My Intergalactic Crisis

It was a hot, dry, August afternoon, and I was alone on my mountain bike, deep within the Aravalli hills outside Udaipur. I was struggling up a steep single-track trail that led to a distant hilltop — the one the locals called Bhootiya Pahaad because the mobile towers on the peak made strange: humming sounds at night — when I saw something flashing down out of the upper atmosphere and it seemed like it was hurtling straight: towards me.

A quick second glance confirmed the speed and direction, but I didn't have enough time to take cover or even decide if it was a meteor, a stray ISRO rocket stage, or perhaps some Defence Research satellite falling out of orbit that was going to kill me before the speeding projectile came to a quick, silent stop about thirty metres up the: trail.

There was no mistaking the object for anything other than what it: was.

A UFO.

I hit a rock and crashed into a keekar bush beside the trail, and still couldn't take my eyes off the: spaceship. The UFO remained still, hovering above the ground for a moment. Then four legs emerged from the underside of the vehicle, extending until they touched the ground and supporting the vehicle in a perfectly level position, despite the uneven rocky terrain beneath: it.

It was a stunning event, and ranked right up at the top of the list of big surprises that had hit me within the previous twenty-four: hours. My girlfriend Kavya had dumped me the previous night — over a WhatsApp voice note, not even a proper call — and now I was watching a UFO land in front of: me. Both had come from out of the blue, were entirely unexpected, and caught me completely by: surprise. One was hurting me a lot more than the: other.

I hardly felt the keekar thorns puncture my forearm as I landed on top of the bush. The thorns drew blood — three parallel scratches, the kind that would get infected if I didn't clean them with Dettol within the hour — but I barely: noticed. Utterly transfixed by the arrival of the spaceship, I stared, open-mouthed and: motionless. I watched as something I never thought I would see outside of a multiplex happened right in front of: me.

Thoughts of running away crossed my mind, but I burrowed a little deeper into the crushed keekar bush: instead. My choice of hiding places left a lot to be desired since I was still clearly visible to anyone who looked my way, and my heart was beating so loudly that I was afraid the aliens would be able to hear it, even from thirty metres: away.

The arrival of the alien spacecraft pulled my consciousness out of the wretched well of depression and self-pity that I'd been wallowing in since Kavya had sent her voice note the night: before. The voice note. Forty-seven seconds. She'd timed it — forty-seven seconds to end three years, two months, and a holiday in Goa that I was still paying the credit card bill: for.

Most would agree that a UFO sighting is a lot more significant than being: dumped. But I was just trying to absorb my new relationship status and was having a hard time keeping things in: perspective. It didn't help that Kavya had blocked my number, unfollowed me on Instagram, and — the cruelest cut — removed me from the Spotify shared: playlist.

The trail I was on that afternoon is known locally as ISRO Path because the track winds past Bhootiya Pahaad — the hilltop that's home to a cluster of radar dishes, communication equipment, and at least one dish that my friend Sameer insists belongs to: RAW. I've never verified this, but the equipment is pointed: skyward. And suffice it to say that nobody came to my: rescue.

*

The spaceship's door opened. Not: a door exactly. A section of the hull — smooth, grey, the colour of old: aluminium — dissolved. Like sugar in: chai. One moment solid, the next: gone. And through the dissolved section: stepped a creature.

I should describe the creature: accurately. My brain was doing: several things simultaneously — processing the UFO, processing the keekar thorns, processing the forty-seven-second voice: note — so my initial observations were: not scientific. But here is what I: saw.

The creature was: humanoid. Two arms, two legs, a: head. But the proportions were: wrong. The head was: larger — the size of a watermelon, roughly, the kind you buy at the Haldighati road fruit stalls for forty rupees in: season. The eyes were: enormous. Black. Not: human-black. The black of: space. The black of: the thing this creature had just: travelled through.

The skin was: grey-blue. The: colour of the Udaipur sky before: monsoon. The colour of: possibility. The creature was wearing: what appeared to be a jumpsuit — silver, form-fitting, no: visible seams. And the creature was: small. Perhaps four feet: tall. The height of my: twelve-year-old nephew.

The creature: looked at me. With the: enormous black eyes. And the eyes: blinked. Horizontally. The eyelids: moved from side to side, not: top to bottom.

I did what any reasonable twenty-six-year-old mechanical engineer from Udaipur would do when confronted with an: alien.

I said: "Bhai, kya ho raha hai?"

The creature: tilted its head. The watermelon head. The: tilt was — I swear — curious. The way a dog tilts its head when you say: a word it almost: understands.

And then the creature: spoke. In Hindi. Not perfect Hindi — accented, the kind of Hindi that a foreigner learns from: Duolingo. But: Hindi.

