“They’re really pale.”
“That’s probably from spending so much time on the spaceship,” he said. “We think they lived on the ship their whole lives.”
“Like a generation ship?” I said, and Rachel’s face broke into a big smile.
“No,” he said. “Well, kinda. Okay, I’m just guessing here, but I think they lived on this ship permanently. I think they were on the ship long enough that the pigment in their skin evolved out, like how salamanders in caves are albinos. Granted, I’m not a biologist. I’m just—”
“You’re frickin’ director of special projects for NASA,” I said. “And I’m going to tell the New York Times that you said they’re salamanders.”
“It still doesn’t explain why they look human, though,” he said thoughtfully. “As soon as we can we’re going to get a DNA sample. But given how hard it’s been to convince them to go along with our security measures—the fences and the guards with machine guns and numbers we’ve pinned to their chests—I don’t know how long it’ll be before they let us take their blood.”
“I have to say that I’m proud of you, Dad. You didn’t just lock them up like in E.T. You’re behaving much more like Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Good job.”
“There are people who want to tackle them and perform tests,” he said. “The only reason we haven’t done it is because we don’t know how many of them are in that ship. People here are scared, Aly.”
“They don’t have weapons, do they?”
“We don’t know what they have. A lot of them are carrying packages, and we don’t know what’s in them. The only tech that we’ve seen from them is that translator. And that’s sufficiently advanced to make us all nervous.”
“But they seem nice, don’t they? I saw the game of charades where they drew lines from their brains to the vice president’s brains.”
“You saw that, huh? Yeah, they definitely want to tell us something. We just need to figure out what. So, how are things with you? Are you married to a doctor yet?”
“They’re not doctors here,” I said. “Politicians.”
“Yikes,” he said. “You don’t have my permission to marry a politician.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself.”
“Hey, Aly. I’ve got to go. But I’m going to call you back soon. I’ve got a job for you to do.”
“Seriously?” I said with too much enthusiasm. “I mean: Okay. Call me soon.”
“Love you.”
“You, too.”
I hung up the phone and looked up into the expectant eyes of my roommates.
“He said he had a job for me to do soon, which I’m going to translate into me and my two roommates will have a job to do soon.”
I tried to relay the conversation as word for word as I could, but Dad hadn’t really given me a lot of hard facts. Still, his guesses were better than most people’s facts.
“That makes sense about the pigment in the skin and hair evolving out,” Brynne said. “If they were always on a ship. I wonder if it was dark on the ship, or if there just wasn’t any UV light—maybe their artificial light is harmless.”
Rachel nodded. “It would also explain why they seemed surprised by dirt. But still—what’s the purpose of a ship if they never leave it? Do they not have a planet of their own? Are they completely self-sustaining? Do they never have to stop somewhere to pick up supplies?”
“Algae,” Brynne said. “I’ve read about it for long space voyages. Produces oxygen, and they can live off it. They recycle their body water.”
“Their pee,” I said. “That sounds less gross than ‘body water.’”
“But nothing is completely sustainable,” Rachel said. “You don’t pee out as much as you drink. Your body consumes calories that it doesn’t give back. They’d have to refill on supplies somewhere.”
“Maybe that’s why they came here,” I said. “Maybe they were passing through and saw a planet with people similar to them, and they accidentally crashed.”
“It seems hard to accidentally crash something that big.”
“It seems harder to fly something that big,” I said.
Brynne tapped her tablet screen. “By the latest count, they’ve passed the four thousand mark. Aliens who have come out, I mean.”
I opened my laptop back up. “Are they all still standing out in the open?”
“The army is putting up tents,” Brynne said. “But I bet they’re cold. Fox News has a picture of a woman alien holding a baby.”
“Really? Does it look like a human baby?” Rachel asked.
“It’s not a larva,” I answered.
A girl popped her head in the door. “Hey, guys.”
“Hey, Emily,” Brynne said.
“The president is speaking tonight, now that he’s had a chance to communicate with the aliens.”
“That’ll be weird,” I said. “How much could they have communicated this fast?”
Emily moved into the doorway and leaned on the jamb. “Faster than you might think. There was a study out of the University of Utah—”
“Nerd!” Brynne called out, and threw her pillow at Emily.
Another girl appeared behind Emily—a girl dressed like one of the aliens, in mummy rags. “Today I officially say, ‘Who cares?’ You know what this school needs? A party. And what would a party be like without the succubi?”
It turns out that it’s not that hard to throw a party if you go to the Minnetonka School. The cafeteria is always stocked with a hefty array of desserts, and there’s a soda machine and chips with six different kinds of salsa. It’s a wonder that everyone in this school isn’t overweight. Well, not really—pretty much every student is a type A personality with an eating disorder.
Not me, though, and I made sure to force chips and pie and cheesecake onto everyone.
