Chapter Six
I had never expected to spend part of my life hiding from the federal government with a giant extraterrestrial queen bee.
Then again, I had not expected to spend any part of my life hiding from the federal government.
Life is full of surprises.
Most of them unpleasant.
This one was merely confusing.
We spent most of the day moving through the hills.
Or rather, Elian moved gracefully through the hills.
I stumbled behind her, discovering muscles that had apparently been hiding from me for decades.
By sunset we reached the edge of the city.
Lights stretched to every horizon.
Los Angeles looked less like a city than a glowing infection.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To learn.”
“I thought that was what almost getting murdered was for.”
“A different lesson.”
That was all she would say.
Two hours later we were standing behind a large electronics store.
I stared at the building.
Then at her.
Then at the building again.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“You crossed interstellar distances to bring me to a discount television retailer?”
“Yes.”
“I was hoping for something more impressive.”
“You are difficult to impress.”
“I was abducted from jail by a bee.”
“That is fair.”
One of the rear doors was unlocked.
I decided not to ask how she knew.
Some questions are healthier unanswered.
The store was dark.
Thousands of televisions sat silently in neat rows.
The place felt like a church dedicated to electricity.
Elian walked toward the largest screen I had ever seen.
It occupied nearly an entire wall.
With a touch of one hand the display came alive.
Then every screen in the building lit up simultaneously.
“How did you do that?”
“I asked.”
“You asked the televisions?”
“Yes.”
“And they listened?”
“They are simple creatures.”
I made a mental note never to introduce her to my laptop.
The giant screen flickered.
Black and white images appeared.
A flying saucer crossed the screen.
A stern-looking alien emerged.
A giant robot followed.
I recognized it immediately.
“The Day the Earth Stood Still.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It was listed under historical first-contact scenarios.”
“That’s not a documentary.”
“It seemed authoritative.”
“Humans also made Sharknado.”
“What is Sharknado?”
“Proof that intelligence is not evenly distributed.”
She considered this.
“That aligns with my observations.”
We sat together in the empty store.
A doctor and a queen bee.
Watching a seventy-year-old science-fiction movie in the middle of the night.
I began to suspect my life had permanently left reality.
On screen, humanity reacted badly to the arrival of an alien visitor.
Soldiers panicked.
Governments worried.
People assumed the worst.
Elian watched silently.
Eventually she said:
“Your species expected visitors to be hostile.”
“We’ve met us.”
“That answer concerns me.”
“It concerns me too.”
More silence.
The movie continued.
“Did humans truly believe extraterrestrials would conquer Earth?”
“Many still do.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because conquest is inefficient.”
“History disagrees.”
“Your history is very young.”
That was difficult to argue with.
When someone is older than civilization, perspective becomes a weapon.
The movie ended.
The giant robot froze.
The credits rolled.
Then darkness returned.
Only the glow of emergency lights remained.
For several moments neither of us spoke.
Finally I asked the question that had been growing inside me for days.
“Why did you come to Earth?”
She looked toward the dark screen.
“That answer belongs later.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
“You planned that?”
“Yes.”
“You’re learning sarcasm.”
“You are a poor influence.”
“I’ve been told that.”
Something changed in her expression.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
For the first time she looked uncertain.
Not confused.
Not curious.
Uncertain.
“Jed.”
“Yes?”
“My people believed humanity would not survive.”
The words settled into the darkness.
“That seems harsh.”
“It was statistical.”
“Statistics are often harsh.”
“They predicted environmental collapse, resource conflict, biological instability, ideological fragmentation, and eventual self-destruction.”
“When you put it that way, we sound exhausting.”
“You are exhausting.”
“Fair.”
She continued staring at the dark screen.
“I was sent to observe.”
“Judge us?”
“Understand you.”
“And?”
For a very long moment she said nothing.
Then:
“I no longer trust the models.”
I smiled.
“Because of me?”
“Partly.”
“I’ll take partly.”
Another silence.
Then she revealed something I had not expected.
“You are not the first human I have watched.”
“No?”
“There have been thousands.”
“That makes me feel less special.”
“Most disappointed me.”
“Ah.”
“You did not.”
The enormous room suddenly felt smaller.
More intimate.
More dangerous.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Some truths are sharper than knives.
“Why?” I asked quietly.
She turned toward me.
Golden eyes reflecting faint emergency lights.
“Because when you believed no one was watching, you were kind.”
I looked away.
Doctors spend years pretending compliments do not matter.
Most of us are lying.
“That seems like a low bar.”
“You would be surprised.”
Then, unexpectedly, she winced.
A tiny movement.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“That is physician code for something.”
“I am not a physician.”
“You are a terrible patient.”
She looked annoyed.
I felt encouraged.
“Elian.”
“The separation is increasing.”
“From the Hive?”
She nodded.
“I thought you couldn’t hear them.”
“I cannot.”
“Then what’s happening?”
For the first time, genuine fear appeared.
Very small.
But real.
“I do not know.”
That frightened me more than it frightened her.
Because Elian was the sort of being who usually knew things.
If she was uncertain, uncertainty itself had become dangerous.
Outside, beyond the walls of the store, Los Angeles continued its endless movement.
Cars.
Sirens.
Airplanes.
Dreams.
Failures.
Eight million people trying to figure out tomorrow.
Unaware that somewhere nearby a visitor from another civilization had begun doubting everything she once believed about humanity.
Including her reasons for coming.
And perhaps, though neither of us was ready to admit it yet, her reasons for staying.
“`