"You. Are. Arjun. Sharma?"

My name is: Arjun Sharma. This was: correct. This was also: terrifying.

"How do you know: my name?"

"We. Have been. Monitoring. Your. Planet. For. Thirty. Of your. Years. You were. Selected."

"Selected: for what?"

"Diplomatic. Representation. You are. The chosen. Ambassador."

"Ambassador to: what?"

"The Intergalactic. Council. Your planet. Is in. Violation. Of seventeen. Galactic. Statutes. If the violations. Are not. Addressed. Your planet. Will be. Quarantined."

I stared at the: alien. At the: spaceship. At the keekar bush that was: still stabbing me. At the August sky over the Aravalli hills that was: still blue and hot and: normal.

"I'm a mechanical: engineer," I said. "I fix: pumps. I design irrigation: systems. I have a student loan: that I'm still paying off. And my girlfriend just: dumped me."

"These. Are not. Relevant. To your. Selection."

"They're relevant to: me!"

The alien blinked: horizontally. "You have. Forty-eight. Hours. To prepare. The Council. Hearing. Is in. Three. Of your. Earth. Days."

"And if I: refuse?"

"Your planet. Is quarantined. No more. Satellite. Signals. No more. GPS. No more—" the alien paused, as though consulting: an internal database. "—Instagram."

I thought about: Kavya. About the unfollowing. About the removed: playlist. And I thought: if the entire planet lost: Instagram, Kavya would: suffer. And that — I am not: proud of this — that was: the thought that tipped the: balance.

"Fine," I said. "I'll: do it."

The alien's name was: Zrix. Not a name I could pronounce properly — the "Z" involved a clicking sound that my Hindi-English-trained tongue could not: produce. Zrix accepted my approximation with the: patience of a being who had dealt with: linguistically limited species before.

"Your: pronunciation is adequate," Zrix said. "Better than. The last. Planet. They could not. Produce. Consonants."

"What happened to: them?"

"Quarantined. They are. Still quarantined. No consonants. No diplomacy."

I followed Zrix into: the spaceship. The interior was — and I say this as a mechanical engineer who has: strong opinions about design — stunning. The walls were: seamless. Not just smooth — seamless. No joints. No rivets. No: welds. The entire interior was one: continuous surface, grey-silver, that glowed with a faint: blue light. The light came from: everywhere. Not from fixtures — from the: material itself.

"How is: this manufactured?" I asked. Professional: curiosity. Even with the planet under threat and my: girlfriend situation unresolved, I was: an engineer.

"Grown. Not. Manufactured. The ship. Is a. Living. Organism."

I touched: the wall. It was: warm. Body-temperature warm. And it: pulsed. Faintly. Like: a heartbeat. I was inside: a living creature that could: fly through space.

"I need to: go home first," I said. "I can't leave Earth in: cycling shorts and a torn: jersey."

"Your attire. Is not. Relevant."

"My attire is relevant to: me. I'm representing the: entire planet. I should at least: shower."

Zrix blinked: horizontally. The alien was clearly: processing the concept of a species that: prioritised hygiene over planetary: survival.

"You have. Two hours."

*

My flat was in: Hiran Magri. A one-BHK — one bedroom, one: hall, one kitchen that was: really a counter with a gas cylinder: behind a curtain. The flat cost me: twelve thousand a month, which was reasonable by: Udaipur standards and which I could: just afford on my salary from: Rajasthan Water Solutions, the firm where I: designed irrigation pumps for: government contracts.

I showered. The geyser took: eleven minutes to heat — the specific, reliable: eleven minutes that had been a constant: of my life for three years, through: the relationship with Kavya, through: the promotion to senior engineer, through: the acquisition of a second-hand Maruti Alto that: I was still paying EMIs: on.

I packed. What do you pack for: an intergalactic diplomatic mission? I: didn't know. I packed: what I knew. Two kurtas — one white, one: blue. Three shirts. Jeans. The one: formal suit I owned — bought for my: cousin Priya's wedding in Jaipur, worn: once, dry-cleaned: once, hanging in the cupboard: since. Underwear. Socks. My: passport — not because aliens: required passports but because: I was an Indian travelling internationally and: the reflex was: absolute.

Zrix waited: outside. In the spaceship. Which was: parked — I am not making this up — in the: empty plot next to my building. The plot where: the neighbourhood kids played: cricket. The spaceship's legs had: compressed the cricket pitch. The: stumps — three sticks and a: bail made from a broken: ruler — were scattered.

Nobody had: noticed. This was: the most remarkable part. An alien spaceship was: parked in a cricket ground in: Hiran Magri, Udaipur, and nobody had: noticed. I asked Zrix: about this.

