Relay
a sci-fi story by Nenad Pavlovic
It’s April, and it’s snowing. At least here in Colorado. But enough about the weather. In the outside world, inflation is soaring, AI is taking over, and a starship prototype exploded, possibly on purpose? So let’s take another look at the underside.
Here we have an easygoing story about a likable chap thrown into an impossible situation. “First contact” is a concept often employed in science fiction, but this one strikes a different note than usual. What would you think in his place? What would you do different?
Relay
by Nenad Pavlovic
I don’t know how this quantum entanglement works; I don’t pretend that I do, and I’m not gonna try to explain it to you. I just know that it’s the technology that’s allowing us to make a step forward towards making our home among the stars.
For as much as I gathered, here’s how it all went: our astronomers found a planet somewhere out there that is almost exactly like Earth, same size, same gravity, same distance from the sun, and so on. The problem was that it was barren, and also very far away, twenty years of travel using our most state-of-the art rocket ships. So, what they did first was to send out sondes and bombard it with pods containing seeds and spores and eggs and what not, all the things needed to create nature like the one we’ve got here.
Then, they employed that quantum entanglement-thing to make a habitable place out of all that mess. They used it to dig, weed, plow, drain, irrigate, and build houses and factories and such, all by “remote control.” Then, the planet of IK-447, or Ikea, as they called it jokingly, was ready for settling. And just as the first colony ship was ready to depart, we received a message. Apparently, someone, or something out there, spotted our little space construction work. And wanted to talk.
Our top dogs were spooked, to say the least. When they were absolutely certain it wasn’t some sort of a hoax, joke, or ruse, they tried their best to make heads or tails of the transmissions. And, as much as I’ve heard, that wasn’t easy. The language of the aliens (I guess that’s what they are) was like a code, and even after we broke it, the messages never turned out right. But the gist of it was that they wanted to talk. Alone. With only one of us. On Ikea.
Choosing an envoy for the whole human race was no easy task. One man? But who to choose? A scientist? A diplomat? Politician? CIA spook? To cut the long story short, in the end, believe it or not, they picked - little ol’ me! Me, a lowly agent Jeffry Abercromby, a regular cog in the big ol’ FBI machine. They didn’t choose me because of my rank, my service history, or any of my achievements (well, my perfect record in hostage negotiation might’ve played some part in that decision).
No—after a lot of discussion and arguing, the big shots gathered it was just what they wanted to avoid, and picked me because —get this—I was a really swell guy! I never argued or fought with anybody in the Bureau, ever, which in itself was a miracle previously unheard of; I liked everyone and everyone liked me! I guess I just had one of those faces. Or maybe it was my voice. I don’t know how much things like that would matter to an alien, but there you go.
Also, I didn’t have any family—my wife and son died in a car crash seven years ago. So, the forces-that-be gathered that twenty years in a space ice-box wouldn’t hurt me nor anyone else. I didn’t complain either when they asked me to go, as I realized how important that mission was. And I was genuinely curious to find out who or what was out there.
I went through all the preparations, the medical tests and the fittings, until I was ready to lie down in the chill-coffin.
“When you wake up, you will be fifteen light-years away from Earth. But it will all look the same.”
I saw the videos and read the maps and instruction manuals, but I still couldn’t wrap my head around it—it all sounded so bizarre. Still, I lay down, smiled, and let the nurse jab me with the needle that would put me to sleep and send me on my way.
#
I woke up disoriented, not knowing where or when I was. It appeared I was in a bed, in a dark, medium-sized bedroom. I felt cramped and slightly nauseated, with a strange chill passing through my temples and shoulders. I didn’t recognize the room, nor did I recall going there. After a minute or so, it all started coming back to me. The mission… But it was all so darn strange! I had no recollection of the trip, nor of getting on or off the craft. I remembered the instructions, and how it said a team of robots would handle me after I’ve landed, but, it still felt too unreal. And the darkness in the room was strange, wrong somehow. Like the darks were blue instead of black.
Something flashed in my lap. It was a notepad computer, its screen lighting up with a message. There were several messages waiting for me, actually. The first few were automatic, instructional popups, telling me about the conditions on the planet, the infrastructure of the town, and general health and safety instructions. Things I already knew. I skipped them. The second one was a private message. In the sender field was a bunch of random punctuation marks. The green dot in the corner stated that the user was online. Online and on the planet.
“HELLO YOU ARE HERE”
I looked at the letters for a moment, sniffed, and typed a reply.
“Yes, I have arrived.”
I stared at the whiteness of the screen, wondering how much I’d have to wait for the next message. Just as I was about to place the pad on the side table, a new one appeared.
