Film and media often portray the arrival of an alien species on the shores of our lonely planet as a catastrophic encounter between interstellar neighbours. We demonize and stigmatize creatures that we have never met and know nothing about. At worst, the newcomers might be warmongers hellbent upon our assimilation or destruction, and at best, they are presented as benevolent technological super-savants that see us as little more than a charity case. There is seldom an alien that is simply a kindred to our kind, a traveller of the stars more human than not, wayward and curious, but respectful of that which is foreign.
In truth, these sorts of aliens have been visiting humans for thousands of years, but not in the form that many imagine. They don’t create crop circles, or infiltrate our governments with the desire to design our societies for their own benefit. They don’t gift us with technology that is beyond our comprehension or probe our bodies during nefarious medical experiments. Those are human ideas about aliens, but the aliens that visit are us harbour far more human goals.
On the continent of Antarctica there are penguin colonies that are studied by human scientists. It is difficult to approach these colonies without alarming them, and so our scientists construct tools to perform the interactions that we cannot. In many instances, these tools take the form of mock penguins, vague representations of birds that represent the collective concept of a penguin, if not it’s precise form, such as a remote controlled car with a penguin-shaped shell and cameras built into it. Although not perfect, these disguises are sufficient at fooling the penguins.
Sometimes, anyway.
The wheels are perhaps alarming to those that naturally own flippers and fins, although it is difficult to be certain. No one knows what a penguin is thinking. Perhaps to the penguin, its wheel-born brethren is pitied.
Much like the men and women of Earth that study the penguins of Antarctica, the visitors that approach our home are scholars and explorers. They are scientists studying a species in the wild, not an invader or a tormentor. Just like their human counterparts, they observe their quarry through remote tools that might perhaps go unnoticed by the natives. In effect, they pretend to be one of us solely for the purpose of approaching us. Unfortunately for everyone involved, their disguises are precisely good enough to fool the eye with a cursory glance, but a prolonged inspection will reveal unsettling inconsistencies in their mannerisms.
Like a penguin with wheels.
Several mock-humans walk our streets on a daily basis, piloted by distant limbs, be they thumbed, clawed, or tentacled. Meanwhile, the operators that control the drones remain at a respectfully safe distance, beyond our ability to detect them. On this particular summer night, while swarms of flies buzz within the illuminated pyramids of downcast street lights, one such drone is approaching its quarry, a young man by the name of Nathan Turnpike.
Nathan is waiting for the number eleven bus. The eleven is always late, or perhaps excessively early. Regardless, it is never on time. To combat the risk of missing his ride home, the last trip before the busses roll off to their pen for their slumber, he arrives much earlier than necessary. He skips his breaks at work in order to leave fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, and then he sprints for the bus stop. Although hardly a specimen of physical prowess, sprinting two blocks is less tiring than walking home.
Seemingly alone, and certainly distracted by the cell phone in his hand, Nathan is an easy target for those in need of someone to observe, and so, the alien engineers deploy the validation of their grant money, a tall man in a blue suit. His head is as bald as a billiard ball, and twice as shiny. His face is permanently stretched by a wide, alarming, and clown-like smile, as if he might be prone to frenzied knife attacks in crowded shopping districts. On every step of his approach, his left leg lags wantonly in his wake before flicking forward like a whip, thrusting his knee so violently that his ankle is forced to follow. His arms are as rigid as railroad track, aiming straight from shoulder to fingertip, towards the concrete.
Somewhere in the universe, an assistant complains to their superior that left leg protocols have failed. A scientist blames an engineer. The engineer blames a machinist. Specifications are attacked and then defended. Eventually, a plan is concocted.
The left leg of the tall man ceases its erratic pacing, and instead of flailing like a noodle in a hurricane, it goes as rigid as the arms and starts swinging in wide semi-circles, scuffing its heel as it swoops forward each stride.
Nathan, fully enthralled by his phone, fails to notice the man as he ambles up to stand beneath a nearby oak tree, grinning like a demon and moving like a man with a wooden leg attached at the hip. For more than a minute, the man in blue gleefully stands within several feet of the Earth native. Video is captured. Pictures are beamed across the cosmos. A flurry of congratulations and non-human high-five equivalents are thrown among peers. Someone apologizes to an engineer. High on achievement, a bold initiative is suggested.
