Page 41 of The Space Traveller's Lover
THE LAST MEETING
Earth is a precious planet. Let’s celebrate its revival.
As the first rays of sunshine bathe the pyramids’ glinting edges, all the paths leading to the towering structures fill up with people coming from all directions. The crowd moves forwards in increasingly packed expanding swathes, reined in only by the meandering banks of the splendid River Thames.
Thousands of faces merge in an awestruck euphoric thrill. Eagerly the people wait, their voices rising. They chant and applaud as if clamouring for a long-awaited encore, their enthusiastic cheers filling up the air, echoing across the sprawling squares.
“Hurrah, hurrah. Hip hip hooray! Welcome, Rom-Ghenshars.”
“Long live the Rom-Ghenshars! Long live planet Earth!” Large white banners display the words in big bold letters, waving in the wind alongside large flags with colourful designs.
Some flags depict the Sun and Earth, others the twin suns Rom and Ghenshar, and Rom-Enjie.
The guardian robots make their way through the crowd, dispensing drinks and boxes full of food, as well as colourful T-shirts and hats to the humans.
At each side of the ample avenues, rows of large screens atop high poles display images from the elevated stage assembled in front of the Central Grand Pyramid.
The countdown in minutes and seconds flickers at the bottom of the screens.
For the people waiting, the seconds are not moving fast enough.
Since they first came out of their shelters, the humans have been preparing to meet their alien visitors.
The broadcast helicopters transmit through all the ARA channels, ensuring no one can miss the most important event yet after their arduous long-suffering days.
The newly appointed ARA’s North and South generals are pacing around the stage, checking the microphones, glimpsing at the giant screens, listening to the reports from their central command.
The two men keep a firm, focused posture, altogether hiding their internal nervous disposition.
They must make sure they don’t repeat the mistakes of the past.
The Rom-Ghenshars have shown that they keep to their word.
The robots have healed and fed the people.
They have rebuilt their cities, industries, and hospitals; they’ve even brought the unstable climate under control.
The Earth hasn’t had an extreme weather episode for months now.
If the former generals had listened to them in the first place, millions of lives would have been saved.
The order “Don’t attack our saviours” is now enshrined in all ARA’s stations.
The message for the much-anticipated meeting had come suddenly but was nonetheless well-received.
The ARA broadcasting channels had been interrupted by Shaillah’s smiling face.
“London, the Rom-Ghenshars want to invite the humans to our long-overdue meeting. Tomorrow, from six in the morning to late at night. A summit of friendship. A summit of celebration. A multi-world summit!”
The Rom-Ghenshars had set the time and place, but they’d never said how they would arrive.
The live streaming stations and lookout telescopes frantically scour the hovering destroyer-crafts, failing to detect any giveaway signs.
But all of their equipment, even to the last second, is pointing in the wrong direction.
The dazzling figures of Shaillah and Kuzhma-Or suddenly appear at the centre of the stage, making the generals jolt and momentarily lose their composure.
The large screens instantly show the striking stage images as the jubilant crowd cheers and waves in perfect lockstep, as if they had rehearsed every move for this very occasion .
“Good morning, London. Good morning, Earth,” Shaillah announces, her crystal-clear voice chiming through the loudspeakers.
She smiles and waves with both hands, enticing the crowd with her warm, gracious demeanour.
Her face fills every screen. It’s as if all the cameras are stuck on her rosy cheeks, glossy red lips, and expressive gaze.
“Ahhhhh!” the crowd exclaims as if everyone has been seduced all at once. Their clamour gradually turns into an expectant silence as everyone waits for the ARA generals to speak.
“Welcome, friends. Our planet is your home!” ARA’s South Region General Ali Sheik greets them in his raspy, grovelling voice. The tall, sturdy officer tries to sound as firm as he can while swelling sweat droplets cover his bald head and forehead, and his glasses briefly slide down his wet nose.
“We look forward to working together for a brighter future,” North Region General Jason S.
Bowden adds in an overly enthusiastic voice.
He is about to continue his speech when one of the stage assistants brings him a note.
His face turns grey as he reads the grim message, but nobody is paying attention to him.
Everyone’s attention is firmly focused on Kuzhma-Or’s and Shaillah’s hypnotic appearance.
“People of this glorious planet, let me introduce you to our galaxy’s supreme commander— our illustrious Kuzhma-Or!” Shaillah announces.
The imposing figure of Kuzhma-Or now takes centre stage on all the screens.
His immaculate military uniform, bristling with gold decorations and badges, has all the hallmarks of a legendary invincible commander.
His smooth white beard and piercing eyes, twinkling with a fearsome spark under his sleek helmet, summon the conjuring power of an all-victorious warlord.
“Sheban lai. Seya” (It is high time. Welcome)!
Kuzhma-Or’s booming voice resounds across the vast square.
He extends his arms from under his long black cloak as a row of multicoloured lights sparkles across his belt.
His welcome message, in both English and the Rom-Ghenshar symbols, appears on all the screens.
By now, at their central broadcasting hub, the ARA technicians realise they can’t control the live transmissions. It seems that the Rom-Ghenshars has effectively taken over the worldwide broadcast .
