CHAPTER FOUR - Elliot Turner Phone Home

Things are not going well for Elliot, for humanity, and potentially for the universe itself.

Dragged into a hidden interrogation facility disguised as an office designed by authoritarian accountants, Elliot faces a secret organization determined to understand his invention.

Meanwhile, billions of humans attempt to cope with the discovery of alien life by resorting to panic, conspiracy theories, and podcasts.

Will Elliot survive? Will humanity recover from learning it is not special? The aliens are beginning to have doubts.

Transcript

SPEAKER_03 0:00

69th Contact by Jay Den. Chapter 4. Elliot Turner Phone Home. Elliot's head buzzed with static. Through a black and blue eye, he battled to tune into the latest installment of the poorly written comedy that was his life. When his vision cleared, he found himself in a multi-purpose cell, perfect for interrogation, experimentation, and, with a few added accessories, torture. He shivered in his chair and glanced around the room, its atmosphere echoing the vibes of bunkers and car parks. Pulsing notes of pain plucked at Elliot's limbs before handcuffs bit down on his wrist and pinned him to a battered steel table. Ah, sleeping ugly is awake, snarled Director Chiefly. Elliot tried to loosen the steel cuff's grip by shuffling his aching hands. He twisted his head to the side and grimaced at the two-way mirror. Reflected at him was his prison-clad image of fluorescent pink pants and a black t-shirt, featuring the magenta word inmate.

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This is bad, isn't it?

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asked Elliot. Bad is a mere sprinkle on a shit Sunday. Said Director Chiefly, pressing his fingertips together and peering over his steepled hands. As far as I can see it, you have three options. You can rebuild the translizer, a memory pry and fry, or a bullet. But before Elliot could answer, an officer popped his head through the steel door and warbled, Uh Um, sir, there is a uh situation.

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Get Anderson to handle it! Can't you see? I am fucking busy! I can't.

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Director Chiefly stood up, flung the chair to the side of the room, and stomped up to the officer. Take a bloody message, you sentient paperweight. The officer whispered something into the director's ear. All the hair on the back of Director Chiefly's neck stood up, and he somehow turned whiter.

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Look, if you two want the room, I am happy to leave, said Elliot.

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Director Chiefly didn't respond and left Elliot's multi-purpose cage without a sound or gesture. Suddenly, the lights in the room evaporated, leaving the recording equipment buzzing with office gossip. A series of screens, yelps, and banging erupted behind the cell door. Hey, come on! Guys, don't leave me out of all the fun! yelled Elliot, but only silence answered him. The buzzing of machinery stopped, the door flew open, and a bright light from beyond blinded Elliot. Sterile, luminescent light pooled around the edges of a six-foot-tall, strapping silhouette looming in the doorframe. Elliot Turner asked a strong, rough voice. Elliot hissed, resembling a vampire, and shielded his eyes with his shoulder. Who asks? God ain't Fermi Galaxion Nix, but you may call me Fermi. What? God? Seriously, you lot and your god obsession, said Fermi. He pressed a button on his smartwatch, illuminating the room. Fermi walked into the chamber and stood where Director Chiefly had sat. The harsh, fluorescent lighting bathed the juiced-up extraterrestrial in a dank glow and seeped into the dark abyss of his jet fighter jumpsuit.

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And what the actual frog are you supposed to be? Classified. Right. Please tell me Chiefly isn't growing his own ninja turtles in some secret basement.

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Elliot wrenched his head towards the mirror and asked, So is this a joke? I wish. Fermi cut in, answering Elliot's question as he frowned at the human before him. Then what is this? Elliot asked, pointing at Fermi.

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Better yet, what is that?

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His finger shifted to the glinting silver Federation logo on Fermi's chest. You don't know, said Fermi. He unclipped a silver baseball-sized orb from his utility belt and shuffled it in his hand.

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No, what?

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repeated Elliot. Ha! It's been three days. I thought everyone on this planet knew.

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Stop building up the suspense and tell me.

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Elliot's mind was repeatedly ravaged by the news, as the expressions of bewilderment and satisfaction took turns to hump his face. The titillating mood was intensified as the X-Files theme song started emanating from the alien being. Fermi pulled out his phone and checked the number. Bloody CIA, he grumbled and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

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Uh, shouldn't you pick up that call?

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Stammered Elliot. Uh, it's not important. Given the situation, it could be. Fermi crossed his arms. We are taking a break. What do you mean, taking a break? You know the technology. You just destroyed. Elliot cringed at the two-way mirror and laughed nervously.

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Destroyed is a harsh word. I would say permanently disabled.