We were wearing our alien suits, of course. It only took Brynne trying on her skintight mummy costume (a leotard wrapped in strips of cloth from cut-up bedsheets) and parading down the hall for all the other girls to decide they needed to compete or be completely overshadowed. And somehow the boys got wind of it, and they were doing their best; there were a lot of abs, biceps, and pectorals on display. None of us looked exactly like the aliens, but we looked like their alternately sexier/shabbier versions.
Someone plugged their iPod into the TV, and we all danced as we waited for the president to speak.
I learned a lot at the party. I learned that Sunglasses Girl always wore sunglasses in her hair, even when she was dressed up as an alien. I also learned that her name was Hannah, and that her dad was a senator from South Carolina. I even learned that she knew how to dance really dirty and attracted a lot of attention from the guys. So, enlightening.
I overheard one of the dorm resident assistants asking another if we should be acting like this in the middle of a national emergency, and the other one said that everyone mourns in different ways. It hadn’t occurred to me that we were even mourning—I had been so caught up in the aliens coming out of their ship that I hadn’t thought much about the people in the path of the crashed spaceship. But I also got the feeling that the counselor thought we should be mourning all the time, for the sake of our waning youth, or our uncertain future, or for all the people who were outside Minnetonka and not getting to dance like aliens. Maybe he was right. Or maybe he needed to eat more habanero salsa.
The music cut out and everyone turned to look at the TV. The shot had changed to the president standing at a podium. He was in a tent by the spaceship, dressed in a suit and tie, like always. Beside him stood four of the aliens—the four who had first emerged from the ship.
“Tonight I greet not only my fellow Americans, but also the people of the world. An historic step has been taken today, and we now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are not alone.
“Let me begin with what we know. Six days ago, an alien craft crashed onto Earth. We now know that this crash was an accident, and I want to stress that this disaster was
in no way a part of our alien visitors’ plans. I have assured them that the American people will recognize this for what it was—a terrible, terrible accident. We have no intent to punish these well-intentioned people for what has happened.
“I have been in communication with them all afternoon, and soon we plan to introduce them to the United Nations, as they are visitors not just to America, but to the entire human race.” He gestured to the bearded man beside him. “This is Mai, and he is the leader of this group. They call themselves the Guides. It is indeed unfortunate that they landed in such a tragic fashion as their intentions were to come here to help us as a people, to teach.”
Emily, the languages expert, shouted, “That’s bullshit. They came here to teach? Teach what?”
Everyone shushed her, although I was sure many people agreed.
“America welcomes the Guides. I’ve spent the last few hours with Mai, and I feel his group poses no threat. We will be setting up shelters for them as they are transferred out of their spacecraft and slowly integrated into society. We are taking every step to make sure that everyone is safe, both human and alien. We will be protecting everyone—everyone—from threats to their health and to their physical safety.
“For those of you who are suffering tonight, we are mobilized to help you. For those who are concerned, let me assure you: we are taking every precaution. We will constantly be updating America and the world. God bless you, and God bless America.”
Maybe it was the Navajo in my blood and the history of Native American oppression, but the idea that these aliens were here to teach us didn’t really work for me. I wasn’t going to stubbornly insist that there was no possible way that someone might have a better idea of how things ought to be done. But these guys had just wiped out twenty thousand people. And they expected us to listen to their ways of peace and prosperity? Fine, it was an accident. We all make mistakes. But this was like someone driving a semitruck through your living room, running over your grandpa, and then getting out of the cab and telling you how to move on.
And were they really calling themselves the Guides? Could you get any more pretentious?
I suddenly wanted to be out of my stupid alien costume. I didn’t want anything to do with them. I stormed out of the party, my bare feet slapping on the cold cafeteria tile. I was already yanking off strips of fabric by the time I got to the Ghouls sign, and was down to my sports bra and shorts when I got to my room, a trail of torn bedsheets in my wake.
I yanked my phone from the table and called my dad. It rang once and went to voicemail.
“What the hell, Dad? Guides? They’re here to tell us what to do? Call me back, because this is ridiculous, and I need to know that the world isn’t just rolling over and letting these people—these aliens—tell us how to live our lives.”
I hung up and tossed the phone on the bed beside me.
After about ten minutes I got a text from him. Swamped with work. Can you do dinner Wednesday?
I texted back with Sure. Love you.
He didn’t reply. He always replies. He always tells me he loves me. Damn those aliens.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I shouted.
“Are you sure?” It was a male voice. “There’s a lot of clothing that didn’t make it to your room.”
“I’m decent, Kurt,” I said, leaning back against the wall. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”
“A lot of things aren’t how they’re supposed to be.”
“I don’t need you to be all sympathetic. I just want my dad to answer his phone.”
He sat down at the empty desk and turned the chair to face me.
“So what are you thinking?” he asked after a moment.
“What do you think I’m thinking? This is bullcrap.” I left him in the common room and went into the bedroom to pull on a sweater and a pair of jeans.
“I’m not even American, and I agree with you.”
“You’re not American?”
