Page 12

Seeker

But they only give the card a cursory look, then hand over the “badge” that grants me access to all the joy this festival offers.

Beside me, Jen bounces as if she cannot contain her enthusiasm, and once we have our documents, she’s off, racing across the obstacle course of bodies and temporary structures.

I keep pace as best I can, always aware that if the tech camo fails, I’ll be in severe danger.

The roundtable is held in a building on the other side of the property.

Most of the seats are taken when we slip inside, but Jen finds us space near the back.

Experts are already speaking about the recordings she mentioned as we get settled.

The space is airless, and later in the day it will become sweltering.

While Jen gazes at the speakers in rapt attention, I study her .

She is graceful like a planetary curve, softness incarnate.

She is warm tones and gentle laughter. I find her features strange, but less so than I did when I first landed on this world.

I have become accustomed to the way humans look, less so to the way they smell.

They’re constantly emitting chemical signals, but they don’t seem to do this intentionally.

To me, their moods shine like colors, and I can’t unknow the information.

One of the experts at the front of the hall is desperate and nervous, an acrid tang discernable all the way at the back.

Another has indulged in some recreational fumes that cling to their raiment and head fur, dispersing tiny whiffs of rotting sweetness.

They give a brief introduction but I don’t dedicate my full attention.

The nervous one says, “Without further ado, we’ll just play the recording for you. Please hold all questions until the track ends.”

A low whooping sound begins, and I still, scarcely daring to breathe.

That’s an emergency beacon, similar to the one I’ll use if I can adapt it and charge it using local tech.

The sequence runs three times and then cuts off abruptly.

Around me, I hear humans speculating on what that could have been.

They’re anatomically incapable of detecting all the tones, and it’s rather remarkable that they’ve acquired this evidence at all.

I wonder what they’d say if I confirmed their hope of what it portends.

Yes, this suffices as evidence that there are aliens among you.

“We’ll take questions now. Raise your hand if you wish to speak.” The expert who smells sickly-sweet recognizes a woman with spirals of brightly colored head fur.

“How did you attain this recording?” she asks.

“And how do we know it’s not fake?” someone shouts.

I’ve noticed that humans skew toward thinking everything is fake, probably because they swindle each other with shocking regularity. Like other beings I’ve known, humans are impulsive and difficult to govern. I collect that’s why their society has so many laws.

The anxious one replies, “We received the recording via an anonymous email.”

The other continues, “NASA has created sound files by changing digital data recorded by telescopes in space, allowing us to know how a star or a black hole sounds. While we can’t guarantee that’s the case, we suspect this must be something similar.”

A man in a cap waves a limb urgently and is recognized. “Respectfully, there’s no way. There’s an organized pattern in that file. It’s timed and it repeats. I’d be very surprised if it wasn’t intentional. Stars don’t sound like that at all.”

Clever human. He’s correct.

I wonder what they’d do if I gave them all the information they claim to desire.

Chances are, they wouldn’t even believe me.

I listen as people expound on theories and argue why those ideas are impossible.

The experts provide context for their receipt of the audio file, but I’m more interested in who recorded it, and the how and why as well.

It’s an interesting discussion in parts, but since I already know the answer to the central question they’re debating, it’s difficult for me to sustain any lasting sense of intrigue.

I find myself watching Jen instead, tracking minute shifts in her expression. The way she leans forward when a question captivates her. She’s far more fascinating than open discourse.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asks as the session ends.

Before I can respond, someone calls our names. “Jen! Tamzir! I was about to message you two! Have you found Stargazer or FFH yet?”

It’s Jaz, closely shadowed by Tad. I realize he’s the man in the hat who objected to the sound file as a natural phenomenon. I probably should have recognized him, but I was distracted, and I’ve never seen him in a hat. Also, he was sitting down, which disguises his impressive height.

“Not yet,” Jen says.

“This is the first thing we’ve attended,” I add.

“Where are you headed next?” Tad asks.

I glance at Jen. She’s supposed to be guiding me around. I have no idea what I ought to be doing here. In fact, it would probably be safer if I hid in my dwelling until it’s time for me to travel to the coast.

“Can’t decide between ‘Aliens in Hollywood’ and ‘Writing Fan Fiction about Aliens,’” she says, showing her phone to Jaz.

“Oooh, good choices. Do you want to write alien fan fiction?” Jaz asks.

Jen shrugs, but she seems a little embarrassed. “I don’t know. I just thought it might be interesting.”

“Question: Is the first one about the types of aliens in various films, or are they speculating which actors are actually aliens?” Tad asks.

“I’m interested in both of those panels,” Jaz says immediately.

“I think it’s the former,” Jen replies, skimming the description on her phone. “Yep, it compares some of the most famous aliens in various films.”

“We should go get seats,” I say.

Jen nods enthusiastically. “Good point! I hate entering a panel that’s already started. It’s so rude.”

I ask out of idle curiosity, “Did you two make plans last night?”

Tad shakes his head. “I guess we’re fated to be friends. I saw Jaz first thing this morning and we decided to check out this session.”

She nudges Tad lightly. “Let’s join them. I didn’t have anything concrete on my agenda anyway.”

“I’m flexible,” he says.

Now our duo has become a quartet. I shouldn’t mind, but now that I have only one fourth of a chance at occupying Jen’s attention, I feel mildly aggrieved. I’m here primarily because of her.

“Just a sec. I’m texting Star and FFH to let them know where we’re headed,” Jen says.

She focuses on her phone and then she sets out, threading through the crowd with the same level of concentration that she applies to all tasks. Tad and Jaz hurry after her, which amuses me. Jen probably wouldn’t see herself that way, but she’s undoubtedly the leader of our little band.

The “Aliens in Hollywood” panel is in a larger building because one of the panelists portrayed an alien in visual entertainment that I haven’t consumed.

Or at least that’s what Jaz is speculating as we find seats.

We’re early enough to get some together and two more humans rush toward us, signaling with both arms. I cannot discern much about their appearance because they are both in disguise, one blue and sleek, the other clad in armor with many composite weapons strapped to their body.

Even their cranial structure has been altered—and in a fashion I find most interesting, as this alien reminds me of the locals in the Tau Ceti cluster.

“Nook neh,” the second one says.

Those sounds impart no meaning. I have heard nothing like that in my time on this planet, and while I struggle to identify what language is being spoken, Jen laughs.

“Nobody here speaks Klingon. You must be FFH.”

“Stargazer, actually.”

“I’m FFH.” The blue alien doesn’t step closer or offer a traditional greeting.

“It’s surprising to find the two of you together,” Tad observes. “You bicker like it’s your hobby in the group chat!”

“We just happened to rock up at the same time,” Stargazer explains.

“Acquit me of spending more time with this one than I must,” FFH adds.

“Yikes,” Jaz says.

“That’s kind of hostile,” Tad points out.

The introductions happen quickly. Stargazer reminds us that her name is Poppy, and it seems she’s said it before. I don’t recall, but she spends most of her time trying to aggravate FarfromHome. To my knowledge, they haven’t given their name yet, online or in person.

“You can call me Ravik,” FFH says, as if in response to my thought.

“Is that your Viking name?” Poppy seems to enjoy poking at the least-friendly member of our social collective.

“Shh. They’re starting.” With a smile, Jen motions everyone into silence, as we’re about to start the next round of obsessing over aliens.

This will be the most surreal day ever.