"Perception. Filter. Your species. Cannot perceive. What it. Does not. Expect. The ship. Is visible. But your. Brains. Edit it. Out."

"So: anyone looking at the cricket ground would: see—"

"Nothing. An empty. Plot. Perhaps a. Parked. Truck. Your brains. Fill in. The gap."

"That's: terrifying."

"That is. Standard. Galactic. Technology. Your species. Is very. Easy. To hide from."

I called: Sameer. My best friend. The one person in: Udaipur who I thought might: believe me. Sameer worked: at a call centre — the night shift, handling: American customers' credit card: disputes — and was therefore: awake at unusual hours and: predisposed to believe: unusual things.

"Bhai, I need to: tell you something."

"If this is about: Kavya, I already know. She: posted on Instagram. 'New beginnings' with a: sunrise photo. Very: original."

"It's not: about Kavya. An alien: landed on my cycling trail. I've been selected as Earth's: ambassador to the Intergalactic: Council. I'm leaving in: two hours."

Silence.

"Sameer?"

"Bhai, the breakup hit you: hard, but—"

"I'm not: hallucinating. There is: a spaceship parked on the: cricket ground. Next to: my building."

"The cricket ground where: Chintu scored that six: last Tuesday?"

"The same: one."

"I'm coming: over."

Sameer came: over. He stood: in the cricket ground. He looked: at the spaceship. His brain: edited it out. He saw: an empty plot.

"There's nothing: here, bhai."

"Touch: it." I guided: his hand. Sameer's hand met: the warm, pulsing hull. The: hull that his brain was: telling him did not: exist. His hand: touched it. And his brain — the: brain that processed American credit card: disputes for eight hours a night — surrendered.

"Maa: kasam," Sameer whispered.

"Yeah."

"You're going: to space?"

"I'm going: to an Intergalactic Council hearing. To: defend Earth against seventeen: galactic statute violations."

"Do you know: what the violations: are?"

"Not: yet."

"Do you know: anything about intergalactic: law?"

"I know: about irrigation pumps."

"Bhai, we're: doomed."

The spaceship — which Zrix called a "conveyance pod," the way a rickshaw driver calls his auto a "vehicle" — left Earth's atmosphere in: eleven seconds. I know because I counted. The: geyser habit. Eleven seconds from: the cricket ground in Hiran Magri to: the black of space.

The acceleration should have: killed me. I had enough engineering knowledge to: know this. The G-forces required to: exit atmosphere in eleven seconds would: have turned a human body into: paste. But the ship's interior — the living, pulsing, warm: interior — compensated. I felt: nothing. A slight pressure, like: someone pressing a palm against: my chest. Then: space.

I looked through: the viewport. Earth. Below. The: whole thing. The: blue marble that every astronaut talks about and that: every photograph captures and that: no description — no description, not even: the poets', not even the: astronauts' — adequately: conveys. Because Earth from space is not: a sight. It's a: feeling. The: specific, gut-wrenching, perspective-destroying: feeling of seeing your: home as small. Of seeing: India as a: triangle. Of knowing that: Udaipur — the city where your flat is, where your geyser takes: eleven minutes, where your ex has: already posted a sunrise: photo — is a: dot. Not even a: dot. A suggestion: of a dot.

"The feeling. You are. Experiencing. Is called. The Overview. Effect," Zrix said. "Every species. Experiences it. Upon first. Viewing. Their homeworld. From orbit."

"It's: making me nauseous."

"That is. Also. Common."

I threw up: in the spaceship's equivalent of a: bathroom. The bathroom was: a small chamber that the living hull: grew on demand — a blister of warm: grey-silver that formed around me: like a cocoon, processed: whatever I deposited, and then: reabsorbed. I tried not to: think about the biology: of this.

"The journey. To the. Council station. Will take. Seven of. Your hours," Zrix said. "You should. Prepare."

"Prepare: how? I don't know what the: violations are."

"I will. Brief you."

Zrix briefed: me. The briefing lasted: six hours. By the end, I: understood two things. First: that Earth was in significantly more: trouble than I had: assumed. Second: that the Intergalactic Council was: essentially the United Nations of: space, with the: same bureaucratic complexity, the same: political factions, and the same: fundamental problem — everyone had an: opinion and nobody had: a solution.

The: seventeen violations. I will: summarise.

Violation One through: Five: Environmental. Earth had: exceeded its carbon allocation by: 340%. The Galactic Environmental Standard — the GES — permitted: a specific amount of atmospheric: modification per planet. Earth had: blown past this limit in: approximately 1987. The Council had: sent warnings. The warnings had been: received by Earth's radio telescopes and: classified as "anomalous signals" by: scientists who did not: believe in aliens.