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Whatever you want to call it, the CIA stole it from us. Used this circus of an organization to develop it, and now here we are. Elliot stood up, forgot he was handcuffed to the desk, and smacked his head against the table. Fermi gritted his teeth and didn't take his eyes off Elliot, who was wringing off his pain like a wet dog. Cautiously, Fermi gathered the chair directed Chiefley had thrown across the room. Only when he was an arm's length away from the human did Fermi sit and relax. He stationed the silver orb on the table, pressed a coin-sized silver patch stuck to his neck, and said, Sam, are you sure this is the right one? It looks damaged. Elliot and Fermi exchanged a series of fake smiles, just like siblings forced to be nice to each other. Fine, fine, stop talking, said Fermi. He then activated his wrist computer and flicked through dozens of holographic files until an image of Elliot's European-Chinese mishmash of features flashed across the hologram. Uh, were you trying to look like a confused owl? asked Fermi as he showed Elliot his profile picture, and its eyes were closed, and his posture looked as if a photographer had instructed him how to pose, but failed epically. I don't do photos, said Elliot, turning the same color as his hot pink pants. It looks like you don't do human either. Anyway, why do you have a file on me? asked Elliot, straining to read the document. We have been watching you.

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Hang on, who are we? And do you know what stalking is? Um, yes. But then is lurking some sort of abduction foreplay?

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No, but it would be if I were from Sexton. Ugh. Strange, insignificant cluster of gas with some bizarre fetishes.

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Right. Good to know. So what are you then?

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Keplerian. Well, Keplerian to be to be exact. Elliot gasped. To be or not to be? That is the question. Shut up, Hamlet. What? You know Shakespeare? I know a lot of things. We've been watching Earth for too long. Griped Fermi, scrolling through Elliot's file. He slowed. Oh, I see what's wrong with you, he said, voice dropping. That's not damage. This is failure to protect a fledgling. Elliot didn't argue. He flinched, folding the memory away before it could finish forming. Jeez, so this is why you dismantle systems before they can touch you, said Fermi. Elliot smiled too fast.

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I don't break systems. I stress test reality and fast track the results.

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Fermi gave a gentle nod and read on. He paused. Oh, oh wow. What an origin story. Did you try to base your life on a thrift store, Batman? Or holy shit, what did you do? They're comparing this to Edward Snowden. Stop! pleaded Elliot as he lunged across the table and tried to bite the holographic screen. It doesn't stop, sniggered Fermi. Elliot's heart knotted itself, recoiling from his memories. He twisted around and tried to kick the watch off Fermi's wrist, but only became more entangled. I can understand why Sam chose you. Ever since the incident, you've been a Robin Hood of cybercrime and social engineering. Oh wait. It keeps getting better. Do you know why you're here instead of rotting in the ground? Enlighten me, said Elliot, as he untangled himself and returned to a seated position. I don't know. It might break you. Just tell me, said Elliot, pinning his eyebrows to his forehead. Fermi studied Elliot while trying to recall the lecture Sam had given him on the mental stability of humans and remembered that anything could trigger them. What the hell? It will be fun to see a human break. Elliot pressed his lips into a fine line and drummed his hands against the desk in anticipation. Fermi adjusted a few settings on his watch and switched the lights on in the observation room. The room lit up and resembled a cheap game show, illuminating a gaggle of worried men. The contestants included Director Chiefly, Anderson, and half the suits from the boardroom. Guess who your father is? Taunted Fermi. How do you know? Elliot asked, running his finger in the air, scaring the contestants as his finger hovered over them. We have all human DNA mapped, but don't get too excited. You creatures leave it everywhere. Anyway, we digress. So who's the lucky father?

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Oh, that's easy.

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Elliot winked at the director.

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It's director chiefly.

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Every living being in the vicinity of the cell was shocked and confused. Fermi smirked at Elliot and queried, How did you figure that one out? Come on, it's obvious.

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I've had a guardian agent all my life. Plus, as you said, we leave our DNA everywhere, so it was easy to test everyone.

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Elliot gestured for Fermi to come closer and whispered, You wouldn't believe the incest here.

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Uh, what's wrong with you?

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asked Fermi.

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Years of emotional trauma. Anyway, there isn't much I can do. Plus, there are perks to being a secret love child.

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A bead of sweat dripped down Director Chiefly's neck as he clenched every muscle to contain his watery insides. Everyone else shifted away to the far edges of the observation room and away from the director. One thought trickled through every human's mind. Who was Elliot's mother? And was it possible for Director Chiefly to like someone long enough to produce a child? Fermi deactivated the lights and the drama, grinning at the spectacle he had created while Elliot stared into the table and contemplated the current events. So, like, why are you here? Elliot asked.

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An interview. Do you mean a job interview?

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Uh, yes. He tapped his foot on the floor. Let's begin.

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Hang on, hang on. What exactly am I applying for?

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Earth Ambassador, said Fermi. If selected, you will join our team in assimilating Earth into the Federation.

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Shouldn't you have one of those by now?

unknown 10:12

Hmm.

SPEAKER_03 10:13

No comments from the wildlife, replied Fermi. He took off his watch and thumped it on the table. The tiny computer chirped, scanned the room, and flashed a sign that said, Recording. Fermi folded his arms and probed. So, why does the Federation need Earth? Without thinking, Elliot laughed and accidentally gave a slight snort.

