It Came from the Sky Page 10

  I spread the blanket on the ground, and we lay on our backs, eyes fixed on the sky.

  “Not much of a moon tonight,” Owen commented, eyeing the small sliver in the sky. (Waning crescent. Ten percent visible.)

  “I prefer this,” I said. “Moonlight blocks the stars.”

  Owen reached down and twined his fingers through mine. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Crickets chirped. Overgrown grass swayed in the light breeze.

  “I heard about Ishmael’s abduction,” Owen said. I opened my eyes and looked up at the night sky.

  When Owen realized I wasn’t going to reply, he asked, “Do you even believe in aliens?”

  While contemplating my answer, I picked out the stars in Pisces, almost directly overhead.

  Alrescha.

  Omega Piscium.

  Kullat Nunu.

  “That’s complicated,” I finally said. “When you think of how many chances there are for extraterrestrial life in our galaxy alone, it’s hard not to believe something is out there.”

  “But?” Owen asked. He knew me well.

  “But part of me thinks we’re alone. The implications of that are quite frightening. Have you heard of the Great Filter?”

  “Can we skip the science lesson tonight?”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  But I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell Owen how utterly alone humans might be on our tiny chunk of rock. How, if there were aliens, they could be anything from microscopic organisms to godlike entities. We might not even recognize them. Did that count as a science lesson?

  “Do you ever think about starfish?” I asked.

  “Do I what?”

  “You don’t, right?” I asked. “You’re aware of them, but they’re irrelevant to your life. And even if you went out and found the smartest starfish in existence, you couldn’t sit down and have a conversation with it. You couldn’t reason with it.”

  “So?” Owen asked, impatience edging into his voice.

  “If there are aliens, they might be beyond our human comprehension. For all we know, they’d look at us and see starfish.”

  “That’s kind of depressing.”

  Yes, it was depressing. The universe fascinated me, but terrified me. It made me feel small and unimportant. It reminded me that, no matter what, I might always be a starfish.

  “Have you thought about what could happen if this alien stuff goes wrong?” Owen asked, taking the conversation back to its starting point. “You and Ishmael could get in serious trouble.”

  “I really don’t—”

  “You could screw up your chances of getting into MIT.”

  I was doing this for MIT, though. Without the hoax, would the admissions board see me as extraordinary enough to accept? I wasn’t like Sara Kang, my competition for valedictorian, who had perfect grades and tennis trophies and a charity she started, on her own, during fifth grade.

  Jealousy welled up inside of me and I tried to push it aside. Letting envy consume me would only hurt my focus and productivity.

  “Well, I don’t intend to get caught,” I told Owen. If the hoax went according to plan, no one would ever realize my involvement in it. My sociological paper would be through the eyes of an innocent bystander, simply observing alleged alien activity.

  There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I guess what’s bothering me is… Does it make you feel good to trick people?”

  “What?” I sat up and Owen followed. “No. It’s not like that.”

  “What it’s like then?”

  “I…” I looked around, as if there was something in the field that would save me. The arrival of a UFO would’ve been very convenient. “I feel like you’re judging me right now.”

  Owen let out a breath of exasperation. “I’m not judging you. I just want to know what’s going on in your head.”

  “You know more about me than almost anyone.”

  “If that’s true, it’s really sad,” Owen said.

  I looked back at the sky, where, despite the complexity of the universe, things seemed so very simple.

  After a long silence, Owen said, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

  “Do you even care?”

  “Of course I care. I just… This conversation is making me uncomfortable.”

  The same way I got uncomfortable every time I was expected to articulate my emotions. It inevitably ended with me feeling like I was only pretending to be a person. Like I was the alien, trying to participate in human rituals I didn’t understand.

  “Well, it makes me uncomfortable to not know where I stand with you—”

  “You know where we stand,” I said.

  “Since when?”

  “You want me to tell you those feelings in words. That’s not how I express myself.”

  Owen rubbed his eyes. “Whatever. You win again. We’ll drop it.”

  It was the part where I was supposed to say no, we should keep talking. That I wanted to. I should’ve told Owen everything, how much he meant to me, how I hadn’t felt the same way about anyone else, how scared I was of losing him even though I knew it was unavoidable.

  I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Instead, I gazed at the sky, and thought about everything above us that was unseen.

  “Want to know something cool?” I asked, knowing he didn’t want anything of the sort. “Neptune was mathematically predicted before it was visually spotted.”

  “Wow. Fascinating,” Owen deadpanned.

  I plowed ahead. “See, the orbit of Uranus was defying the laws of Newtonian physics. This mathematician realized the weird orbital behavior would make perfect sense if there was a similar-sized planet nearby. He did the calculations, figured out where the mystery planet would be, pointed a telescope at that spot, and lo and behold: there was Neptune.”

  “That’s great, Gideon.”

  I pretended not to hear the hollow tone of his voice.

  I pretended I knew how to be the person he wanted me to be.

