The Messenger

“Aakash, this just isn’t good enough! This is your third poor evaluation in as many weeks.”

Ash studied the cracks on the conference room table. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“You’re going to have to re-certify to prove yourself. Re-apply for the phone position, if you want it. As of now, you are downstairs working the messenger streams. I’m sorry, Ash.”

Ash trudged down the stairs to the sixth floor with his shoebox of desk sundries. Another high-ceiling room with a sea of tiny computer desks, murmuring voices and clicking keyboards awaited him. A big screen TV mounted on the wall in one corner showed muted 24-hour news, close-captioned in English.

He’d studied hard for the call center job, but his accent betrayed him time and again. Employees were to flawlessly disguise their Indian vocal identities at all times. Westerners, especially Americans, expected their call center support to be handled from their own side of the ocean.

Demotion to the sixth floor meant a significant pay-cut. His mother would be very disappointed in him. Again. He could hardly stand to think about going home in the morning.

A manager hustled over to his new station. “I heard you were coming down. Aakash, right?” Ash nodded, shook the manager’s hand. “I’ll send someone to review the basics with you in a bit. How much do you remember from training?”

“I think I can manage, Sir.”

“OK, well poke around a bit, but don’t go live until we’re sure you know what you’re doing.” The manager suddenly looked distant and mumbled something into his headset. He gave a thumbs-up and strode off.

Ash set his rocket-ship shaped pencil sharpener to the right of the keyboard. He moved to place the small, framed picture of himself and Sulakshmi next to it and hesitated. Instead, he tucked it back in the box, facedown. He sat in the ergonomic deskchair and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. A star shined in the black sky through a tiny, dingy window near the ceiling. Considering his orientation and the time of night, he guessed it was Vega.

He sighed heavily.

Goodbye.

A messenger box blinked on the screen.

Ash looked around. His system should not yet be online. However, the blinking status of the message indicated it was just received and did not simply remain from a previous session. Ash stood up, scanning the vast room for the manager who just left him. All his new colleagues were busy peering at their screens and typing. He sat back down slowly and typed a reply.

Thank you for choosing Bay Area Bank, have a wonderful day.

Giraffe. Gargle Google. Incoming.

Ash blinked. He’d already had a bad enough night. He didn’t have the patience for one of Samir’s jokes, sitting upstairs sending him messages to taunt him about his demotion.

Your heading. Moving South, how to live?

Now Ash was sure it was Samir. Who is this?

Incoming interference. Soon arriving.

OK, Ash thought. I’ll play along. You are coming here?

Yes. Contact make want.

He was reminded of the grammatically challenged phrases Google Translate occasionally generated. He glanced up, hoping the manager would be on his way back to catch Samir in the act.

You happy?

Ash stared at the screen. Of course, I’m not happy, he thought. Who is?

Fooling Americans by pretending to be one of them was stressful and subtly demeaning work. Ash resented playacting inferiority. Combined with the long hours and monotonous work, he’d begun dreading his daily life. But he was the only one left to take care of his mother as she aged, and call center jobs paid well. Then there was Sulakshmi, his childhood sweetheart who moved eight hours north the previous summer to prepare for her arranged marriage.

The truth was that something vital and alive inside him withered a bit more every day.

But he could say none of this to the messenger, even if it was Samir.

Especially if it was Samir.

Yes, I am happy. Are you?

No. traveling forward I besides. Again contact soon.

Ash waited a moment and then typed, Are you still there?

There was no response.

***

“I can’t believe you’ve done this! Demoted at your job and lying about it! To your own mother!”

Ash closed his eyes. He hadn't lied to her about his demotion. But he hadn’t exactly told her, either. Most likely, someone (Samir) told someone else (his own mother) who then told her.

He’d recently learned the American-English term “frenemy.” Samir resided firmly in that category.  

“Am’ma, it’s OK. I’ll recertify. Work harder. This sort of thing happens all the time and…”

“I’m so ashamed! After all I’ve done for you, that you would lie to me!” she cried, tears rolling down her face.

Perfect, Ash thought. There wasn’t much he could do to calm her at this point. Anyway, it was nearly 10pm. He needed to leave if he was going to catch the bus to work. An image on the television in the corner caught his eye.

“…Human Space Flight Center in Bangaluru falls under the Indian Space Research Organization and is responsible for training the Gaganyaan crew. Preparations for the flight in December are so far on schedule…”

Ash felt a surge of mixed emotions – anticipation, envy, wonder, regret. His mother never understood his fascination with the space program, his passion for astronomy. Over and over, she’d reminded him that he was a silly dreamer, losing his mind over a fantasy.

“My dear husband gone, and my only son is lying to me! There is no one left I can trust!” She wailed.

Ash’s shoulders sagged. He loved his mother. But she was a relic, an anachronism; trying to fit old ways into an ever-changing mold. Ash wanted to provide something better for her, so that she could find peace. But he also had to admit that sometimes she simply chose to create drama where there was none.

“I love you, Am’ma,” he mumbled, kissing her trembling forehead lightly as he passed. He headed out the door of their apartment into the fragrant cacophony of the Bangalore night.

***

Hello.

Ash stared at the screen. It was nearly breaktime and he could have sworn he blocked other messages from coming in for the moment, so he could finish comms with the guy from Ohio and his endless stream of redundant questions. Except here was this new one.

You tomorrow agreeable? Delightful?

Ah, it’s the joker from the other night, Ash thought. I should probably tell the manager someone is hacking into the system. If it is Samir, it will serve him right to get into trouble.

You home in?

Ohio was finally saying his farewells. Ash typed in the messenger’s box, Hello, I am here.

Mumtaz!

