Farah Rishi - I Hope You Get This Message

When she came back into the living room, Mom was pacing in front of the TV, gripping a folded piece of paper. Cate recognized the paper right away: a ripped sheet from one of the many marble composition notebooks Mom kept tucked in the back of the broom closet, filled with strange drawings and coordinates that made no sense to Cate. Cate had discovered them years ago, but when she’d asked her mom what they meant, her mom had only smiled and said, “It’s a secret.” Cate never looked at them again. Looking inside them felt too much like a window into Mom’s mind.

The news was on now, but muted. The screen revealed a panel of experts in suits with furrowed brows and pursed lips. Below them, a ticker at the bottom of the screen displayed the headline: KEPLER-88A: ALLY OR ENEMY?

The screen cut to the president of the United States at a podium, and the ticker changed: POTUS AND HIS JOINT SECURITY COUNCIL BOAST PROGRESS MADE ON DECODING MISSIVE FROM OUTER SPACE… .

Before she could read any more, her mom stepped in front of the television, blocking it. Cate swallowed her irritation. Selfishly, she just wanted a second to wipe off the rest of her makeup, to get out of this stupid dress, to pretend that tonight never happened.

“I’ve got your medicine,” Cate said. “You can take it and go to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” her mom replied flatly. She took a step forward and seized Cate’s wrist, knocking the pills from her hand. Fingernails dug into Cate’s skin. “Listen, Cate. I want you to promise me that if anything happens to me, you’ll get this letter to your dad.” She pressed the folded square of paper into Cate’s hand. “He’s one of them, you know.”

Cate didn’t have to look at it to know that what was written there would be more nonsense. She didn’t have to ask what Mom meant, either. First it had been the guy behind the register at the grocery store. Then the little girl selling Girl Scout cookies to fund a trip to the space station museum in Novato. Then a random old woman feeding birds in the park. “Aliens,” her mom had said. “All aliens.” The invasion wasn’t coming. It was already here.

“Dad was an alien, too, huh?” Cate bent to retrieve the pills. She hated having to talk to her mom like she was a child, hated having to pretend to take her seriously in moments like these, hated all of it—this disease that had invaded their lives, more terrifying and insidious than any aliens could be.

Worst of all, she hated that, despite everything, Mom still clung to her memories of Dad like a comforting blanket, still clung to her desperate hope that he would come back after all these years. Mom and Molly seemed to be in agreement about one thing: Cate wasn’t enough to protect them. Maybe they were right.

No. Stop that.

But her mom didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “Tall, with thick brown hair and dark eyes,” she went on. “He looked like us. Blended in. But I could tell he seemed different. Special. Always had his eyes on the sky. I had no idea, of course, where he was from. Everyone in Reno is from out of town, you know. I was.”

“Why don’t you take your medicine,” Cate said, handing her a single pill.

Her mom inspected the pill between her two fingers, gripping it like a diamond. Cate tried not to cry with relief when her mom brought it to her lips and swallowed, leaving the water untouched.

“My feet are cold,” her mom added. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight, Mom.” Cate’s voice cracked. “It’s time for bed.”

“You shouldn’t be up this late,” her mom said, as if suddenly realizing it.

“It’s okay.” Cate drew her mom into a hug. This is my mom , Cate repeated inside her head. No matter what, this is still my mom. “I will never let anything happen to us, okay? I promise. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Over her mother’s shoulder, the news was showing another press conference, another parade of military higher-ups, another cycle in the endless rotation of frowning experts. She read the ticker: DEMONSTRATIONS ROCK THE COUNTRY, DEMANDING THE GOVERNMENT RELEASE ITS TRANSLATION OF THE KEPLER-88A SIGNAL… NORTH KOREA THREATENS BALLISTIC MISSILES IN RESPONSE TO “WORLDWIDE HOAX”… CHRISTIAN EVANGELISTS TAKE TO THE PULPITS TO DECLARE END OF TIMES…

Cate’s mom pulled away. She was sweating, despite the coolness of the air. But her eyes, at last, found focus. “Nothing’s going to happen to us, Cate,” she said, her head tilted like a bird’s. “Why on earth would you say such a thing?”

SCION 3: I apologize for the interruption, but I fear we’re talking in circles. I believe it would be far more fruitful to further discuss the concerns about the impact of the leak. The communication itself compromises not only the integrity of our deliberations but potentially our planetary security.

SCION 6: We’ve already established there is nothing to discuss. Your sentiments are nothing more than paranoia. The specimens of Epoch have repeatedly denied the possibility of civilizations that predate theirs, despite comprehensive evidence to the contrary. Even if they have the capacity to translate the leak, they can pose no risk to our people.

SCION 11: Every moment wasted on conjecture brings us closer to the Anathogen virus, rendering this entire discussion meaningless.

SCION 13: [abruptly stands ]I would like to propose that a representative of Project Epoch—a human—be present to speak on their behalf. Can it be a just trial if the accused cannot bear witness?

[Let the record show the feeds crashed momentarily due to an upsurge in traffic. ]

ARBITER: Order, please, or we will cut the feeds.

SCION 13: Scions, we are deciding the fate of a species. The humans of Planet Epoch share 98 percent of our DNA, yet we are discussing their potential eradication as if they are no more than bacteria. Do they not deserve a say in their own fate?

SCION 7: It would take more than eight days to bring them here.

SCION 13: Then perhaps we should not be deciding the fate of an entire species in a matter of eight days.

ARBITER: Sit down, 13. [Scion 13 sits. ]Unfortunately, the countdown for the Anathogen dispersal demands a swift decision, and Alma grows ever weaker with each passing moment. Let us continue.

“Earth to Adeem,” Miss Takemoto’s voice rang out from the front of the computer science lab, shocking Adeem into awareness like an electric jolt to his skull.

Adeem looked up, confused. At the front of the room, Miss Takemoto’s hand was still gripping the Expo marker to the whiteboard where she’d begun writing a string of code. From the looks of it, they were reviewing arrays. Kindergarten stuff. He knew he’d zoned out for a reason.

“Glad you could join us again,” she said as the class erupted in snickers. “Now if you could refrain from huffing on that applesauce pouch like a baby elephant, we can all get back to class.”

Adeem shoved his red-rimmed glasses back into place and blinked in slow, clumsy realization. He pulled the applesauce pouch from his lips. He’d been sucking, not blowing—not that he was about to correct her, of course—on an empty pouch of Very Berry Applesauce for God knows how long. When had applesauce turned to air, anyway? Was that why he was so airheaded? The lack of sleep was affecting him more than he thought.

He’d been up all night listening in on ham radio nets—basically discord channels for radio junkies—on his shortwave radio. Ever since he’d overheard a former NASA engineer explain what he knew about the alien message on one of the nets, information not available to the general public, he’d been hooked. He’d even discovered the radio could allow him, if the timing was right, to communicate with astronauts on the International Space Station, people who’d reached the scientific equivalent of enlightenment. And they’d talk back, their voices carried by nothing but photons, almost three hundred miles from Earth. Who knew what else he’d find?