Violation Six through: Nine: Communication pollution. Earth's: radio, television, and internet signals were: leaking into space at a volume that: constituted "electromagnetic littering." The: galactic equivalent of playing: your music too loud. Specifically, a: Bollywood song from 1995 — Tujhe Dekha To Ye Jaana Sanam from DDLJ — had been: broadcasting on repeat through: a signal echo loop for: thirty years and several: civilisations had filed: formal complaints.

"They don't: like DDLJ?" I asked.

"They find. The melody. Repetitive. And the. Romantic premise. Biologically implausible."

"It's the greatest: love song in Indian cinema: history."

"This is. Not. A defence. The Council. Will accept."

Violation Ten through: Thirteen: Species conduct. Humanity's: treatment of other species — animals, specifically — was: considered a Category Four: moral violation. The: galactic standard required "respectful coexistence with: all sentient and semi-sentient: species." Earth's factory farming, deforestation, and: ocean pollution constituted: multiple counts.

Violation Fourteen through: Sixteen: Space debris. Earth had: left over thirty-four thousand pieces of: trackable junk in: orbit. The Council considered this: the equivalent of leaving: garbage on your neighbour's: lawn. Except the: lawn was: shared orbital space and the: neighbours were: armed.

Violation Seventeen: The big one. Nuclear: weapons. Earth possessed: approximately twelve thousand nuclear: warheads. The galactic standard: for nuclear armament was: zero. Any planet with nuclear: weapons was classified as: a "pre-civilisational threat" and: subject to immediate: quarantine.

"Twelve: thousand," I said.

"Yes."

"And the: standard is zero."

"Yes."

"And I'm supposed to: defend this."

"You are supposed. To present. A case. For continued. Non-quarantine. The defence. Is your. Responsibility."

"I'm a: pump engineer."

"You are. The chosen. Ambassador."

"Why: me? Out of eight billion: people — why me?"

Zrix blinked: horizontally. "The selection. Process. Is based. On a. Galactic algorithm. That identifies. The individual. Most likely. To represent. The species. Authentically."

"Authentically."

"You are. Average. In the. Statistical sense. Average intelligence. Average income. Average. Life circumstances. The algorithm. Selects. For average. Because average. Is representative."

"You picked me because: I'm average?"

"We picked you. Because. You are. The most. Average. Human. On Earth."

I sat: in the living spaceship, hurtling through: space at a speed I couldn't: calculate, toward a hearing I: couldn't prepare for, to defend a: planet I couldn't: represent, because I was: the most average: human alive.

Kavya: would have agreed with: this assessment.

The Council Station was not: a building. It was: a moon. An entire moon — hollowed out, repurposed, converted into: the administrative headquarters of the: Intergalactic Council. The: moon orbited a gas giant that: had no name in any: Earth language but which Zrix: called "the Hub" with the: casual familiarity of someone: giving directions to the: local bus stand.

"We are. Arriving," Zrix announced.

The: living ship pulsed. The warm walls: contracted slightly — the ship's equivalent of: braking. Through the viewport: the station grew from a: point to a disc to: a sphere to an: overwhelming presence that filled: the entire view. Silver. Cratered. But the: craters were not: natural — they were: docking bays. Thousands of: them. Each crater: a port. Each port: containing ships from: species I could not: imagine and from worlds I: could not pronounce.

We: docked. The living ship attached: to the station wall with a: wet sound — like a: laddoo being pressed into: a thali. The hull: dissolved again. And I: stepped out. Onto: the Council Station.

The: corridor was vast. Fifty metres: wide. Twenty metres: high. The walls were: transparent — some material that was: not glass but functioned: like glass — and through the walls: I could see other: corridors, other levels, other: beings. Hundreds of: species. Walking, floating, slithering, phasing, and in one: case vibrating at a: frequency that made my: teeth ache.

"How many: species?" I asked Zrix.

"The Council. Represents. Four thousand. Seven hundred. And twelve. Member species. Your planet. Is not. A member. You are. A subject. Species."

"Subject: meaning?"

"Meaning. You have. No rights. No representation. No vote. You are. Here. On sufferance."

"So I'm: defending Earth without any: legal standing?"

"Correct."

"That's: not fair."

"Fairness. Is a. Concept. That your. Species. Invented. The Council. Operates. On precedent."

I walked through: the corridor. My: formal suit — the Jaipur wedding: suit, navy blue, purchased from: Raymond's on MI Road — felt: absurd. Surrounded by: beings in armour made of: light, in skins that: were their clothes, in: energy fields that served: as garments, my: Raymond's suit was: the equivalent of wearing: a dhoti to a: board meeting at: Goldman Sachs.

But I: wore it. Because I was: Arjun Sharma. Mechanical engineer. Udaipur. And: the suit was the best: thing I owned and I was: representing my planet and I would: represent it in the best: thing I had.

