Chapter 10: The Return

The journey: home took seven hours. The: same seven hours. The: same living ship. The: same warm, pulsing walls. But: everything was different because: I was different. I had: left Earth as Arjun Sharma, pump: engineer, recently dumped, statistically: average. I was returning: as the man who had: saved the planet from: quarantine. Temporarily. With: conditions. But: saved.

Zrix: sat across from me. The: alien was doing something: with a crystalline device — the: Vidyaadhara equivalent of: paperwork. Filing: the verdict. Processing: the deferral. The: bureaucratic aftermath of: a galactic hearing, which: was apparently as tedious: as the Indian government: equivalent.

"The monitoring. Begins. Immediately," Zrix said. "Council observers. Will be. Stationed. In your. Solar system. They will. Track. The milestones."

"Will: they be visible?"

"No. Perception filter. Your species. Will not. Know."

"So: we have to fix: seventeen violations without: knowing we're being: watched?"

"That is. The point. The Council. Wants authentic. Change. Not performance."

"And if: we fail?"

"Quarantine. Immediate. No appeal."

"What does: quarantine actually: mean? For the: average person?"

"No satellite. Signals. No GPS. No international. Communications. No space. Program. Your species. Confined. To the. Surface. Of your. Planet. With no. Connection. To the. Galaxy."

"So: like the 1970s."

"With. The addition. Of four. Thousand. Seven hundred. And twelve. Species. Knowing. You exist. And choosing. Not to. Speak to. You."

"That's: worse than: the 1970s."

"Significantly."

*

We re-entered: the atmosphere at: 3 AM. Indian Standard: Time. The ship: descended through cloud cover: over Rajasthan — I could: see the Aravalli range: below, the dark: spine of hills that I: had been cycling on: three days ago. Three: days. It felt: like three years.

The cricket ground: in Hiran Magri. The: ship's legs extending. The: stumps still scattered: from the departure. A: cat — the neighbourhood: cat, the grey tabby: that terrorised the: building's rats — was: sleeping on the pitch. The: cat did not: wake. Perception: filter. The: cat perceived: nothing.

I stepped: out. The: August night air: of Udaipur hit me. Hot. Humid. The: monsoon approaching. The: specific, thick, promising: air of a Rajasthan: August — the air: that smelled of: dust and possibility, the: air that said: rain is coming and: the desert will: bloom.

"Thank you," I: said to Zrix. "For: selecting me. For: the six-hour briefing. For: the grey paste."

"You are. Welcome. The grey. Paste. Is considered. A delicacy. On fourteen. Worlds."

"It tastes: like nothing."

"That is. The delicacy. Most species. Prefer. The absence. Of taste. Your species. Is unusual. In its. Attachment. To flavour."

"We're: unusual in a lot: of ways."

"You are. You are. The most. Unusual. Average. Species. I have. Encountered."

Zrix blinked: horizontally. And — I: would swear this on: every pump I have: ever designed — the: alien smiled. Not: a human smile. Not: the arrangement of: lips and teeth that: humans used. A: widening of the: enormous black eyes. A: softening of the: grey-blue skin. The: alien equivalent of: warmth.

"One. More thing," Zrix said. "The algorithm. Did not. Only select. For average. It selected. For a. Quality. That your. Species. Possesses. In abundance. And that. Most species. Lack."

"Which: quality?"

"Stubbornness. You are. The most. Stubborn. Species. In the. Galactic. Database. This is. Not a. Compliment. It is. An observation. But it. Is why. The Council. Gave you. Time. Because. Stubborn. Species. Do not. Give up. They fix. Things. Slowly. Badly. With pumps. But they. Fix them."

The: ship dissolved. The: hull — the warm, pulsing, living: hull that had carried: me across the galaxy: and back — dissolved: into the air. Gone. The: cricket ground empty. The: stumps scattered. The: cat sleeping.

I stood: in the August: night. In my Raymond's: suit. In Hiran Magri. On: Earth. My: Earth. The: planet that I had: been given one hundred: years to fix.