Quandary

I don’t like people. Never have. Arrogance, ignorance, mendacity, self-importance, superiority... I don’t like lists either.

I’m not a prepper. If the end of the world comes I’ll be out on my porch with a welcoming smile. I have so little - they can have it all. It adds up to a pile of nought and a root cellar full of dust. 

My great pleasure is to sit out there and watch the days rise and subside, the mountains glow then surrender to the clouds. The snow falls like ash, the sun claws into my skin, the wind reaches through the cracks of my cabin, the cold informs me I am still alive.

I had a family but she decided I wasn’t her type and took the kids away. I came home from the tyre factory with a lung full of carbon and a house full of silence. She left a note. It said ‘Bye’. Love died with a three letter word.

I pinned the note to the front door for the landlord and drove away with my last paycheck and became a ghost of the person I had been. A ghost is a memory of someone who once lived. Seems about right.

Vegas baby. A place to burn up and die. I turned the paycheck into chips and put them all on red, then red, then black, then black. It doubled each time. To hell with it. I put the lot on 23. It paid. Then black. It paid. Then 00. A ball drops into a spinning slot and you have more money than you’ve earned in your entire life.

Fawning, flattering fools rose to the surface like scum from a rotting fish soup. It happens when you have a pile of cash. I’ve seen it now and it’s not just a trope in a bad movie. I’m not falling for that though. Faux admiration won’t ever open my wallet. If you need to be liked you’re just a bank waiting to be robbed.

I cashed in and drove to Montana, opened a bank account in Butte and disappeared into the wooded hills. How I like it.

My neighbors are bears and birds. I deal with people when I need stores. Sometimes I sit on my porch with my rifle and pretend someone is coming up the trail. I pretend to shoot them.

Trouble is that fantasy would be followed by the reality of being arrested and having to deal with every kind of scum in the legal and penal system. Anyway I’ve never shot a living thing. The gun is for comfort. I like the mechanics of it. And if anyone tries to break into the cabin at night I’m ready. Just try it lowlife. Just fucking try it…

Anyway, no sense getting carried away with imaginings. People imagining things is what got the world where it is today. Imagining that dealing drugs will provide a better life; that sacking half the workforce will improve the company; that beating up a woman makes you a man. If aliens investigated the people of this planet before arriving, they’d change their minds and head for Alpha Centauri. Who’d want to take over this pile of scat.

Which brings me to today. It started with the powerful light shining through my window in the night. You know what it’s like. Your eyes snap open wide, your body’s as tense as a top E string. You wait for the next noise.

The light disappeared. It was a starless dark night out. Low clouds. You strain to hear anything more but the only sound is the breeze in the trees. You peer out but nothing moves but the aspen leaves and pine needles.

The next morning you remember it wasn’t a dream and you wander off into the woods with your coffee and toast.

In a nearby clearing was a large object that I could only imagine was a radically new weapon. It was matt black, about half the size of my cabin, with projections everywhere and no clear front or back. That was just my first impression though. It looked, I realized, like a large spaceship model from a Star Wars movie. But why would a model spaceship be in a clearing in my forest?

Then a very small door opened, a mechanical arm reached out and placed a spherical object on the ground, then retracted. The door closed with a hiss. Hot damn!

The object on the ground projected a hazy light that fuzzed in the air then formed a hologram in the air. It was a weird creature which made strange noises and waved its multiple arms, bowed then sat on the ground with its ‘hands’ held open and its head bent down. It seemed to be acting submissive or at least not aggressive. I sat on the ground and sipped my coffee and took a bite of my toast as I stared at it.

“What the hell are you?” I said.

The hologram creature was about six inches tall. It watched me drinking. I put the coffee cup down by the projector. The mechanical arm came out, picked up my coffee and lifted it into the craft. Seconds later it put the cup back, empty.

“Thirsty huh?”

I put the rest of my toast and honey down. That too quickly disappeared. The hologram alien clapped its hands and bowed ecstatically. I had the distinct impression it was out of food and drink. Whatever ‘it’ was.

Then another door opened and an actual alien dragged itself to the opening. It seemed to be in bad shape. It was just six inches tall. Ugly as sin too. Just like the hologram. Slimy white skin, six eyes in the hairless head, six arms, four legs. Clothes like silk, multi-colored, all tassels and baubles. Some weird idea of fashion.

It babbled at me, a high-pitched gurling sort of speech. “You’re a damn fool if you think I can understand a thing you’re saying,” I replied.

It held up a hand - wait - and dragged itself back inside. The spaceship made a noise like an engine trying to start. The alien came back to the opening and shrugged. I wondered how many gestures were standard across the universe. It was telling me the vessel wouldn’t start. Well, there’s not a lot I can do to help. I shrugged.

It collapsed. Struggled to sit up. Draped its legs over the edge of the opening and stared at me with all its sad little eyes.  

The mechanical arm took the projection ball back inside then I heard clicks and hissing and, one by one, it brought out 11 matt black spheres about 3 inches in diameter and put them on the grass. I was puzzled.

Maybe it read my confusion. The projector was brought back out and showed a hologram of an alien apparently dying. I couldn’t tell what was killing it, maybe a poison or some kind of gas. Nothing obvious anyway. It collapsed, much like my alien buddy did just now. It didn’t move though. Then the hologram wrapped the body in a white cloth into a nearly spherical shape then put the wrapped body into a matt black sphere. The arm pointed to the 11 spheres on the grass.

I pointed to the alien in the opening and held up one finger. The hologram held up one finger. Alone.

Then the last one babbled again and tried to stand up but it fell out of the opening onto the grass. I reached out to touch it. It raised it little head, held out a couple of hands and touched my fingers, then it sagged and sighed its last. Dead.

“Bloody hell mate. Don’t tell me that means you’re all dead?” I knocked on the hull of the spaceship but thing appeared.

The mechanical arm lifted the body and wrapped it in cloth, pulled out a final black sphere, gently placed the body into the sphere and closed it. 12 matt black spherical coffins.

I heard a faint humming at the limit of my hearing and the spheres sank into the ground with 12 puffs of smoke or steam and disappeared. I didn’t know how deep they went but later I checked with my old metal detector and it found nothing, so they were at least a few feet in. I imagined them sinking down to the mantel and melting in the lava.

The projector started up again and showed a hologram of an alien looking at me and shrugging. I shrugged back. The spaceship couldn’t start and now had no crew. It didn’t know what to do.

I didn’t know what to do either.

If I tell anyone, the world and its military will descend on my peace and that will be the end of it. I might as well have shot someone.

But I have in my grasp the biggest event in the history of the world. Surely there can’t be just one spaceship? Is an invasion on the way? Could it be stopped if this spaceship was studied by the world’s experts? Could we learn how to reach the stars?

I didn’t think about it for long though. It wasn’t really a quandary. I moved my woodpile and it’s now covered so no-one can see it.  

I sit out there most days and talk to it. Sometimes I hear soft humming like it’s still trying to start up. There’s a gap in the pile so the mechanical arm can come out any time it wants.

Occasionally it puts out the projector and the holo-alien shrugs. What can I do? I shrug back and we sit and stare at each other.