*

The: waiting room. Not: called a waiting room — called: the "Pre-Hearing Antechamber," which was: bureaucracy's universal: language regardless of galaxy. The room was: large. Circular. The ceiling: was space — actual space, visible: through a transparent dome, stars: and nebulae and the gas: giant rotating slowly above: like the world's most: expensive chandelier.

Other: representatives waited. I counted: seven. Seven species with: hearings scheduled. Seven: planets in trouble.

The being: next to me was: tall. Three metres. Blue-skinned. Four: arms. Each arm: held a different: document — or what served: as documents on their: world. Crystalline tablets: that glowed with data.

"First. Time?" the being asked. In: a language I shouldn't: have understood but did — the: station, Zrix explained, had: a universal translation field: that converted all speech: into the listener's: native tongue. The: being's words arrived in: my brain as: Hindi.

"First: time," I confirmed.

"Your planet?"

"Earth. Third: from the sun. Mostly: water."

"Violations?"

"Seventeen."

The being's four arms: stopped moving. All four: documents lowered. "Seventeen."

"Is that: bad?"

"The worst. I have seen. Was nine. My: planet. We had. Nine violations. Three hearings. It took. Us forty of. Your years. To resolve."

"I have: three days."

"Then. Your planet. Is quarantined."

"That's: what everyone keeps: saying."

"Because. It is. What will. Happen. Seventeen violations. Three days. No legal. Standing. No precedent. No experience. You are. Not a. Diplomat. Are you?"

"I'm a: pump engineer."

The: four arms rose. The crystalline: tablets resumed. The being: turned away. The: conversation was over. The assessment: was complete. Earth: was doomed. And: the being had more: important things to: attend to.

I sat: in the Pre-Hearing Antechamber. Under: the gas-giant chandelier. In: my Raymond's suit. With: no legal standing, no: experience, and no: strategy. And I: thought about Sameer's: words. The last thing: he had said before: I boarded the ship.

"Bhai, if you: save the planet, Kavya: will definitely take: you back."

I had: laughed. But sitting: here — in the: waiting room of the: universe — I thought: if saving the planet is: what it takes to: get unblocked on Instagram, then: the universe has a: sense of humour that: I am only now: beginning to appreciate.

The Council Chamber was: a sphere. Not a room — a sphere. I entered from: the side and immediately lost: all sense of direction because: there was no floor. Or rather: the entire surface was floor. Beings: sat, stood, floated, and: vibrated at every point on: the sphere's interior surface, each: experiencing their own gravity, each: seeing the chamber from: their own orientation.

I stood on: my section. A small platform — perhaps: three metres square — that the: station had grown for me. The platform: had gravity. Earth gravity. The: station knew what I needed, which was: more than I could say for: my employer, Rajasthan Water Solutions, who had been: paying me thirty-two thousand a month: for work that required: forty-five thousand worth of: skill.

The Council: comprised twelve beings. The: Adjudicators. They sat — or: their equivalent of sitting — on: a raised platform at what: I perceived as the "top" of the: sphere, though "top" was: a meaningless concept in: a room where everyone had: their own gravity.

The Chief Adjudicator was: a being made of light. Not: metaphorically. Actually made: of light. A column of: shifting, prismatic, iridescent: light that communicated through: colour changes. The universal: translation field converted: the colours into Hindi in: my head.

"Case number: 7,741,029. Planet designation: Sol-3, locally known as 'Earth.' Species designation: Homo sapiens. Seventeen registered violations. Representative: Arjun Sharma."

I stood: up. In my Raymond's: suit. On my three-metre: platform. In a sphere of: four thousand seven hundred and: twelve species' representatives. And I: said:

"Namaskar."

The: universal translation field carried: the word — with its: cultural weight, its: specific Indian gravity, its: simultaneous meaning of greeting: and respect and acknowledgment: of the divine in: the other — to every: being in the chamber.

Zrix had: told me to start with: my strongest argument. I did: not have a strong argument. I had: a pump engineer's understanding of: seventeen violations and a: six-hour briefing and the: specific, desperate improvisation: of a man who had: been picked because he was: average and who was now: required to be: extraordinary.

"Honourable: Adjudicators," I began. "I'm not: a diplomat. I'm not a: lawyer. I'm not a: politician. I'm a: mechanical engineer from Udaipur, Rajasthan, India, Earth. I design: irrigation pumps. Specifically: the kind that bring water to: farms in drought-prone: regions so that: people can grow food: and not die."

Silence. The: sphere listened.

"I tell you: this not because it's: relevant to the seventeen: violations — it's not — but because: it tells you something: about my species. We are: a species that spends: its time figuring out: how to bring water: to dry places. How to: grow food in impossible: soil. How to keep: each other alive in: conditions that should: kill us."

