Is Anybody Out There Read online

  “Looking up at the sky can do that to a person.”

  “It also makes me feel a little weightless. Like gravity doesn’t exist and I could just start floating up. Is there such a thing as reverse vertigo? I think I’ve got that. The fear of being sucked up into the sky at a moment’s notice.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a real fear.”

  “It is, I can promise you. I’ve got it. It may not have a name, but I’m feeling it right now.”

  “You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

  “I don’t think so, but it might be time for me to turn my eyes away.”

  “Here. Hold my hand. Is that better?”

  “It’s . . . yeah.”

  “Better?”

  “Yeah. Nicer.”

  “Good.”

  “Makes me feel a little more . . . rooted, I guess. You make a decent anchor.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No, really. That wasn’t sarcastic. You really do sort of anchor me. In the good way. Not the ‘holding me down’ way. And you know what? I hate to admit it, but this actually is kind of . . . okay. The view, the company, this whole thing. Everything considered, maybe it’s not so . . .”

  “Not so what?”

  “Maybe it’s not so terrible that you forced me to come out here.”

  “Well, listen to you. Almost sounds like you’re happy.”

  “Shut up. Don’t ruin it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You don’t actually have to apologize. I’m not being serious.”

  “I know.”

  “Say . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “You ever wonder . . . ?”

  “Wonder what?”

  “Oh, never mind. Just a fleeting thought. And an obvious one.”

  “What?”

  “It’s just one of those standard thoughts that goes through your mind while you’re looking up at the sky.”

  “And that is . . . ?

  “Do you think there’s anyone out there?”

  “Out there . . . you mean like ‘other planets’ out there? As in ‘aliens’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is that your best educated guess?”

  “It’s my most honest one.”

  “So don’t be honest. Speculate.”

  “Speculate . . . Speculate. Um, okay. Yes. There are aliens out there.”

  “It does seem likely, doesn’t it? I’ve heard people say that the odds are good that there’s something out there, somewhere.”

  “It’s pretty vast all right. There’s certainly room.”

  “So somewhere, somehow, there’s probably life on other planets.”

  “Probably.”

  “You ever wonder if we’ll see it within our lifetimes?”

  “Contact with beings from another world? Once in a while. Mostly I wonder why we haven’t seen it already. It gets me thinking . . .”

  “About what?”

  “You really want to hear some speculation?”

  “Sure. You got a theory?”

  “Maybe. One or two. You want to hear them?”

  “I’m lying here, aren’t I?”

  “Well how about this . . . maybe they are out there. And not too far away, either. Invisible to detection, of course, but not too far.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And they visit all the time.”

  “Oh, do they?”

  “Yes, but here’s how it works: they need to feel a connection in order to come down. They need to home in on a signal.”

  “What kind of signal?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not a technological one. Maybe more of a personal one. A quiet one. Maybe just a person, all by himself. Maybe just the energy a human gives off. Someone who’s looking up, just like we are. An individual mind or a force of will, that’s what draws them, what they home in on. Maybe to them, a person all alone in the forest looking up is kind of like a beacon. This wouldn’t work in the city, where there’s so much light and noise, with a dense population, but out there in the quieter parts of the world . . . Who knows?”

  “So this would explain why all those stories about abductions are always coming from rural areas?”

  “Exactly. They don’t dare venture into the highly populated places, but one lone human out there all by himself . . . it would be hard to pass up on.”

  “You do realize what you’re saying, right? You and I live in a pretty secluded area ourselves. It’s hardly like this is the middle of the city.”

  “Which means you never know. So if you don’t see me for a few days . . .”

  “I’ll just assume you’re off sightseeing somewhere outside the Milky Way.”

  “It could happen.”

  “Oh sure. I won’t even go looking for you.”

  “Suits me fine.”

  “Well, at least one good thing comes out of this. Now I know what to get you for your birthday.”

  “Oh, you do? What?”

  “A pair of titanium reinforced britches. With a padlock. So you can avoid any of that unpleasant probing business.”

  “Why don’t you just get me a chastity belt and be done with it?”

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”

  “There you go again. Always trying to stop me from broadening my horizons . . .”

  “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

  “I’m not?”

  “You’re more silly than funny.”

  “But I’m a little funny?”

  “A little.”

  “You know, coming from you that’s a huge compliment. I think I’ll take it.”

  “Let’s just lie here and enjoy the view.”

  “Suits me fine.”

  “Hmmm . . . you know, I may be mistaken, but I don’t think there’s a single cloud up there.”

  “Nope.”

  “Just a perfect clear sky. Filled with a billion tiny shiny things.”

  “I like to think of it as the greatest show on Earth.”

  “Sure. All right, it’s the . . . Wait.”

  “What is it?”

  “Wait, if I’m hearing you right, then . . . according to you, the greatest show on Earth . . . isn’t actually even on Earth?”