“Technically Indian,” he said. “I’ve been in America since elementary school though. My first name’s not Kurt. It’s Karthik.”
“So I learn there are alien Guides and my friend isn’t American all on the same day,” I said, elbowing him in the ribs as I stepped back out of the bedroom and plopped down on the couch, leaning next to him.
“I’m more American than I am anything else. I just don’t have the citizenship.”
“So you’re not going to be a politician in the politician mill?”
“Not planning on it.”
“I bet there are a lot of phone calls happening right now,” I said. “I bet Hannah’s calling her dad.”
“And Ricky’s dad is a congressman,” Kurt said. “And so are Emily Fenton’s and Emily Hughes’s dads. The Congressional Emilys.”
I pulled a throw pillow up to my chest. “This is stupid, Kurt.”
“I agree. I’m amazed the president even said we’d listen to the Guides. You’ve got to know that his approval rating will plummet. He’ll look weak and conciliatory. Maybe he’s going to try to pass the problem off to the UN. That’s what he ought to do.”
“I was defending the aliens,” I said. “All day. I was defending them. I was pissed off when Hannah said they weren’t people. When others wanted to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Your dad works for NASA,” Kurt said with a shrug. “Of course you’d defend the aliens.”
“Honestly, this seems worse than if they landed and started a fight. This is them landing and saying that they’re smarter than us and we should want to be like them. And we have to listen because we feel guilty that they just got stranded on our planet with no hope of getting back home.”
“It’s worse than that,” he said, standing up and moving to sit next to me on the couch. “What if they are smarter than us? What if they have some really great ideas, and we have to change everything?”
I turned to look him in the eye. “Do you believe that?”
“I think they dress funny,” he said, looking back at me.
I smiled.
“They don’t look evil,” I finally said, turning away from him and staring at the floor. “They look nice. They look normal.”
He turned away, staring at whatever I was staring at. “They do look normal. Maybe they are? Maybe this was all just a horrible accident, like the worst kind of first impression ever, and now they’ll be labeled as bad forever.”
My phone rang at eleven that night, and I snatched it up, assuming it was Dad.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end had a rich, melodic accent, but was scratchy, like a vinyl record. “Tsosi.”
“Shimasani!” I said, and sat up in bed. My grandma didn’t have a phone at home—she used the pay phone at the gas station, which meant I couldn’t ever get hold of her; she had to call me.
“Ya’at’eeh.”
“Ya’at’eeh, Shimasani! I’m so glad you called. Have you seen the news?”
“Yes, yes. Is your father working on it?”
“He is. We moved to Minnesota.”
“You’re sixteen now. You need to come back to the reservation.”
“I’m seventeen,” I said. “And I had my kinaalda when I was thirteen.”
“But I need to see you. My daughter had only one daughter. I don’t like what I’m seeing on television, on the news. I have much to teach you.”
“And I want to learn it,” I said, really meaning it. The peace and calm of the reservation was better than any vacation. “But right now I have to be here for Dad. He’s working too hard, and he needs someone to take care of him.”
“Your mother died so young.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just went with, “Yeah.”
There was a long pause.
“Are you there, Shimasani?”
“I’m here. Come visit me. Bring your friends.”
“I will.”
“Someone else needs the phone
.”
“I love you.”
“Ayóó ánííníshní.”
The call disconnected.
SEVEN
I settled into the school over the next few days, getting used to the dorm and the common rooms and my roomies and Kurt without having to worry about homework getting in the way. We watched the fund-raising concert for the families of the victims. Brynne and Rachel and I just saw it on the couch in the common room, but some of the kids paid for tickets and went: the concert was playing in the Minnesota Vikings stadium. We saw Emily Fenton in the front row, getting high-fived by Taylor Swift, and we thought she’d died, the way she swooned.
The next night was much more somber. The student body president had organized a candlelight vigil, so we all put on our heavy coats and stood outside while someone sang “Amazing Grace.” I thought something from Frozen might have been more appropriate, or even “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” But instead of taking requests, we had the world’s longest moment of silence, and yes, I’m a baby, and yes, I’m probably going to hell for thinking about hypothermia during the silent moment instead of the many people who died.
I ended that night sipping from a large mug of hot chocolate while sitting by the fireplace in the common room, leaning against Kurt. For warmth, that’s all. Seriously, that’s how people warm up. Read any survival handbook.
Anyway, all good things must come to an end, and on Monday, classes resumed and I found myself in AP U.S. History. AP U.S. History is the same no matter where you go, I discovered. I’d been there for twenty minutes and already had an essay assigned.
“Hey, guys, come look,” Hannah and her sunglasses announced to the class, and we all moved over to the window to see what she was so interested in. The teacher had turned on a video about the French and Indian War and then left the classroom. Yes, even in expensive private boarding schools the teachers put on videos and leave the room.
There was a rapidly growing cluster of protesters standing at the gate of the school. They were carrying signs that we couldn’t make out and gesturing angrily. A pair of school security guards was walking down the steps toward them.