Ash squinted. What language was that? Arabic?

Speed coming. Visit soon.

Where are you going?

Going your home. Visit you. The messenger added a sad-face emoji to the text.

The hair on Ash’s neck prickled. “Coming to his home...” What did that mean? He didn’t know how someone hacking into the system could have discovered where he was. But then, he didn’t know how they were hacking in, either. Ash noticed the messenger’s dialog box lacked the originating location of the querying computer's IP address. He knew a location could be inaccurate but had been under the impression it was impossible to mask it completely.

Great. When will you arrive? And why are you sad?

Happy visit <heart face emoji>! Sad I should hurt <crying face emoji>.

Are you hurt?

Not I hurt, you hurt. You happy? You love?

I love. I am happy.

It wasn’t exactly true, but anyway, Ash thought, why do I have to tell this guy anything?

Good. I visit. Ciao!

Ash stared at the messenger’s blank dialogue box for some time afterward.

***

The next night, Ash expected the incoming communication. And there it was, at 11:52pm.

Hello, Friend.

He’d decided the messenger had to be some kook who also happened to be a genius hacker. He highly doubted anyone was actually on their way to visit, kidnap, kill, hold for ransom, or otherwise disrupt his life. It would probably turn out to be Samir, after all. On the bus to work that evening, he’d resolved that if things got weirder on that night’s shift, he would tell his manager.

Hello. How are you today?

I am quite well, thank you. I am nearly to your home.

Ash’s eyes narrowed. No reason for alarm. Yet. What do you mean, ‘to my home?’

Your planet, of course. I wanted to see it for myself.

Ash sat back and blinked. Now he knew he was dealing with a kook. A kook who gained a much better grasp of the written English language overnight. Why do you want to see it?

I have instructions to exterminate, and I am not certain this would be wise. Ah, I am at your home now! Such a lovely world. The ones with liquid water always are.

A chill rippled down Ash’s back. What do you mean, ‘exterminate?’

My people cultivate planets, making them proper living spaces suited for our kind. Sometimes that means… The stationary cursor blinked for several seconds. …evicting some of the current inhabitants.

Across the room there were excited voices and a mob growing around the TV mounted in the corner. Someone unmuted the audio. Shaky camera-phone footage showed a massive, pink blob appearing as big as ten suns, hovering in a blue, daylit sky.

Ash rose from his chair slowly, mouth falling open, eyes on the screen. Now there was live satellite footage of the blob, floating in space above the Earth. Ash’s heart hammered and his focus sharpened. He felt as though he just woke up from a dream.

He swallowed. He knew beyond any doubt. This was The Messenger.

Once a planet has been marked for extermination it is difficult to convince my people otherwise. However, I do not always agree with their decisions, and I do hold some sway in this regard. So, I ask you, Aakash. Are you happy? Do you love?

Ash fell back into his chair, knees shaking. You’re pink, he typed.

Over the top of the monitor, he watched the blob on the TV screen suddenly swirl and burst with color, like the skin of a squid. My visual aesthetics are adjustable. Do you prefer blue? Or perhaps black? The Messenger turned a bright sky blue and then faded to darkness, a black hole appearing where its mass obstructed the starlight behind. I can display colors outside your visible spectrum, but I suspect they may simply appear gray to you. However, some lifeforms on your planet can register the appropriate…

Pink is fine, Ash replied. Pink, only slightly less unsettling than the black hole effect, swirled back into place.

The TV reporter confirmed that emergency governmental calls were being made. Satellite defense systems were already training themselves on the object.

My people will hurt you, Ash typed.

They will try. They are afraid. This is normal. They cannot hurt me, however, and I will not stay long. At this time, I am here simply as an observer. You have been kind and patient with me, Aakash. Now, do you love? Please, I must know.

Ash’s throat was cottony, his hands clammy. He thought of his mother, clinging to her cherished traditions in a changing world. Sulakshmi moving away from him and the only home she ever knew to fulfil her promise to her family. His uncle missing fifteen years of his kids’ lives while working in a faraway country so they could afford to attend school. The jovial food cart owner who sold him the dal he planned to eat for lunch. The blind beggar he passed on the way to the bus to whom he gave the dal instead. The client from Ohio the previous night, who could not pay his mortgage because of his daughter’s medical bills.

He began typing. Yes, I do. We do. We are trying. We don’t always get it right. But eventually we will overcome our primitive natures. Someday we will finally get it right and join you in the stars. Just a few thousand years ago we still lived in caves. For each terrible, primitive-minded thing we do to each other, there are a thousand small kindnesses exchanged, a thousand evolutions of thought. We are on a trajectory. We deserve the chance to see it through, ourselves.

Ash realized he was babbling, and his eyes were watering. He wasn’t terribly eloquent, especially in English. He wished The Messenger had chosen a poet or a speechwriter with whom to communicate instead of him.  

I see. It is quite valuable to gain the perspective of a native. You are indeed a fragile, unlikely people. Though most are unlikely in their own way.

The cursor blinked on and off expectantly. Ash slumped in his chair. He threw occasional glances at the TV screen, his mind too cluttered to type any of the questions clamoring there.

Ah, there we are. I have completed my data collection. Aakash, I offer respectful and deep gratitude for your shared perspectives and your kindness. I hope that you will not see me, or any of my kind, again for quite some time. Oh, and one more thing. Aakash, remember that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Go in peace, my friend.

The Messenger disappeared from the TV screen. Ash imagined hearing a “pop” as it blinked out of existence. There was a collective gasp from the viewing crowd.

Ash looked up at Vega, still twinkling dimly through the dirty window. He picked up his phone, dialed his mother’s number.

“Am’ma. There is something we need to talk about.”