  “Well, no, technically, I suppose. But it can be seen from Earth. That’s what counts, right?”

  “I don’t know. You’re working with some pretty skewed logic there.”

  “Can’t we just enjoy it and not pick it apart?”

  “I guess.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll just stare at the moon and let it distract me from all the odd things that keep coming out of your mouth.”

  “Thanks. Really.”

  “Wow, it sure is huge tonight. The moon. And then there’s also the—Hey . . .”

  “Something wrong?”

  “I think I see a comet.”

  “Where?

  “Straight up. Just a little to the left. See it? That dot moving across the sky.”

  “No, I don’t see it. Anyway, it’s probably not a comet.”

  “It’s not? Then what is it?”

  “A satellite, most likely.”

  “Well, isn’t that just as good?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “It’s just as much of a miracle, isn’t it?”

  “How so?”

  “It’s an extremely complex man-made machine that gets shot into space and somehow goes into orbit around our world. I’m sure that involves at least one miracle somewhere along the line. Either that or a ton of headache-inducing math.”

  “Don’t ask me. I don’t really know how satellites work. I just know they spew out thousands upon thousands of annoying TV channels.”

  “Not all satellites are for broadcasting sitcoms. You’re really down on the whole TV thing tonight, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not like I’m trying to be down on TV. Not really. I’m just trying to be up o
n life. The real world. Sometimes I don’t think we spend enough time out in it. So I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t see a satellite as being much of a miracle.”

  “Seems like more of a miracle than just a chunk of rock whizzing through space. At least to me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you think you can put aside your disgust with entertainment technology? For a minute? Long enough to tell me another one?”

  “Another what?”

  “Another one of your theories. On why we haven’t seen signs of intelligent life outside our planet. You said you had a few.”

  “I do.”

  “So . . . ?”

  “Well, there’s always the ‘They’re already here’ theory.”

  “What, like they’ve integrated into our society and we don’t even know it?”

  “That’s certainly one idea, but I had a somewhat different thought.”

  “Which is?”

  “More of a ‘side by side’ thing.”

  “Not sure I follow.”

  “Imagine this: There’s a planet somewhere out there with a very advanced civilization on it. Scientifically advanced. Now, they may look like us or they may not, but—”

  “Let’s say they don’t. Let’s say they’re like giant bug people.”

  “Okay, fine, they’re giant bug people.”

  “With six arms.”

  “Who’s telling this story?”

  “I’m helping make it more interesting.”

  “If you say so. Anyway, this scientifically advanced society has gone and perfected space travel.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “And all they want to do now is get out there, go exploring and meet some . . . well, aliens, for lack of a better word.”

  “So in this story, we would be the aliens.”

  “Yes. Good to know you’re keeping up.”

  “I’m quick that way.”

  “Now, these bug people are on a totally peaceful mission. There’s nothing bad here at all. They just want to find some other forms of intelligent life, exchange ideas, and, you know . . .”

  “Make friends across the galaxy.”

  “Yes. Pretty much that kind of thing. Now let’s say these six-armed folks have been on this mission—on this ship—for years, maybe decades, searching and searching, coming up with nothing, and they’re just about to give up and turn back around . . . when something happens.”

  “They find Earth.”

  “They find Earth. Right. Exactly. Our little planet. And it’s celebration time. Finally, finally, they’ve found something—someone—they might actually be able to communicate with. There’s a banquet on the ship, a great big party, with hats and noise makers, everybody gets drunk, and things couldn’t be better. The next day preparations are made for their grand entrance or unveiling or whatever you want to call it. Protocols are followed. They break out their official ‘meet new species’ uniforms—which are essentially the same as their regular outfits only with multicolored gloves, because of all the extra hands, you know—and then—”

  “Get to the point, please.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I get it, okay? They’re happy they found us. Then what happens?”

  “I’m just trying to set up how big a deal this is for them. How motivated they are for things to go well.”

  “You’ve done that. Move on. What happens next?”

  “Well, next they fly down, land, exit the ship to come meet us, and things are looking pretty darn good . . . right up until they realize there’s this one little wrinkle.”

  “Which is?”

  “We can’t see them.”

  “We can’t?”

  “Or hear them. To us, it’s like they’re not even here.”

  “We don’t even see their ship?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sucky. So why is that happening?”

  “Because we’re out of phase.”

  “We’re out of what now?”

  “It’s like this: we’re here, and they’re here, but all of us are slightly removed from each other. Like two different dimensions partially coexisting at the same time. Overlapping, sort of.”

  “So what does something like that mean?”

  “It means that these bug people are walking around, looking at us, trying to talk to us, but we’re just not registering them.”

  “So why is it they can see us while we can’t see them?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re just more advanced. Maybe they have different kinds of eyes than we do or see different spectrums of light. There’s endless possibilities.”

  “But you’re saying they could be right here? Standing next to us now?”