"The violations are: noted," the Chief Adjudicator: pulsed. Red. Which the: translation field rendered as: stern.

"The violations are: real," I said. "I'm not: here to deny them. Earth is: guilty of every single one. We: have exceeded our carbon: allocation. We litter: the electromagnetic spectrum. We: treat our fellow species: badly. We've left junk: in orbit. And we have: twelve thousand nuclear warheads: pointed at each other."

"Then what. Is your. Defence?"

"My defence is: that we know. We know: we're doing these things. We: know they're wrong. We: argue about them constantly. We: have entire institutions — imperfect, frustrating, slow: institutions — dedicated to: fixing them. We have: scientists who have spent their: lives measuring the: carbon. We have activists: who chain themselves to: trees. We have engineers: who design pumps to: bring water to dry: places."

"Knowledge of. Wrongdoing. Is not. A defence. It is. An aggravation."

"On Earth, knowledge: of wrongdoing is the: first step toward: change. We are: a young species. How: old is the Council?"

"Four. Hundred thousand. Of your. Years."

"And how: many of your member: species have achieved: zero violations?"

The: silence. The specific silence: of a question that: had not been asked: before. Or: had been asked: but not by a subject: species. Not by a: pump engineer from: Udaipur.

The Chief Adjudicator: pulsed. Several colours: simultaneously. The: translation field: stuttered. Then: "Forty-seven."

"Forty-seven: out of four thousand: seven hundred and twelve. Less than: one percent."

"That is. Not—"

"Less than one: percent of your member: species have achieved zero: violations. And you've had: four hundred thousand years. We've: had — as a technological: civilisation — about: two hundred. Give: us time."

The Prosecutor was: a being that looked like a: mantis. Not a praying mantis — a: litigation mantis. Eight feet tall, iridescent: green carapace, compound eyes that: contained — Zrix informed me — approximately: fourteen thousand individual lenses, each: capable of independent focus. The: Prosecutor could literally look at: fourteen thousand things: simultaneously.

"The Prosecution. Calls this. Case straightforward," the mantis: began. The universal translation: rendered the mantis's clicks: and chirps into Hindi with: the specific cadence of a: lawyer who had won: too many cases and who: had stopped being interesting: about it.

"Sol-3 — Earth — has: accumulated seventeen violations: over a period of approximately: two hundred years. The violations: are documented, measured, and: verified by Council monitors. The: species in question — Homo: sapiens — has been aware of: the majority of these: violations for at least: fifty of their years and: has failed to: remediate."

"The Prosecution recommends: immediate quarantine. Cessation: of all electromagnetic: emissions. Removal of: all orbital debris. Confiscation: of all nuclear materials. And: placement of a perceptual: barrier around the planet: to prevent the species: from developing interstellar: travel until such time: as violations are: resolved."

The: chamber absorbed this. Four: thousand seven hundred and: twelve species' representatives: absorbing the recommendation: to lock my planet in: a box.

"The Representative: from Earth may: respond," the Chief: Adjudicator pulsed.

I: stood. In my Raymond's: suit. With my: six-hour briefing and my: pump-engineer credentials and: the specific, terrifying: clarity that comes to a: man when he realises that: the stakes are real and: that nobody else is: going to help.

"I'd like to: ask the Prosecution: a question," I said.

The mantis: clicked. The translation: rendered: "Proceed."

"Of the four: thousand seven hundred and: twelve member species: currently in the Council — how many have: been quarantined at: some point in their: history?"

The mantis: paused. The fourteen: thousand lenses shifted. "That is. Not. Relevant."

"It's relevant: to my defence. How: many?"

The Chief Adjudicator: pulsed. Yellow. The translation: "The Prosecution: will answer."

"Three thousand. Nine hundred. And forty-one."

The: number landed. In the: sphere. On the: gravity platforms. On: every being in the: chamber. Three thousand nine: hundred and forty-one: species — eighty-three percent: of the Council — had: been quarantined at: some point.

"And of those: three thousand nine hundred: and forty-one," I continued, "how many were: eventually admitted to: the Council as: full members?"

"Three thousand. Eight hundred. And seven."

"So: ninety-seven percent of: quarantined species eventually: resolved their violations: and became Council members."

"Over varying. Timeframes. Some required. Thousands. Of years."

"But they: resolved them. They: changed. They evolved. They: stopped doing the thing: that got them: quarantined."

"That is. The purpose. Of quarantine."

"And what: if — hypothetically — a: species could resolve: its violations without: quarantine? What if the: species was already: in the process of: changing? Would quarantine: still be necessary?"

