and Loült. “Never you mind that. We just know.” Koloptua looked back at her offspring. “They have two eyes, as do we, two ears, as do we. Their eyes are different colors: brown, blue and green mostly. Their heads are round, as are ours, but the tops of their heads are covered with hair instead of hairless, as are we. Their noses protrude from their faces instead of recessing inward as do ours. Their ears are a different shape. The biggest difference is that they have five fingers where we have only three and this species has no tentacles.”
Ekka shifted her position. “The message said they are a primitive species, Tropki. How can they be so primitive and survive?”
“This is a good question, Ekka. And one for which I have no answer at this time. But isn’t it amazing they have survived?”
Once again, Ekka shifted her position. She did this when nervous. “Now that we have made contact with them, Mamon, and they know we are here, what happens next?”
Koloptua looked out the uncovered window of the hut where the morning sun shone brightly. Shimmers of heat waved up from the baking ground. “Now we must try and help them.”
“Help them how?” Priedt asked.
Koloptua returned her attention to her offspring. “Oh, there are all sorts of things we can help them with. We can teach them quantum physics, which will enable them to make extensive space travel as we have done in the past. We can help them to end hunger and poverty, hatred and violence. We could be most beneficial to them.” Koloptua glanced out the window once more. “But I must go now. We will talk more later.”
Loült followed Koloptua to the door. Quietly, so the offspring would not hear, he asked, “Must we do something about these aliens?”
Koloptua whispered, “What do you mean?”
Loült shifted from one foot to the other. “Maybe they are better off without us.”
Koloptua’s eyes narrowed into this slits in her face; a warning sign.
“Nooshka! It is our purpose to help others. And they desperately need our help. We mu
st determine a course of action.”
“But what if they do not want our assistance?”
Zbat! Electricity, white-blue from Koloptua’s ire, shot from her eyes to tap Loült’s shoulder. Loült cried out more in surprise than in pain and grasped his stinging shoulder. He looked up at Koloptua towering over him.
“They will have our assistance.”
Loült had no choice but to agree. Male Serophidians had no defense against the ire of the females. Likewise, there was no retaliation.
In Koloptua’s wake, Loült found himself afraid. Not of Koloptua. He was accustomed to the storms in her eyes and the occasional zbatting.
But he was afraid. He was afraid that, not only was there no hope for this alien species; he was afraid there was no hope for any of them.
“Oh, Moptöömbîka*,” he muttered, “please do not let them come here.”
Ghost in the Garden
A ghost lurks in the garden,
that overgrown patch of weeds
where once vegetables grew.
I feel cold eyes upon me
each time I peer at those bushes;
sense the presence of some brute force
not of this world.
A malevolent intent?
I dare not question.
I do not think about the ghost at all
except to know that it is there
As aware of me
as I am aware of it.
Extra Storage
Amy slid the key into the lock and turned it.
She needn’t have bothered. The door was already unlocked.
She should have known. After all, the black Mercedes was parked right outside the front door.
“Mum!” Amy called as she stepped inside the door. “I’m home!”
“Amelia!” Her mother’s voice trailed down the hallway from Amy’s room. She called the girl’s name again, her voice preceding her up the hallway. “Amelia, darling! You’re looking so well!” she said as the two women kissed the air beside one another’s cheeks.
“Of course I am!” Amy said brightly, waving an envelope she’d pulled from the stack in her hand in the air. “The gallery sent another check!”