Page 25 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

“It’s too bad,” Jen says with a sigh. “His character was so awesome, you know?”

“Totally. Enjoy the rest of your con!” the fan in the striped costume says.

As the other human departs, Jen turns to me with a conflicted expression. “Do you think I contributed to his breakdown?”

“Don’t be absurd.” I did this. “Perhaps he has some chemical dependency? I understand that famous people often struggle with addictions.”

My tension eases when she appears to accept that as a reasonable explanation. “Good point. I can’t say I’m sorry that they’re hustling him out of here. But I hope he gets the help he needs.”

“You’re a genuinely kind person,” I say.

Jen ducks her head, waving away my statement with both hands. “Don’t be silly. Anyway, it’s your turn to pick our next activity.”

She will find it strange if I have no preference. And I cannot admit that I traveled all this way primarily to meet her—to carry away some bright memories because she illuminated the darkest moments of my exile. So I scrutinize my phone and pick a session that I think will interest her.

“Alien innovations that could be real?” she says. “Nice! I had this one on my list. Let’s go check it out.”

She already seems to have memorized the map and leads the way with confidence. Being surrounded by so many humans is a trifle disconcerting, and the smells are overwhelming. Not just bodies but emotions too—and ambient odors as well. I gaze up at the sky and nearly lose track of Jen in the crowd. Rushing, I catch up just as she darts into a long building. Our event is in one of the smaller spaces at the back. Folding chairs have been set up, and they’re about half full when we pick our seats in the middle, but on the aisle.

“I don’t like being completely hemmed in,” Jen whispers.

The panel starts with introductions and credentials. I don’t bother learning them, but I do listen to the earnest discussion. There’s amusement in the debates regarding which inventions could be possible with enough time, resources, and research. I know of no civilization that has perfected transporters. Inorganic matter is easier, but when you add complex biological systems to the equation, the results can be…messy. To say the least.

A special guest in the panel displays photos of some perfect spheres that hit the planet as part of a meteorite dubbed 2N2 by the scientific community. Most fragments burned up on entry, but these artifacts are unusual for their symmetric shape, unusual durability, and intriguing composition: beryllium, lanthanum, and uranium. They’re also quite beautiful, in hues of gold and copper with a deep shimmer in their cores.

And I know what they are.

The Norelians use these as a power source. They’re also the ones who left me stranded on 97-B. So these humans are speculating with fascination over what amounts to used-up batteries, put in terms they’d understand. I keep quiet for obvious reasons while they go back and forth on the topic.

My mind returns to the launch that’s happening soon. I wish the news covered more of what’s used in human ships, but they’re quite proprietary about their technology. They don’t share information freely and data is kept secure. I would need to do some major intrusion to find out, but it might be worth the effort, if I can acquire parts for a shuttle. But how many launches would I need before I’d have enough?

A good while later, the moderator says, “That’s it for formal discussion. Let’s open to some Q&A in the last ten minutes.”

People in the audience line up to ask things, which I find intriguing. I can’t imagine wanting to know something so badly that I’d get in a queue over it. Though I do enjoy mental challenges, I prefer finding my own solutions. For me, that’s part of the satisfaction.

A human male of middling height asks the first question. “Dr. Lovell, you’ve taken a lot of criticism for entertaining the possibility that these objects have an interstellar origin. How do you rebut the claim that these came from Earth as a result of coal consumption?”

“I’ve written an article on the subject,” the scientist says in a curt tone. “And I did a side-by-side analysis, but the most relevant aspect is that the chemical composition simply does not match. It’s not coal ash.”

“That’s just what they want us to think!” someone calls out.

Jen laughs softly.

Dr. Lovell relaxes. “Precisely.”

More and more, I wish I could tell Jen who I am. And what I know.

How would she react? In my experience, all beings possess the capacity to be mercurial. It frightens me to imagine her turning from me in fear. Or worse, betraying me those who mean me harm. What if this is a truth she can’t process?

As we attend more workshops, I weigh the risks and wonder if I’m mentally unwell for even contemplating taking such an immense risk on someone I haven’t known for that long. Months in human terms, digitally. Days here in Rellows. It’s such a fragile foundation, so how can I be certain she won’t react badly? But I can’t leave without help.

In fact, I’m not certain I can leave at all.

With effort, I compartmentalize these grim thoughts as I follow where Jen leads. She doesn’t realize that’s what I’m doing, I think, but I take pleasure in her eagerness, her boundless joy. Perhaps I’ve become desensitized to smaller delights through my habit of chasing colossal adventures. I will savor these moments and replay them later for more detailed review.

We pass from the small tent to a shocking blaze of color on the horizon. That is something I will miss about 97-B. The sky is glorious. I understand the science behind this rare beauty, the spectrums of light and the wavelengths and the high clouds that create the brightest hues. I perceive more than humans do, so it’s even more majestic to me. I’ve been to many worlds and seldom felt the need to stare at the sky as I do here.

I admire the colors and spectrums and feel faintly homesick for the beauty I took for granted and the family I may not see again. When I quarreled with Oona, when I said that I might never come back, I didn’t mean it. They were words spoken hastily and from a place of pressure. And now, from me, my family has only silence. That last interaction haunts me. I didn’t know it would be the last communication we had.