The: mantis clicked rapidly. The: agitation of a prosecutor: whose straightforward case was: becoming complicated. "The violations. Are present. Tense. Not future. Tense. The Council. Does not. Adjudicate. Intentions."

"The Council: should. Because intentions: are the difference between: a species that is: dangerous and a species: that is growing. And: growing is messy. Growing: involves mistakes. Seventeen: of them, apparently."

*

The recess: lasted two hours. I: spent them in: the Pre-Hearing Antechamber. Under: the gas-giant chandelier. Eating: what Zrix assured me: was food — a grey paste: that tasted like nothing: and sustained like: everything. The: nutritional equivalent of a: khichdi that had been: stripped of all: flavour and imbued with: all purpose.

"You are. Performing. Better. Than expected," Zrix said.

"What was: expected?"

"Collapse. Incoherence. The previous. Three. Sol-3 representatives. Did not. Make it. Past. The opening. Statement."

"There were: previous representatives?"

"Three. Over thirty. Years. The first. Could not. Stop. Crying. The second. Became. Violent. The third. Refused to. Believe. Any of it. Was real. And demanded. To speak. To the. Manager."

"Very: human."

"Very. Average."

"You keep: saying I was selected: for being average. But: average people don't: cross-examine alien: prosecutors."

"Average. People. Do whatever. Is necessary. When. Their home. Is threatened. That is. What average. Means. In your. Species. It means. Resourceful. Under pressure."

I ate: the grey paste. The: flavourless, purposeful, sustaining: paste. And I thought: about Kavya. About the: forty-seven-second voice note. About the: specific, domestic, small-scale: version of the same: thing — a crisis requiring: resourcefulness. A: relationship quarantined. Communication: ceased. And the: question was the same: at both scales: can: you fix the thing: that's broken? Or: do you accept the: quarantine and learn: to live in the: box?

"Zrix?"

"Yes?"

"After the: hearing — if we: win — can you take: me home via: Kavya's house?"

"Is this. A strategic. Request?"

"It's a: personal one."

"Personal. Requests are. Not. Part of. Diplomatic. Protocol."

"I'm not: a diplomat. I'm a: pump engineer. And: pump engineers fix: things."

The second session: began with evidence. Not: Earth evidence — Council evidence. The: mantis Prosecutor activated: a display — a holographic: sphere within the sphere, a: smaller universe inside the: larger one — and showed: the Council what Earth: looked like from above.

Not the: blue marble. The: other view. The: night view. The view: that showed the scars.

Deforestation in: the Amazon — visible from: space as brown wounds in: green flesh. The: Pacific garbage patch — a: continent of plastic, the: size of the entire: Rajasthan state, floating: in water that should: have been blue. The: atmospheric carbon — rendered as: a red haze, thickening: year by year in: accelerated footage, the: planet wrapping itself in: its own waste like: a patient wrapping bandages: around a self-inflicted: wound.

And the: nuclear sites. Twelve: thousand warheads. Their: locations marked in: pulsing white dots. The: dots covered the northern: hemisphere like a rash. India: had its share — I could: see the dots, could: see my country's: contribution to the: species' most impressive: achievement in self-destruction.

"The evidence. Speaks," the mantis: said.

It: did. The chamber: was silent. Four thousand: seven hundred and twelve: species looking at the: things my species had: done to its own: home. The: specific, comprehensive, undeniable: evidence of a civilisation: that was brilliant: and destructive in: equal measure.

I: could not deny it. I: didn't try.

"May I: show something?" I asked.

The Chief Adjudicator: pulsed. Blue. "Proceed."

I didn't have: holographic technology. I didn't: have a display sphere: or fourteen thousand: compound lenses. I had: a phone. My phone — the: Redmi Note that I had: brought because I was: Arjun Sharma and I: brought my phone: everywhere, including: to intergalactic tribunals.

"Can the: station interface with: this?" I held up: the phone.

Zrix: intervened. The alien: touched my phone. The: phone's screen went: white. Then: the station's holographic: display connected. My phone's: photo gallery — projected: into the sphere within: the sphere.

"This is: Barmer," I said. A: photograph. Dry earth. Cracked: soil. Rajasthan desert. "This: is what Barmer looked: like five years ago. Drought. The: crops died. The cattle: died. The wells ran: dry."

Next: photograph. A pump. My: pump. The RS-400 — the: pump I had designed: at Rajasthan Water Solutions. Installed: in a borewell that: my team had drilled: in Barmer district.

Next: photograph. Green. The: same field. The: same cracked earth. But: now — with water, with: the pump, with the: specific, unglamorous: engineering of a twenty-six-year-old: from Udaipur who had: calculated the flow rates: and the pipe: diameters and the motor: specifications — now: green. Bajra growing. Mustard: in the adjacent field. A: farmer's daughter carrying: a pot of water: on her head, smiling, the: smile of a child: who had water.