“GOOD MAKE MEET NEW DAY”
I scratched the inside of my thigh and typed: “What is your name?”
“NO NAME Has”
“All right, but how should I call you?”
“NO CALL I CALL MEET NEW DAY”
“OK. Where and when should we meet?”
“yoU GO MOVE TRAVEL NEW DAY WE MEET You”
“Go where?”
“any PLACE GO TRAVEL”
I didn’t know what to make of it, but I abided.
“All right, then. We’ll meet tomorrow. Sleep well.”
“NO SLEEP WE YOU SLEEP”
I didn’t write any more, not wanting to spook whoever or whatever it was that was sending me those messages. A few minutes later, I thought I saw another flashing notification, but when I picked up the device, I saw it was for a message from another user. It was also a local transmission, and also in real-time. But this time there was a call name, and this time it was one I recognized instantly. It said “The Duke”.
Remember how I’ve said that I got along with everyone at the Bureau? Well, that was a bit of a lie. There was one person there who hated my guts: Thomas J Mitrov, better known as The Duke - a nickname he gave himself. Now, The Duke never did or said anything directly untowardly to me, but I could read loud and clear what lay under that mask he passed for a face. Behind the machismo and bravado and that big, faux-cowboy grin he gave me was nothing but bile and poison. Some people would analyze his character, trying to get to the bottom of it, saying that he was unhappy, and insecure, and jealous, and they would probably be right; but if you were to ask me, I’d tell you that Duke was nothing but a big, bad bully. No matter what the roots of that were, that fact was cemented in stone, and no measure of analysis and therapy could ever change it. And now, somehow, he was here, in outer space. Phoning me.
“Why, howdy pardner! Fancy meeting you in this neck of the woods!”
“Thomas? Is that really you?”
“The Duke, one and only!”
“But.. how? And why are you here? Didn’t our hosts specifically request that only one of us came to meet them?”
“Oh, come now Jeffry, did you really think that we’d send you all alone down the unknown frontier? Now, don’t you worry your smart li’l head, you still get to have a personal pow-wow with the Indians. Think of me as… the cavalry! Just in case things go south. Or”—his voice became mean, just like every time he knew no one was listening in—“as a safeguard, in case you start to fraternize too much with the other side.”
“‘Fraternize with the other side’, Duke, what the hell are you even saying?”
“Oh, nothing,” echoed the eerily-clear voice in the strange darkness of the room. I could imagine the smirk on his square chin. “But one must keep vigilant. Hey, don’t blame me, it’s the rules! I didn’t make them! So, what did the little green men tell you?”
“Since you’ve clearly been spying in on my comms, you probably know already.”
“‘Spying’, that such a dirty word! I was just looking after you! And our United States of America, and the entire planet Earth, with all its civilizations…”
I interrupted him with a loud sigh.
“…but I was not spying. I know that you’ve made contact, I just don’t know what you said to one another. Though I do expect that you’ll tell me, being a patriot and an honest diplomat of our dear blue Earth, now, won’t you?”
“You know I can’t. It’s clearly against the rules.”
“Oh, c’mon, Jeffry-boy, I don’t need the saucy details, just the Cliffs Notes! Just enough so I could do my job.”
I sighed again and yielded.
“We didn’t talk that much. They’ve only said that we’ll make contact tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“That they didn’t say. They just told me to… be around. Speaking of which, where are you?”
“Around. Well, I guess I’ll see you soon, Jeffrey-boy. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Duke’s voice threatened, followed by a digital sound-bit of an ended call.
I never got angry, not in the traditional sense of the word. However, this time, I came as close to it as I physically could. But soon, reasoning overcame my emotions. Of course, they wouldn’t send me alone, that much was pretty logical. It’s only that I’d expected a spy satellite, not the darn worst person in the world! But that was also unfair. Duke was undoubtedly a jerk, but he was also a great agent, one that brought in results. And he was my polar opposite, which kind of made sense. I still didn’t like him, though.
I lay down, and gradually fell back into an uncomfortable sleep.
I awoke to a strange dawn. The sun rays were all of a wrong hue. Standing in the sunshine, instead of warmed, I felt like I was scanned by an X-ray machine. It appeared I was in an empty replica of a classic suburban home, fitted with breakfast foods and all the standard appliances. I pretended that it was an ordinary day on Earth. I took a shower, ate my cereal, and went outside. There was an electric Chevy in my garage. I got in and started driving. The chill in my body still wouldn’t go away.