  Interlude

  The Great Filter

  Perhaps it’s time that I, Gideon Hofstadt, address my thoughts on the existence of extraterrestrials.

  First, the facts:

  • The Milky Way Galaxy contains more than 400 billion stars.

  • About 20 billion of those stars are like our sun.

  • Approximately one fifth of those sun-like stars have an Earth-sized planet in their habitable zone—an area favorable to the formation of life.

  • If only .1 percent of those planets actually contained life, there would still be 1 million planets with life in the Milky Way.

  With those odds, aliens must exist.

  Yet…we have no evidence of them. Oh sure, there are claims by UFO hunters, but there’s no hard evidence. According to the previously listed points, extraterrestrials should be an undisputable fact.

  This is where the Fermi Paradox comes in. The Fermi Paradox essentially states this: there should be aliens out there—so where are they?

  Something must be stopping intelligent life from colonizing the universe. A barrier, or filter, if you will. The Great Filter. An event in the timeline of a planet that life simply can’t overcome.

  If this is true, what does it mean for humans?

  It could be that Earth has already passed the Great Filter. The conditions required for complex life to form might be more complicated than we realize. Maybe there are countless planets where life began, but only humans were able to progress to the point of actual civilization. If that’s the case, Earth is one of the first—if not the first—planet with intelligent life.

  It’s a bleak thought. It would mean we’re utterly alone, trapped on a tiny planet in an eternal universe.

  The other
option is that the Great Filter is still ahead of us. Meaning sometime in the future, an event will occur to prevent us from progressing to travel outside our own solar system. Maybe it’ll be nuclear war. Or climate change. Or maybe we’ll end up destroying the planet with our own technology. If this is true, we’re closer to the end of our civilization than the beginning.

  Basically, we’re a lonely anomaly in a dead universe or we’re on the verge of the destruction of the human race.

  Neither option is comforting.

  So, do I believe there are aliens out there?

  The answer is, I don’t know. But I want to believe.

  I want to believe very badly.

  Newspaper article

  The following article was reprinted with permission of the Lansburg Daily Press.

  SERIES OF UFO SIGHTINGS BAFFLES RESIDENTS

  By K. T. Malone

  September 17

  LANSBURG, PA—Lansburg has always had a relationship with the bizarre—one simply needs to look at the lava lamp at town center to remember this. But in recent weeks, a new strangeness has rippled through town. Residents have reported seeing lights in the nighttime sky—and more than a few people are convinced these lights are of extraterrestrial origin.

  The start of the phenomenon can be traced back to the Hofstadt family, lifelong residents of Lansburg, who own property on Olga Lane. Jane Hofstadt, née Warren, is the great-granddaughter of Jefferson Warren, who is still celebrated for his contributions to farming technology.

  On September 7, the two oldest Hofstadt children reported a mysterious explosion on their property. Days later, local blogger Adam Frykowski published an article on his website purporting that the explosion was caused by extraterrestrials.

  While many Lansburg residents scoffed at the idea of aliens among us, others came out of the woodwork, claiming they too had witnessed UFO activity.

  In the past week, the recently dubbed “Lansburg Lights” have gained attention, attracting curiosity seekers around the region. Popular radio broadcaster Robert Nash even featured the Lansburg Lights on an episode of his nationally syndicated program.

  Now the story has taken yet another turn. A new blog post by Adam Frykowski asserts that the oldest Hofstadt child experienced an alien abduction and has the scarring to prove it. The Lansburg Daily Press reached out to Victor and Jane Hofstadt for confirmation, but they declined to comment.

  Event: The Seekers Arrive

  Date: Sept. 17 (Sun.)

  For once, I was happy Owen didn’t share my shift at Super Scoop. We’d left things in a weird place the night before. I was 77 percent sure we were both only pretending everything was normal.

  But I was not happy that Ishmael was busy and Father had to give me a ride to work. He grumbled the entire way.

  “This is the problem, Gideon. Refusing to drive doesn’t only impact you. I have a training session this morning, and if you could’ve driven yourself here…”

  Father occasionally worked at the gym—for fun. I considered pointing out that the entire reason he didn’t have regular training sessions was so he could take care of me and my siblings, but decided it wouldn’t be in my best interest.

  “Look, Father,” I said. “I have a large workload right now. When my schedule frees up, we can discuss me learning to drive.”

  “When your schedule frees up,” he repeated, somewhere between amused and annoyed.

  I hopped out of the car once we reached the edge of downtown and walked the rest of the way, passing Ye Olde Soap Emporium and Ye Olde Hot Dog Stand and other kitschy shops. (For the record, not only is “Ye Olde” inaccurate Old English, but “ye” should be pronounced “the.”)

  As I approached the town square, I noticed strange activity in the vicinity of the lava lamp: it was surrounded by people. Not the usual elderly tourists, but people of all ages. The youngest looked only a few years older than me.

