Seeing the mother ship for the first time changed everything, everything I'd ever known, thought, believed or hoped for in this life. Sure, I'd seen that big mother on screen. But, in person, the immense gravitational reality of that huge space ship sort of crushed my little psyche, squashed it flat, rendered it pathetically insignificant, leaving me feeling so tiny and uninformed as to be meaningless.
The fact that I was one of the chosen, one of just a thousand people selected, by THEM, to ascend into that thing, me, from a world population of eight billion people, really didn't change my perspective much. If anything, I felt even tinier. What could I bring to the discussion? I'm not a scientist, politician, priest, shaman, or even particularly smart. I'm a carpenter. I drink beer, watch sports on TV. I like fishing and river rafting. I'm not married or have kids. How the hell could I have been chosen by Them to act as an "intermediary" between the human race and their...space race?
But I was, apparently a totally random thing. And tomorrow, I ascend. Tonight, I drink.
Strange how the bar scene seemed so – different. That is, sitting there in that club, flirting and drinking and trying to just relax and be normal – a pretty regular thing for me – I felt like I was seeing it all from in a whole new way, like, how a space man/alien might see it. And I observed that, as a species, mankind is kind of unsophisticated and maybe even a little crude, but we have a certain energy about us. We love life, live it with a kind of passion and gusto.
Is that what I will tell Them about us? I left early, went back to the hotel alone and tried to sleep.
The morning dawned gray and overcast. But that didn't matter in the least. Weather is just another earth phenomenon and today I consort with aliens. Hell, the mother ship acts like a big umbrella over most of the city anyway. And, I'm just too damned excited too care about weather. Today, I'm part of history.
The government people direct us to a hotel conference room where I meet my fellow ascenders. They all have that same wide eyed, confused look, deer in the headlights. I notice that they come in all ages, all types, men and women, all colors. No kids. There's an orientation session, but it's useless. How can these busybody government types hope to prep us for meeting an alien species in a space ship nobody's been inside before?
Of course, we are told that we can back out if we want. Once inside that thing, they assure us, there's no protection. We take all responsibility for our choice. There's no guarantee we won't be kidnapped and whisked away to some distant zoo planet somewhere.
But everybody there seems committed, seems willing, seems excited, though very nervous, to find out what will happen. We all know this is a chance to do something very important.
I see her standing there, a backpack on, looking as lost as I'm sure I look. She's a little younger than me, cute, but dressed down quite a bit, comfortable, practical clothes. Of course, this isn't an event you get dressed up for. She's the kind of girl I'd approach in a bar – smart, funny, healthy...cute. I'm about to approach her there in the big room when the announcement comes to get on the buses.
We exchange a look and it's like instant recognition. I mean, I felt like I could have said nothing, taken her hand and it would have seemed as natural as if we'd been together since high school.
"Hi, I'm Travis," I say.
"Sonya," she replies with a quick smile.
"May I sit by you, Sonya?"
"Oh my god, yes. Thank you, Travis, yes, that would be great," she gushes and then we are on our way.
I take her hand.
The buses drop us off in the middle of the city park. We assemble on the lawn. Then, before we even know whats happening, zip, we are standing in a bright light inside an immense room. Just like that we are inside the mother ship.
There's no orientation session there. It's dark, though the crowd of us are standing in a large spotlight. We mill around, a murmur of low voices, then in another blip we find ourselves transported to another large room, this one well lit. It's got chairs, couches, tables, some food, drinks, bathrooms, it looks like a hotel conference room, a very ritzy hotel. There's even soft music. It's...comfortable.
Sonya and I find a couch and sit. She is quivering slightly. I hold her hand and she squeezes mine. Nothing happens. It's like we were invited there to just sit and enjoy the accommodations.
Then, after fifteen minutes or so, the voice. It is immense, as big as the ship itself. A woman's voice, soft, gentle even, but full and authoritative, and it fills the room.
At first the voice speaks gibberish, maybe an alien language or something. But then the words come clear: Welcome, Terrans.
Everybody stirs, some gasp. The first inter-spacial species contact.
Thank you for choosing to be here. We have tried to make you comfortable. You will hear each other and our voice in your native language.
"Why?" somebody yells, "Why are we here?"
You are here to represent your kind.
Oh fucking great, is my first thought. How am I gonna do that?
You are the fruit of seeds we planted on this planet a long time ago. We will determine if you have developed into fruition.
"What's fruition?" somebody yells.
We will determine if you meet standards, guidelines, criteria, the expectations of the progenitors, who hoped this planet would yield an intelligent, worthy species.
This unsettles the crowd, a few people sound upset, indignant, but most sound just plain worried, anxious.
"What if we're not?" some guy calls out, a voice of defiance.
No harm will come. We will leave.
Sounds like rejection to me.
"Can I get off this ship now?" a woman's panicky voice comes from the back.
No. Not yet.
Several sobs rise up from around the room.
A strong female voice calls out, "What do you want from us?"
Nothing. We can learn all we need by observing you.
And that's it, the last we hear from the voice for awhile. Several people call out questions. How long will we be here? How did you choose us? Why can't I get off the ship? But no answers come. Within a few minutes the tenor of the voices become more indignant. Then a few people get angry. Next thing there's a couple of guys barging around the room looking for exits. There are none. Several women become hysterical.
Little groups form, people gathering to complain, exchange ideas, discuss, mostly complain. Sonya and I end up with a group of people who discuss doing something, act somehow, to show Them that we are an intelligent, worthy species.
But what? Dance? Sing? Recite poetry? Break out our cell phones and show them pictures of our kids? What the hell can ordinary folks do to show an alien that earthlings are...cool.
Time passes. There's a scuffle off to one side. A fight, loud voices. A woman shrieks. A group actually does begin singing, hymns. Then they start to pray. Okay, that's at least something.
The voice doesn't return. More time passes. We start getting tired. A man starts demanding to leave in a loud voice. The sobbing continues here and there.
Sonya and I, for lack of anything else to do, talk, exchanging personal information. She works for a surveying company in northern California and is going to university to become a fitness consultant. Grew up in Humboldt County, someplace I'd never heard of. She likes kayaking, hiking, good music, dancing. Wants to travel to Italy someday.