It looked like an ordinary suburb, except it was empty of people, but I could feel oh-so-clearly that there was something amiss. The air smelled strange, more clear than home, but also alien, somehow. And then there was that strange tingling in my body. I wrote it down to gravity not being one hundred percent on par with Earth’s, but never really accepted my own reasoning. I drove in circles around empty streets and remote-printed houses, looking for something, not even knowing exactly what. Were they really little green men, as Duke said? Or were they giants, or microbes, or radiation, or something entirely else, not even visible or detectible by human senses? Maybe they were already with me, as invisible angels? Or maybe they were the car? I had no way of knowing.
My eyes kept turning towards the notepad device, awaiting further instructions. As I passed the third identical block, the screen suddenly flashed.
“NO VEHICLE GO”
I slammed on the brakes and hastily typed back. “Where are you? How will I recognize you?”
“GO NO VEHICLE FORWARD EXPECT CHANCE”
It was cryptic as hell, but I didn’t have much else to go on. I parked the Chevy by the curve and stepped out. The smells, the tingling, the off-sounding birdsong, it all unsettled me even more outside the car. I continued on foot through the wet, acacia-shaded road.
Suddenly, I spotted a camera perched under eaves of a red brick building on the corner. I stopped in my tracks, and pulled out the comm device.
“Yeah?” the gruff voice answered.
“Duke, you there?”
“Where else could I be? Everything all right?”
“I don’t know. Say, those cameras here, are they working?”
“Cameras, mics, seismographs, you name it, we have it all covered. And thanks to that duality doohickey, it’s all in real-time for our boys back on Earth. Why, you seen something?”
“That’s the thing, I haven’t. And I think I ought’ve.”
“Keep your cool, Jeffry-boy, they’ll be coming if they said. Unless our aliens are some sort of intergalactic pranksters! Hah, now that would really be something! Now go off the comm, and do your work.”
I always found it eerie how he switched from jokes to stone-cold orders. That’s not something people with actual soul could do.
I walked under the acacias, breathing deep and savoring the smells. A part of the street ahead was obstructed by a huge puddle of slightly muddy water, but I thought nothing of it as I had good shoes, and it didn’t seem to be very deep. I stepped in it, lost in thoughts again about what the aliens could look like. My foot fell through and I stumbled with it.
I sank to the bottom of what seemed to be a rain water-filled sinkhole, at least eight feet deep. My first thought was that I was going to drown. I started waving my hands and kicking to propel myself back to the surface, but I just couldn’t do it, the water seemed too thin somehow. Scrambling towards the edge, my lungs eventually ran out of air, and I inhaled… and it turned out, apparently, that I could breathe the puddle water, just like air! Even though it was brown with mud, I could see through it without hurting my eyes. And I could see something in it. A large, yellowish wad of sugar-like crystal, sprawling from one wall of the hole to another, like a tree root.
What happened next was very strange indeed. I lost control of my impulses and went towards the crystal. It looked—now, don’t you laugh—it looked… yummy! Like a sugar cane that tasted of lemon and lime and melon and mint and all the things I loved in a dessert. My mouth started watering, slobbering even, and I kneeled to take a bite. My teeth were met by an unyielding, glassy surface. I didn’t hurt myself, but I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to tear a chunk out of it. Then, it started melting in my mouth, like ice, or ice cream, only lightning-fast. To my disappointment, it didn’t taste like any of the things I imagined it would. Actually, it didn’t taste like anything at all, just regular, or perhaps dirty, water. Then, my senses started coming back to me and I managed to climb out of the pit. I sat on the asphalt, moving a bit to catch the rays of the warm not-Sun, getting the not-water out of my nose and ears and mulling over what in tarnation just happened to me.
Then, I rang Duke again. I told him everything. I expected him to disbelieve me or to make fun of me, but he sounded dead-serious.
“Go back to your room. I’ll come by your current location with the test-bot to check if you’re bullshitting me.”
And that’s almost all that had happened to me on Ikea. Duke came over the next day, furrowing his brow as he asked me questions, while the hovering sonde examined my life signals and took samples of my life fluids. All the time he looked as if he’s gonna strike me, getting ‘specially mad for me not telling him about the messages I’ve received, even though the directive specifically stated I was not to divulge those to anyone before the contact was made.
And… Was the contact made? I didn’t get the answer to that question until many years later.
In the days that followed, I didn’t receive any more messages on my notepad device. Duke searched high and low, checked the instruments, sent drones and consulted with the base, but no one got any smarter. That was that, it seemed. And so, we got our asses packed back into the ice-box rocket.
#
Soon after, I awoke in a lab room, not very different from the one I previously left from.