Stunning images of alien star systems and detailed views of breathtaking landscapes of unknown planets suddenly appear on the pyramids’ sleek walls and throughout colourful holograms floating above their heads.
“We have so much to show you,” Shaillah announces, her face beaming with excitement. “We have so much to share with you. Our Supreme Commander Kuzhma-Or, illustrious veteran of countless planetary missions, blesses the Earth, this extraordinary planet, with his infinite kindness.”
“Welcome, welcome! We love you,” the people excitedly clamour over the cacophony of applause and cheers.
Shaillah’s spirited voice raises over the rowdy crowd, instantly grabbing their attention.
“We, Rom-Ghenshars, can tell you that Earth is one of the most beautiful planets in this galaxy—so delicately blue and lushly green. It’s worth our every effort to preserve it.”
As they listen to her words, the crowd is spellbound by the stunning images of the newly-built Earth cities, followed by alien cities—intricate structures rising high through the clouds or crisscrossing the bottom of immense oceans.
The Rom-Ghenshars, it is plain to see, can build and live anywhere, on any planet, and in any environment.
The all-surround sound of the stirring, fast-paced, haunting music puts everyone into a feverish state of triumph and joy.
“Sheban lai!” Kuzhma-Or repeats, throwing both fists into the air and electrifying the crowd even further.
Wherever he focuses his eyes, all faces align in that direction, followed by their awestruck applause and cheers.
The supreme commander revels in his total supremacy over the humans as he casts his dominant glare across the ecstatic crowd.
The ARA’s North and South Generals haven’t moved from their positions throughout the whole spectacle.
General Bowden has given up attracting General Sheik’s attention, as the latter is utterly mesmerised with the show while occasionally reading the prepared welcome message and the questions he is hoping to ask.
The rousing beat of a bellowing drumming tune reverberates through the speakers and comes to a sudden stop as the images of Kuzhma-Or and Shaillah fill the screens once again. An exasperated murmur from the crowd reminds the ARA generals that this is their opportunity to speak .
South Region General Ali Sheik moves closer to his microphone to read his message.
“Supreme Commander Kuzhma-Or, Lady Shaillah, we want to express our profound gratitude for all you have done after one of the most devastating disasters in our planet’s history.
Without you, humanity could have been extinct by now.
We profoundly thank you, from every human still standing today, may you receive our warmest welcome and wholehearted gratefulness. ”
Kuzhma-Or and Shaillah nod at the same time, acknowledging the general’s deep-felt proclamation.
“Earth is a precious planet. Let’s celebrate its revival,” Shaillah responds to the cheers and cries of “thank you” from the crowd.
“We would like to ask some questions, Great Kuzhma-Or,” General Ali Sheik eagerly speaks into the microphone. “And our first question is: what is the meaning of life?”
A subtle smile ripples through Kuzhma-Or’s thin lips as his eyes sparkle in a bright green flash, his face beaming with an overpowering glare.
“Life’s purpose is to exist against all odds, to thrive, to adapt, and to conquer all environments,” Kuzhma-Or booms. “That is the goal, that is its meaning—to reach a superior state of intelligence in order to prevail over non-sentient non-living matter. It is to develop a superior form of mind energy, able to transform our constantly evolving universe, and eventually being able to recreate it … at our will.”
At the central processor, Rothwen stands next to Kuzhma-Or as the supreme commander speaks to the humans while checking on the systematic destruction of Earth’s high-orbit satellites. But Rothwen is solely focused on setting the range and power of the destroyer-crafts’ plasma rays.
As soon as Kuzhma-Or finishes speaking, Rothwen transmits the command to blast the rays onto the Earth’s magnetic field, forming an intense tidal current of charged particles.
Suddenly, the city’s sky is ablaze with bright, colourful flashes of fast-moving, wispy light pillars. They flow across the sky in irregular, fanciful shapes as if painted by thick fluorescent crayons.
The onset of the beautiful bright aurora covering the entire sky and outshining the morning sun surprises and astounds the spectators. At once, everyone takes his or her eyes off the stage, beholding the random fast-changing light dance, wholly overwhelmed by the hypnotic experience .
“Let the celebration begin,” Shaillah gleefully announces as hers and Kuzhma-Or’s images slowly start to dissipate until they disappear entirely.
“Don’t go away yet,” General Ali Sheik protests. He grudgingly looks at his long list of questions he never got the chance to ask. Perhaps next time , he thinks to himself.
As General Sheik looks back at the cheering carefree crowd, sharing their drinks and food, chanting in rapturous hordes, and enjoying a splendid sky spectacle, he feels comforted in the thought that the worst must surely be over.
“A new bright future awaits!” Sheik enthusiastically says.
But General Bowden twists his lips into a grimace while gloomily shaking his head.
“Well, according to the latest report, which I happened to receive while you were all celebrating, after repeated attempts, we can’t contact any of our interplanetary missions, and none of our satellite communication systems responds to any of our commands.
It seems the aliens’ takeover of our whole solar system is complete. ”