Devoid of any semblance of casualness, and painfully rigid, the man in blue strolls over and eases into the seat beside Nathan. His final descent is more of a thud than a settle, as the unbending leg slips forward and robs him of support. The impact jostles Nathan, but he ignores it, thinking only of the delicious turkey sandwich that awaits him in the fridge. He had forgotten his lunch when he left for work.
Unable to retract his leg, the man in blue attempts to position himself in a vaguely reclining pose, as advised by the grad student currently studying human posturing and is for the first time permitted to speak during the operation.
Nathan, sensing the discomfort of the man’s position, offers a wincing grin in reply, but quickly returns to the video on his phone.
On a distant vessel tucked within a blanket of an infinite void, assurances of academic accolades are announced. Without a doubt, their brief exchange must count as social interaction.
Somewhere on a mountain top, an array of satellite dishes registers an anomalous uptick in radio activity far outside the ordinary scope. The man responsible for monitoring the dishes has gone to the toilet after a burrito disagreed with his consumption of it, and he won’t be back for several minutes. When he returns, he will assume that the errant reading is the result of microwaving a second burrito with which he intends to replace the first. In this way, he never discovers the ship behind the moon, which is probably for the best as far as his sanity is concerned.
At about this moment, Nathan directs his complete attention towards the man, and more importantly, the sound that the man is producing. It is a shush-type sound, as if the man has clamped his teeth closed and pressed his tongue in to fill space, but then proceeded to suck air through the wet gaps that remain. He produces a sickly sound in a long, ceaseless, unbroken slurp.
Shhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhl.
The absurd posture. The maniacal smile. The unbroken and unblinking stare. And now, the sound. Nathan quickly concludes that there is something wholly not right about the person beside him, and he wishes that he hadn’t broken his headphones earlier in the week. He turns his head to face up the street, desperate for the sight of the bus rounding the corner in approach.
The lack of eye contact triggers a momentary panic among the observers that huddle around the live feed from their drone. Their experts have studied at length the mannerisms of the native Earth-kind, and quickly conclude that Nathan is attempting to ignore them. The panic comes from the fact that their research grant depends upon the promise of interactive contact, not merely observation.
One of the researchers seizes the opportunity to exercise their academic prowess. Twelve years of study. A doctoral thesis—or at least its vague space-being equivalent. Nine years of field acquisitions and several more of collaborating and categorizing the associated data. Their entire career has led them to this moment, and they know exactly what to do. It takes the controls and activates the voice module, broadcasting a carefully constructed human vocalization.
“Goo. Duh. Eeee-ve-NING,” says the man, in the soothing voice of a sultry woman with amorous intent.
Even after three decades of study, the differences between gendered timbres were never truly mastered by the alien researcher. By all accounts, it was a perfect imitation, and the observers in space are flabbergasted by the stunning aptitude of their partner.
For Nathan, it’s too much to process. He stands up from the bus stop bench and moves several strides away. He’s fairly certain that the maniac in the suit is going to try and murder him, and at the very least, he would like to have a head start.
Panic erupts among the stars. The majority of the team seeks to pursue the interaction, but the lone anthropologist among the group raises a dire warning of dissent. Humans will readily call for aid if they feel threatened, and that aid will arrive in the form of armed police officers. The anthropologist suggests choosing a new target, as losing their remotely operated mock human could cost them their funding. The others agree, but the mission commander refuses to comply. This moment is their opus, and they’ll be damned if they’re going to walk away from the opportunity. Bickering ensues, and while they fight, the man in blue sits perfectly motionless on the bench with his gaze locked upon an increasingly nervous Nathan.
Shhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhl.
The endless sucking sound slithers through the stillness of the night, prickling the hair on Nathan’s neck as it brushes over his skin and worms its way into his ears. Nathan decides that he’s had enough. If this person doesn’t hurt him, then they’re likely going to hurt someone else. He makes an emergency call and attempts to explain his situation, keenly aware of the risk that he might be the one that appears insane.
Nathan’s call is easily captured by the instruments contained within the man in blue and are transferred to the observing party, and although the aliens in charge do not understand the words they recognize that a call for help has been made. Almost at once, the anthropologist-equivalent gloats in the most human of ways. “I told you so,” is what it would say in human terms, but it doesn’t need to, as the verbal expression, and its accompanying physical smugness, is surprisingly universal.
Fearing the loss of their resources, the sucking man attempts to stand up and escape, but his rigid leg combines with the threat of an inexperienced pilot that’s in a hurry, sending him splattering onto the concrete, face down.