“It’s okay if you feel a bit dizzy and disoriented,” the nice lady in a lab coat said. And while I was a bit woozy, it was nothing compared to the skin-crawling feeling I perpetually had while on Ikea. I was back on Earth; the fever dream was over.
Then came the endless tests and questionings. They took a piece of everything from me, from mind to shit. They never told me if they were content with the answers, but something told me that it wasn’t the case. It was all over: the story was buried and I got an early retirement with all the benefits and then some.
But while the story was buried, it didn’t remain unknown. Soon, the underground crystalline structures started appearing on Earth. First in South America, then Russia, and then all over the globe.
I got a visit by the spooks again, firing the same old questions as well as a whole magazine of new ones. But all of their thumbscrews were for naught: I simply didn’t know anything. What ground their gears was the trend that came about almost instantly: people were trying to eat the yellow crystals, the same way I did, only without feeling compelled. The only conclusion was that I told someone about it. It was only much later that they found out that it was actually Duke who leaked, not only that, but all of the info, to some super-rich tech magnate. Unfortunately for our justice system, he died from a coronary before they managed to get him.
I saw it myself on the television: half-naked people diving into muddy pits, biting yellow space-glass, which dissolved under their teeth. It exploded into a world-wide cult, with converts stating that the crystal water gave them eternal youth and cosmic wisdom. The doctors just shook their heads, advising people not to drink puddle water as it was teeming with bacteria and parasites. The liquid from the dissolved crystals itself didn’t possess any special properties—it was just plain, old, regular water.
I got to keep the iPad-thingy as a souvenir from my star-faring journey; scrubbed of all important top-secret data, of course. And one day, while I was watching the news coverage about a new crystal-worshiping cult in Brazil, I suddenly remembered it. I put down my mug of hard lemonade, scratched my now-snow white beard, and went rummaging through the storage room.
I pressed the round button and held it, waiting for the device to turn on. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but still, I found the empty chat channel and typed:
“You still there, friend?”
I sent the message for my own sake; I certainly didn’t hope to get an answer, and I almost choked on a mouthful of alcoholic lemonade when I actually got one. There was no more of that kooky letters and strange sentences—the message I got was, pardon the pun, crystal clear.
“Yes, I’m still here, friend.”
Now, I should’ve stopped there, taken a screenshot, rang my boss, rang the hot-line, called the army, navy, air-force and marines, followed the whole procedure I’ve been given.
I should’ve, but then I thought: “Nah.”
I did respond, though.
“So, what was all that about, friend? I thought we were supposed to achieve contact.”
“And we did. You and us.”
“It seemed very one-sided to me,” I typed, pausing only to slurp some more of my lemon drink. “Hardly fair.”
“We understand it may have seemed that way to you. But you have to understand, your race and civilization are not yet ready to meet us on equal terms. Actually, you got a pretty good deal all things considering. And it was all thanks to you personally.”
“What good deal? And how was I to thank?” I typed, musing.
“Just like you are using the quantum entanglement tech to build your habitats on far away planets, so are we using your planet and your people as a relay.”
“Relay? For what?”
“For the continuation of our search for intelligent life. Do not take offence.”
“None taken. But I still don’t get how it was a good deal for us. And what was that about me getting the merits, pardon my vanity?”
“Your planet is constantly broadcasting information: about your biology, history, culture, arts, et cetera. We already knew everything about you, except what you’re really like. And when we met you, we decided that you were good.”
I scratched my dry scalp.
“And what would, hypothetically, had happened, if someone else came in contact with you instead of me?”
“Like your colleague, Duke?”
“So, you knew about him, huh?”
“Of course we knew. We knew everything that happened on the planet. If it were him to first come into contact with us, you and your kind wouldn’t exist right now.”
I swallowed hard. The citric acid and alcohol seemed to constrict my throat.
“Well, what do you know. And what now?”
“Our search for other life-forms has already continued. Thank you, relay. It was an interesting experience.”
Then, the screen went blank, with not a trace of evidence to confirm that anything I just experienced was real.
And some days, I still wonder if it was.
Meet the author:
Nenad Pavlovic is an originally-Serbian and presently-Norwegian writer, author of Salvation on Peril Island (published under a pen-name Nash Knight, 2021) as well as a myriad of short stories the flavors of Sci/Fi, fantasy, horror and humor. Recently he's been picking the sticky underside of his consciousness, scraping dream shavings and mixing them into concoctions which you may find on the shelves of Jersey Devil Press, Piker Press, Kaidankai Ghost and Supernatural Stories, Schlock!, Lovecraftiana, and here. He's also a dad, a teacher and a huge nerd for old video games, weird music and craft beers.
If you liked this story, why not try:
