—Will you help me?
—I would love to help you, with something fun, but you don’t like fun. You want to talk about things like doomsday, humanity’s final judgment. Those are not fun. Why don’t we do something that will help you relax? Have you ever built a shed? It’s like building a tiny house. We can build one in a day, and you’ll feel this incredible sense of pride when we’re done.
—I feel the situation slipping from my control.
—You know what your problem is, don’t you? You place the fate of an entire planet squarely on your shoulders. Do you have any idea what that’ll do to your health?
—Please.
—Would it make you feel any better if I told you that you’re not responsible for what happens in the end?
—Do you know what happens? Do not make me beg.
—I know how hard this must be for you, but you have to work on your facial expression. You can’t say something like that with a poker face. How about this? I have absolutely no idea—honestly—what you can do to prevent all-powerful aliens from coming to this planet. I do not know that they are either. Beyond that, you should, by now, have begun to realize that I’ve already told you a lot more than I should have. What I really want you to understand—and that part may be a little more difficult to grasp—is that I can only make things worse by telling you more.
—Is there not a chance that they have simply forgotten about us?
—Not one. If there’s one thing they’re good at, it’s record keeping. You’re also very interesting at the moment. From an evolutionary perspective, most of the systems they are overseeing are either close enough to them to appear mundane, or at the earliest stages of their development, often without any sentient life or even complex organisms. Your “coming of age” is a rare event, a very exciting and important one. You can take my word when I say they are keeping a close eye on you.
—Our coming of age?
—Yes. This, all that’s happening now, this is your bat mitzvah. You can play with atoms, you can sit with the grown-ups.
—What does that mean for us?
—That means you won’t be forgiven for childhood mistakes anymore.
—How can we be accountable for our actions if we do not know what is expected of us?
—Nothing is expected of you. As I said, they’re not colonizers. The last thing they want is to interfere.
—I do not understand. They do not want us to kill one another using the weapon they left for us, yet we have been doing it for millennia using our own weaponry, and they did not raise an eyebrow.
—They don’t have eyebrows, a very resilient genetic trait as you can see.
—Nonetheless, can you tell me where the distinction lies?
—There’s no distinction. They don’t care whether you kill one another with a stick or with something they built. They don’t even care whether or not you kill one another. They will be perfectly content to watch humanity destroy itself completely. Your extinction is not the issue.
—So we need to demonstrate that we can be responsible with this newly acquired power, or they will come and take it away. Is that correct?
—If they decide that you’re not ready, yes. They’ll either take it back or they’ll send you back to the Stone Age and let you mature for a few millennia.
—How many robots would they send, should they decide to annihilate us?
—They don’t need to send any robots, they could wipe you out from orbit. But I suppose if they did, half a dozen would suffice, a hundred would be quicker, a thousand…you get the picture.
—Would we stand a chance in combat with our robot?
—I don’t think so. You have to remember, the one you have is six thousand years old. It’s an antique.
You never know, though, you might get lucky. Their weapons might have evolved considerably, but they’re still fundamentally the same—focused energy. What they have now will do more or less the same thing yours can, just more of it.
—So the safest course of action would be to do nothing and hope for mercy, is that it?
—I hope not! I think you should fight your heart out. If they decide to get rid of all humans and start over, they’ll do it no matter what you do. If it were me, I’d rather go out swinging.
—I do not believe our robot could be victorious in a sword fight, not with our pilots.
—You’re probably right. I would fight from a distance.
—How can we when all we have is a sword?
—A sword? You didn’t destroy Denver International with a sword!
—So the energy burst is a weapon. We believed it might be a by-product of the material used to construct the device. It may be my underdeveloped cerebrum, but I fail to see how an omnidirectional burst of energy with a very limited range could allow us to fight from a distance.
—Nice try. You’ll have to figure that one out yourself. I’ve really said all that I can. You should go to your meeting. I’ll get the check.
—If I may ask, why are you helping us? Is that not against the rules?
—I’m just an old man who likes to tell stories. I can’t help it if you’re crazy enough to believe them.
—But why? Why not let them deal with us as they see fit?
—I live here. I know people, good people. I don’t want anything bad to happen to them.
—I am well aware that you were born here and that you are human for the most part. You won’t tell us how to fight them, but you tell us we should. You speak of them as “they,” not as “we,” which suggests some ambivalence, but there is something more. I sense an emotion I am familiar with when you speak of your ancestry. I cannot quite put my finger on it. Anger perhaps…Resentment?
—That’s a lot to read into the choice of a pronoun.
—They abandoned you here, did they not?
—I was born in Michigan.
—Your ancestors. They left your ancestors here with no instructions other than to blend in as much as possible. They left highly evolved people—they would have been some sort of scientists, the elite—alone with primitive, half-clothed people who probably had not even invented the wheel. Centuries spent longing for what must have seemed like the most basic necessities. Having children, but knowing they will never be all that they can, because you will teach them to be…ordinary. I can only imagine what I might feel, but rancor does come to mind.
—Nice speech! You’re right about one thing: You have no idea what these people went through or what they could possibly have felt. I will say one more thing before you go. Stop worrying so much! Are you doing your best?
—I fear my best may not be enough.
—Then you should come to peace with whatever comes. All you can do is try your best. Go now. Next time, you’re the one buying lunch, and you have to hear that story about the fisherman and the seagull. By the way, you owe me a favor. A big one.
—For your advice?
—No.
—Then I do not see how I am indebted?
—You’ll see…But you definitely owe me. Remember that.
FILE NO. 256
MISSION LOG—CW2 RYAN MITCHELL, UNITED STATES ARMY
Location: Undisclosed location, near San Juan, Puerto Rico
—Where are you now, Mr. Mitchell?
—In Alyssa’s office. I broke in to get her sat phone and her keys. You have to help me, sir. Please! I have to get her out of there. Can you help me?
—I assume you are referring to Ms. Resnik. Is she in imminent danger?
—She’s in med bay one with Alyssa. She’s…They’re doing things to her, sir.
—Who is?
—Alyssa. She’s…Look, there’s no time to explain everything. I need to get her out of there now. Can you send in troops?
—There is already a platoon of Marines on-site, but they will not breach. They will not risk it without knowing what they are up against.
—I can tell you! Just tell them to breach! I’ll tell you everything they need to know. They need to hurry!
—Mr. Mitchell, the Marines are not there at my request, and they are not there to help you. They are there to arrest you, you and everyone in that base.