Overwhelmed with empathy, Nathan rushes to aid. Perhaps the man has had a stroke, he thinks. Perhaps he has judged the man too harshly. He’s still on the phone, so instead of police he requests an ambulance. As he kneels over the man, a dawning of joy occurs in a distant vehicle.
The Earth native is touching the drone. It’s talking to it!
A new avenue has been discovered. Even the anthropologist accepts that a loss of their precious technology could be worth the data that they will acquire. They all agree that feigning injury and lameness is their ideal route to further contact.
The man in blue begins to flail, rolling onto his back he subsequently swats the phone out of Nathan’s hand, sending it straight into a drain.
Nathan attempts to calm the man down, ignoring the loss of his phone. He once saw a presentation on how to aid a person during a seizure—okay, he stood nearby while the presentation was given to other people and he was supposed to be sweeping, but surely he caught the salient points. He cradles the man’s head in an attempt to keep him from concussing himself on the pavement. All the while, the man continues to thrash and moan.
And suck.
Shhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhl.
Never the most clever of people, Nathan recognizes the conundrum only after a prolonged delay. The man is both inhaling and vocalizing—by way of an inhuman ruckus. Before he can reach any specific conclusion, the bus rounds the turn. Nathan offers a quick thank you to the stars and waves at the driver, eager for assistance. When the bus pulls up, the driver descends in a hurry to see if she can help. The two exchange a brief conversation that suffices as an explanation while the riders of the bus all pile against the nearest window. The vehicle leans noticeably as the fattest among them test the limits of the shocks.
Aboard the spaceship, there is only ecstasy. They are being interacted with! The natives are showing concern! They’re offering to help!
The bus driver asks about the sound that the man is making.
Shhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhl.
Nathan shrugs.
Moments later the ambulance arrives. Its sirens are heard from some distance away, while its colourful lights reflect off the walls of the night-time buildings, announcing its arrival long before its appearance. Just like the bus driver, the paramedics ask about the sound.
Shhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhl.
Nathan and the bus driver shrug.
The man in the suit is loaded onto a stretcher. His neck is braced. A mask of oxygen is placed over his mouth, although it does nothing to actually affect the constructed human body. The police arrive next, and as is expected, they inquire about the sound.
Shhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhlshhl.
Nathan, the bus driver, and both paramedics, shrug in unison.
And then they’re gone. The ambulance carts the man away. The bus driver boards her bus and departs. The police request that Nathan remain behind, and they question him politely. It’s all fairly routine until the police depart as well, and Nathan realizes that the strange events have left him with a long walk home. Very briefly, he considers retrieving his cell phone from the storm drain, but decides that sticking his arm into a dark crevice is a good way to lose it to some sort of monster, and so he begins his walk.
For the creatures in the ship on the other side of the moon, the alien equivalent of champagne has be uncorked. They are all very pleased with themselves. Their careers have been worth every moment of strife and struggle.
For the paramedics and their patient, their arrival at the hospital precedes a bizarre series of events which ultimately sees them and their families relocated to distant places by the inscrutable hand of the government’s most secretive organizations. The doctors and half the nursing staff also vanish.
For Nathan Turnpike, it was simply a very confusing evening and a long walk home. Although he may not be an athletic man, a clever man, or a socially graceful man, Nathan Turnpike is an imaginative man. On his way, he contemplates the strange man in blue and the oddity of his ability to both inhale and exhale at the same time. He imagines that the man was not in fact a man at all, but a device in the likeness of a pump with a speaker attached. To his mind, it was as if someone built a man knowing only that a man should intake air as part of the necessity of human lungs and their purpose. Then he considers the unbroken smile, as if someone painted it on, and the womanly voice that did not belong to its speaker. He begins to perceive the behaviours of the man not as bizarre and threatening, but as endearing.
Perhaps, Nathan thinks, the man was an alien.
For a moment, Nathan imagines himself as someone special. Someone that has been closer to life in the stars than anyone else in the world. He chuckles to himself as the thought dances through his mind before whimsically fleeing into the night.
Unknown to Nathan, he was nearly correct. It was a simple mistake from an engineering perspective. The visitors studied the atmosphere. They studied the human machine. They studied our attire and our mannerisms. However, the alien hands that constructed the man in blue never recognized the importance of the simple rhythm that governs us all, from the day we’re born until the day we die.
A human needs to exhale.
It was such a stark inconsistency that even basic interaction would reveal the error, but when a life is in danger, perhaps we are willing to overlook the contradiction. Perhaps that is why penguins are willing to welcome a four-wheeled fellow into their flock.
