“I’ll check on you in three hours,” he said, and his face disappeared from the e-tablet screen.
Another tap. I opened the sealed door. The creature looked like schnitzel just before frying—its skin was covered in fine white powder, its hair dripping eggy yellow mucus. Its lips were a sickly blue. One of its legs was stuck in an empty jumbo jar of Nutella.
“You ate my dessert,” I said.
“My apologies. I found no ova of the aviary type. I toured around the edges of your memory—only for a small amount of time, I promise—and I became what your kind calls depressed.”
“I told you I didn’t want you to do it,” I said.
“Delicious, this spread of Nutella. Rich and creamy, like the Shtoma larvae back home. Crack them open, suck the fat.”
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
“I do not blame you for your curiosity, skinny human. I experienced no pain in my encounter with Earth’s cleaning liquids.”
I swam toward it, wishing the creature wouldn’t disappear. Its lips were closed, and I wondered what kind of cosmic evolution could lead to this species. Did my association of its body parts with Earth’s animals signify a connection, or was I simply reaching desperately for familiarity? Perhaps I was a lunatic for having these thoughts in the first place. I sucked blood from my teeth and rubbed my sore eyes.
“I’m really not happy about the Nutella,” I said. “I only have one jar left.”
“I accept responsibility,” the creature said, “though I do feel my excuse is valid. Your species considers the size of things around you in a comparative context. Things that are bigger than the reflective capacity of your brain terrify you. I found that fear uncomfortable, like sleeping on a bed made of empty Shtoma shells. It infected me. Along with you, I made love to your wife and stalked her as she urinated on pregnancy-detection devices. Along with you, I considered the thing you call death and the existential dread that comes with your ambition. Strange—the spread made of hazelnut felt sticky around my teeth, my stomachs were satiated, and this made my realizations seem less unpleasant. What pains me most, skinny human, is that I now share your fears, though I do not understand them. What will happen when I perish? Why ask such a question when, as the Elders of my tribe declare, certainty is impossible?”
A hallucination could not be full of thoughts that had never occurred to me, could it? Could not be dripping yolky cleaner and bringing on memories in a way that was nearly cinematic, lived in through frames and edges, as if I were at once in a theater seat and strolling around on the screen. Yes, fear was present, and I had no deities to call on for favors, but the sooner I brought on the moment of proof, the sooner I could bear the consequences of either discovering new life within the universe or finding that I had lost my mind.
I reached out my hand, one finger pointed. I could still turn back. Ideas, science, a future for the country, T?ma had said. What if I catch an extraterrestrial for you, senator? Will it inspire the national pride you hoped for? It could not be real. The lips, smoker’s teeth, eyes, lack of genitals—what things could Ku?ák’s Freudian analysis reveal about this mosaic of my imagination? Yes, my mother had full lips, part of her movie star appeal. Yes, my father’s teeth were often yellow. More likely, I would bring T?ma a new patient for Bohnice, Prague’s finest establishment for the insane.
I touched the creature’s leg, felt the motel carpet roughness of each individual hair, the steel solidity of bone underneath, the dry skin pulsing gently.
It was there. It was.
“You are here,” I said.
“I am,” it said.
I let go of the creature’s leg and thrust myself backwards, pulling wildly on the wall handles.
“I wish I had the capacity to assist with your emotional distress, skinny human. I cannot offer you the solace of Nutella, for I have consumed it.”
I needed to think, to digest, I needed a distraction from this touch. I left the creature and returned to the lab, where I inventoried old samples, manically trashed my logs and created brand-new ones, polished the glass, and reorganized the items strapped to my table: a lamp, sticky notes, silver pens, a notebook.
I hid in the lab for two hours. When I returned to the corridors, I heard a low snore. In the Lounge, the creature floated in the upper corner, all of its eyes closed, legs folded underneath its belly, forming a nearly perfect sphere. I knew what needed to be done.
I recovered a scalpel from the lab. What is a scientist to do when faced with impossible possibilities? A scientist gathers data and studies it in accordance with the scientific method. I pondered whether I could risk carving out a skin sample, or perhaps a scrape, and quickly come back to the lab before the creature realized what was happening. There was the safer option of collecting hair only. This was the way. If I put an item under the microscope and found real particles, I could be sure. Particles do not lie. Elements are truth tellers. For a moment, I considered simply plunging the scalpel into the creature’s belly, spilling whatever insides it held all over the ship—there couldn’t be more tangible proof than that. With an intense headache and shaking fingers, side effects of the sleep medication, I approached the alien creature, counted its exhales. I lifted the knife, deciding to go with the sound option of gathering hair.
With its eyes still closed, the creature said, “I would not follow your intentions here, skinny human.”
I flinched. The sentence was a pure growl.
The eyes opened. Its legs did not move.
My eyelids pulsated, I couldn’t swallow. There had to be a way. Something I could place underneath a microscope to affirm or refute my senses. At that moment, it seemed more important than stealing fire from Olympus or splitting the atom. What I did was inevitable.
I plunged the blade forward, toward the creature’s back.
It caught the scalpel with one of its legs, while three others wrapped around my body. We flew upwards at a staggering speed, and it pressed its full weight against my chest, stomach, and groin. The pressure of the legs was like a trio of wandering snakes; I could not move a single body part below the neck.
“You refuse to be my subject, yet you subject me,” the creature said. There seemed to be no anger, only a statement of fact. The scalpel flew toward the Lounge window.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“This I know, skinny human. But the body must not be violated. This is the greatest truth of the universe.”
“You know this has been… unexpected. I have to know if you’re here.”
“Imagine my wonder when I discovered Earth,” it said.
“It can’t compare to all the other things you have seen.”
It was silent.
“Give me a skin sample. A small one. So I can be sure. We can be subject to each other. Do you have a name? Something I can call you?”