  There was nothing obvious binding the crowd together. Their clothing indicated a range of social backgrounds and interests. Some carried cameras, but they were high-end ones with long lenses, not the usual tourist fare. There wasn’t a single selfie stick in sight.

  And were those binoculars I saw around one man’s neck?

  A few of the tourists gazed at our darkened lava lamp, but most were engaged in conversation with one another. A middle-aged man in a tweed jacket and bow tie, with hair sticking out in all directions, moved through the crowd, talking animatedly with everyone he passed.

  Interesting.

  I continued to Super Scoop. Laser was behind the counter, using the chrome siding on the milkshake machine as a mirror and darkening her already-dramatic eyeliner. She didn’t glance up.

  “What if I was a customer?” I asked.

  “Then you’d be reminded that style isn’t effortless.”

  Fair enough.

  I donned my paper cap and glanced back out the window. “There’s an odd group of tourists outside.”

  “Seekers,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “That’s what they call themselves. It’s short for Truth Seeker. Like, they try to unveil the mysteries of the world or some shit.”

  I froze. Laser mistook my pause for lack of understanding.

  “They’re UFO hunters,” she clarified.

  I hurried back to the window and took a longer look at the group. Yes, I saw it. A ragtag group of people. Their age or their social background wouldn’t be what bound them. No. It was their belief system. Their belief in things that came from the sky.

  “They showed up last night,” Laser went on. “There’s more of them than this. Probably a hundred? I don’t know where they’re staying.”

  Who cared where they were staying? All that mattered was that they were in Lansburg at all. I’d drawn them to town. I’d attracted nationwide attention.

  I basked in my accomplishment and pushed aside the nagging thought of Owen sounding so disappointed in me. Asking me why I was doing it, if it felt good to trick people.

  A Brief List of Beliefs Held by Seekers

  • Aliens exist.

  • The government knows aliens exist.

  • Most UFO sightings are legitimate.

  • The government knows UFO sightings are legitimate and wants to hide this from us.

  • Area 51 is a government base in the Mojave Desert where there’s evidence of alien life.

  • The government will never let us see that evidence.

  • There are a variety of additional phenomena the government has awareness of but continues to hide (e.g., the Bermuda Triangle and Bigfoot).

  • The government regularly creates false events and presents them to the American people as true (e.g., the moon landing).

  • The government has secret means of controlling the American people (e.g., chemtrails).

  • The government, overall, should never be trusted.

  Event: The Seekers Arrive (Cont.)

  It was several hours before I encountered my first Seeker up close.

  My shift was nearly over. Cass—wearing a ’90s grunge–inspired outfit—arrived at Super Scoop to get me through the last thirty minutes. After that we planned to meet Arden and go bowling. (Bowling: the ultimate we-live-in-a-small-town-and-have-nothing-else-to-do last resort. Also bowling: better than seeing a movie, where I’d become stressed about the implausibility of the plot.)

  “I know Arden wants it to be this big event where we shop for homecoming dresses together,” Cass said while I restocked ice cream toppings. “But the whole time she’ll talk about how sad it is to go without a date. And like, I just can’t deal. I don’t have a date. You don’t have a date, because god forbid you be ballsy enough to go with Owen—”

  “I told you I’m not attending the dance.”

  “You are, but that’s beside the point.
No one cares about dates. Everyone goes in groups anyway because it’s not the freaking 1950s.”

  “What does this have to do with shopping?” I asked.

  “Because. If Arden and I go shopping, she’ll whine about wanting a date and I’ll feel uncomfortable and won’t know what to say, because the truth is, she could easily find a date if she lowered her expectations.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I notice you’re feeling unkind today.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Cass said, tugging at the sleeves of her oversized flannel shirt. “She has this built-up idea of what romance means, and she’s so obsessed with it that the real world won’t ever live up. Not to mention, if she wants a boyfriend she should probably, you know, talk to guys.”

  “Huh,” I said, draining a can of sickly sweet maraschino cherries. “I didn’t realize romance was so vital to Arden.”

  Cass snorted. “Probably because you’ve hardly bothered to get to know her. Hey, why don’t you go dress shopping with her?”

  “I hate shopping.”

  “No kidding, cargo pants. We really need to have a talk about your wardrobe choices.”

  “I’ve told you several times,” I said. “I appreciate the utilitarian advantage of extra pockets. Besides—”

  The bell on Super Scoop’s door chimed and someone came in, ending the conversation.

  I glanced at the customer and was immediately apprehensive. It was the man I’d seen wandering near the lava lamp earlier, the one with the tweed coat and wild hair.

  “Greetings,” he said as he approached the counter, smiling and stiffly raising his hand in an awkward wave.

  “Welcome to Super Scoop,” I said. “What can I get for you?”

  He didn’t look at the illegibly scrawled but “charming” menu written on the chalkboard. Nor did he eye the ice cream case, with its fifty delightful flavor options.

  Instead, he looked directly at me. “You’re one of the Hofstadt brothers, are you not?”