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The Federation doesn't need Earth. Earth needs the Federation. As a species, we need serious help.

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Fermi scrutinized Elliot like an experiment that had gone wrong.

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Are you sure that is the answer you want to go with? Of course. Have you seen our pop culture and history? It's deranged. We are one scared species. At best, we're terrified monkeys with Wi-Fi. At worst, we've monetized extinction. Plus, I mean, once you master space travel, you would find habitable planets everywhere. You don't need Earth.

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Shrill shrieks of panic and thunderous banging erupted from the observation room next door before the sound of a gun cocking struck the air. A blistering boom erupted as a gunshot splintered the bulletproof glass separating the surveillance room and the impromptu interview. Fermi squinted and switched on the lights behind the two-way mirror. Glowering back at them were several rearing and bucking outraged men. Their Glocks were drawn and locked on Elliot. Fermi turned off the lights as he began to ponder whether the humans would resort to violence and start killing each other. It seems they don't agree with you, Fermi said. That shows I'm right.

unknown 11:45

I am going to kill him!

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Yelled a muffled voice, emanating from the observation room. Elliot cautiously darted his eyes toward the bullet-encrusted mirror.

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However, he added, given the right guidance, we could be one of the galaxy's biggest assets.

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And how did you come to your magnificent conclusion? Easy. We are pure potential. You sound like the second-round interviewer, Toshi, said Fermi, clearing his throat. Next question. What is your greatest weakness? Really? You already know everything about me. Fermi bit down on an escaping smile, spun the silver globe in his hand, and asked his final question. Why you? For once, Elliot sat quietly. He opened his mouth several times to respond, but no answer seemed correct. Are you going to just sit there looking human? Grumbled Fermi, checking his recording equipment. Elliot scrutinized Fermi, trying to come up with a response that would grant him his freedom. Flattery wouldn't work, and self-glorification would blast the last shred of opportunity into orbit. Then it struck him. Elliot grinned and bore a resemblance to a kid who finally got an A after receiving an encyclopedia of F's. He leaned back in his chair and began his pitch.

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Honestly, I am not the best choice. You could do better. Great. Fermi picked up his watch and stood. Hang on, hang on.

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I can offer you something more valuable, said Elliot. He plunged his cuffed hands towards Fermi, trying to pull the alien's attention back. And what's that? mused Fermi.

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I can make sure you choose the right person. Or, better yet, I can be the Sam to your Frodo, the Hermione to your Harry, the Dr. Watson to your Sherlock. I know humans better than you. I know how they'll let you down, cheat, and disappoint you. All the things that aren't in your notes.

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I'll take him, said Fermi. He clicked his fingers and pointed to Elliot's handcuffs. A soldier fumbled into the room, gaped at Fermi while unlocking Elliot's restraints, and froze in place. Elliot whispered to the soldier, You'd better go. But the private stood there and ogled at the otherworldly being. Elliot lightly prodded Fermi's boot with his heel and thrust his head towards the man. Fermi scowled at the soldier, and the scared human bolted out of the room. Pleased with himself, Fermi chuckled and plucked the silver orb from the table. What's that? asked Elliot, joining Fermi at his side. A gateway. Like a teleporter. Fermi shot Elliot a disgusted look. Ew, no. It is illegal to teleport organics unless you are from the Andromeda Galaxy. He shivered, recalling bad memories. Bloody beasts. Anyway, teleporting is nothing like in the movies. You don't say, beam me up, and you're magically teleported. You take half of your surroundings and organics with you, and it would be as if a bomb had hit the teleporter. Stupid humans. Ugh. Elliot decided not to test Fermi's patience.

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So where does this go? To our base. And where's your base? The moon? Who told you?

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Scoffed Fermi, as he held the orb at arm's length and reactivated the silver compiece on his neck. Hey, Sam, lock onto the coordinates for extraction. The space in front of Fermi's arm warped like a broken mirror before it ripped apart and burped out a circular portal. Elliot wandered up to the glowing gateway and marveled at the spacey glass-stoned hall shimmering on the other side. Slowly, he lifted his hand to prod the window when Fermi swatted his hand away. Remember this slogan. Said Fermi.

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Wow, did they blow their whole marketing budget on that?

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A little fun fact. The Gateway Corporation spent all its money on branding, and the slogan was a last-minute addition. The iconic name was designed to cover all demographics and had two target markets. The first focused on transportation, science, and exploration. And the second was intended for shady occupations and, strangely enough, tourism. Fermi rolled his eyes and made sure the gateway connection was stable. Once he confirmed the secure link, he turned to Elliot and said, Go on then. Okay, sure. But is it safe? You know you are the first Who person to ask that. So far, none of you has disintegrated. Now go before I leave you here. Elliot grimaced, pondered the odds of disintegrating, or far worse, doing nothing, closed his eyes, and dived toward his escape. I have been ordered to thank you for listening. Tune in next week, where humanity attempts diplomacy despite still arguing online about whether the earth is round. I strongly advise against optimism.

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