  “For all I know, they landed ten minutes ago, just behind the house. There could be one of them leaning over you right this second saying, “Hello. Helloooo . . .”

  “Not in English, though.”

  “No, probably not in English. Anyway, after you don’t respond, or even blink at him, the first buggy humanoid turns to his buddy and says something like, ‘Can you believe this? What the hell? It’s like we’re invisible to these idiots.’ And his buddy just shrugs his many shoulders and says, ‘I don’t know what to tell you, man.’ ”

  “I bet they’re getting exasperated.”

  “I think they might be. And then the first one says, ‘Watch this. I’m going to wave my hand right in front of one of their faces,’ and his buddy says, ‘Go for it.’ And he does, and then, when the human—that’s you—doesn’t react at all, he says, ‘Still nothing. Nothing. This is so frustrating, ’ and then his buddy says, ‘I agree. Hey, I think I saw a farm down the road. Let’s go mutilate some cows.’ And the first one says, ‘Awesome idea.’ ”

  “Ohhh . . . groan.”

  “Don’t tell me you doubt my theory.”

  “No, of course not. But let me see if I understand you correctly. These visitors—these humanoid buggy people—they’re not in phase enough for us to see them or hear them, but they’re solid enough to go on a cattle mutilation spree?”

  “I know. Hard to believe, but that’s exactly what happens.”

  “You’re such a goon.”

  “I can’t be held responsible for how this whole dimension overlapping thing works.”

  “Talk about the dumbest . . . the most absolutely absurd and stupid . . .”

  “What? Come on, you said you wanted to hear a theory. You wanted me to speculate. Well, there you go. That’s some speculation for you.”

  “It certainly is.”

  “And they’re not finished, either. Once they’ve finished up at the farm, they’re still pretty angry.”

  “Slicing up Bessie didn’t quite do it for them?”

  “Nope, still peeved. So all of them, they hop back in their ship, and fly out over a nearby cornfield.”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “That’s right, they set their ship to spinning round and round and then they grind the hull down into the earth. Because when you’re angry and you don’t have a proper outlet to express yourself, making crop circles is the alien equivalent of doing donuts in a parking lot.”

  “I don’t believe you just went there.”

  “You can see it now, can’t you? ‘Arrrh! God damn humans!’ Screech! Crunch! Crrrunnch!!! ‘Kill the corn! That’ll show ’em!’ ”

  “Oh, you’re terrible.”

  “I know.”

  “Ohhh . . .”

  “Made you laugh, though, didn’t I?”

  “A little. A tiny little bit.”

  “Then that’s enough.”

  “Ahem. So . . . According to you, we now have theories which explain—and let’s see if I remember them correctly—rural abductions, then cattle mutilations, and finally, crop circles.”

  “And I’m sure they’re all spot on.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “I am. I’d stake my world-renowned scientific reputation on it.”

  “You’re not looking, but
if you were, you’d see I’m rolling my eyes right now.”

  “They’re lovely eyes.”

  “Stop it.”

  “They are. Even if they’re right at this moment expressing doubt about my very concrete theories. Still lovely.”

  “Is this going to become a habit with you?”

  “What?”

  “This whole ‘watching the skies’ thing.”

  “Maybe. What do you think about that?”

  “I think I might be okay with it. I might.”

  “Good.”

  “You know, it’s only going to be warm enough to keep doing this for about another month. What then?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we could build a skylight in the bedroom.”

  “How about if we just stick a bunch of those glow- in-the-dark stars up on the ceiling instead?”

  “Not quite the same effect.”

  “But cheaper.”

  “We can afford it.”

  “I suppose. Though in all honesty, I was sort of—oh, hey.”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s that comet again—excuse me—satellite. You know, the one that’s definitely not a miracle.”

  “Right. That one.”

  “See it? There. Up around . . .”

  “No, I—Ahh yeah. I see it now. There it is.”

  “You know . . . Maybe it’s not a satellite. Or even a comet.”

  “What, then?”

  “Maybe it’s some . . . visitors.”

  “You mean . . . other-worldly visitors?”

  “Could be.”

  “I kinda doubt it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because of my final theory.”

  “Oh good. You’ve got one more?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “This is the ‘Came, saw, tried to conquer, got headed off at the pass’ theory.”

  “You mean the one that’s so popular with the kids these days?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Okay, this theory assumes, first of all, that there are tons of aliens out there, on a multitude of worlds, and that all of them are of a certain type. The truly evil, war-mongering, planet-conquering, humanity-enslaving variety.”

  “So, a bad bunch of eggs.”

  “One and all. Now, back some time ago—let’s say the late 1940s—the first batch of aliens came to Earth and immediately declared war. There was no ‘Take me to your leader’, no ‘We come in peace’, they just went straight to trying to blow us up, steal our resources, and generally cause a bunch of mayhem. And after—”