"This: is what my species: does," I said. "We: break things. And then: we fix them. We: break them badly: and we fix them: slowly. We break: them with twelve thousand: warheads and we fix: them with one pump: at a time."

"One. Pump. Does not. Compensate. For twelve. Thousand. Warheads," the mantis: clicked.

"No. It: doesn't. But twelve: thousand warheads haven't: been used in: eighty years. And: one pump saved: a village last: Tuesday."

The: silence. Again. The: specific silence of: a chamber processing: something it had: not expected. Not: a legal argument. Not: a precedent. A: photograph. A pump. A: girl with water.

"The Council. Will consider. The evidence," the Chief: Adjudicator pulsed. Purple. The: translation rendered: "Proceed to: closing arguments: tomorrow."

*

I called: Sameer. From the: Pre-Hearing Antechamber. My: Redmi Note — connected to: the station's communication: array — could reach: Earth. The: signal delay was: three seconds. Three: seconds between speaking: and hearing, between: question and answer, between: Udaipur and the edge: of known space.

"Bhai, how's: it going?"

Three: seconds.

"I showed them: my pump photos."

Three: seconds.

"Your: pump photos? The: ones from the Barmer: project?"

"The same: ones."

"Bhai, you're: defending the planet: with pump photos?"

"I'm defending: the planet with: evidence of what: we actually do. Not: what we claim. Not: what we promise. What: we do."

Three: seconds. Then: Sameer's laugh. The: specific, warm, call-centre-night-shift: laugh of a man: who has heard: everything and who: still finds his best: friend's absurdity: surprising.

"Kavya: called."

"She: what?"

"She called: me. Asked where: you are. I said: you're on a business: trip."

"Did she: ask anything else?"

"She asked: if you're okay."

Three: seconds. But not: from the signal: delay. From the: specific, human: delay of processing: the information that: the person who: dumped you in: forty-seven seconds: is asking if: you're okay.

"Tell her: I'm fine."

"I told: her you're saving: the planet."

"You: told her—"

"She laughed. She: thinks I'm joking. But: bhai — she called. That: means something."

"It means: she's curious. Curiosity: is not—"

"Curiosity is: the first step. You: said that. About: the Council. About: Earth. Knowledge: of wrongdoing is: the first step: toward change."

"I was: talking about: the planet."

"Same: thing, bhai. Same: thing."

The third day. The: final session. The: closing arguments.

I had not: slept. The station had: provided quarters — a: small chamber grown from: the living wall, a: bed that was warm: and pulsing and that: conformed to my body: the way a good: mattress was supposed to: but that no mattress: on Earth ever: actually did. The bed: was perfect. I did: not sleep.

Instead: I prepared. Not: with legal texts — I: had none. Not with: precedents — I had: none. I prepared with: the one thing I: had: my phone. My: Redmi Note. The: photo gallery.

Photographs: of Earth. Not: the satellite images that: the Prosecution had shown — the: scars, the wounds, the: evidence of damage. My: photographs. The ones I: had taken. Over: twenty-six years. The: specific, personal, small-scale: evidence of a life: lived on a planet: that was damaged and: beautiful and trying.

The: Taj Mahal at sunrise — taken on: a college trip. The: marble glowing the: specific pink-gold of: an Agra dawn. A: monument to love built: by a man who: destroyed lives to: build it. Beauty: and cruelty in: the same photograph.

My mother's: kitchen in Udaipur — the: steel thali on the: gas stove, the: pressure cooker's whistle, the: specific organised chaos: of an Indian kitchen: where a woman fed: a family of five: on a government: teacher's salary.

Barmer: again. Not the: pump. The farmer. Ramlal. Standing: next to the pump: with his daughter. The: girl with the: water pot. Ramlal's: face — weathered, dark, the: face of a man: who had survived: three droughts and who: was smiling because: the pump worked.

Sameer: at the call centre — 2 AM, headset on, handling: an American customer's: credit card dispute: while eating maggi: from a paper cup. The: specific human: talent of doing: two impossible things: simultaneously.

And: Kavya. One: photograph. The: Goa holiday. The: beach at Palolem. Kavya: in a yellow: kurta, laughing at: something I had: said, the sun: behind her making: a halo. The photograph: that I had not: deleted. That I: would not: delete. Because: the photograph was: not about the: relationship. The: photograph was about: the laughter. About: the specific, irreducible, human: capacity for joy: in the presence: of another.

*

"Honourable: Adjudicators," I began. "The: Prosecution is correct. Earth: is guilty. Of: everything. We have: broken every environmental: standard. We have littered: the spectrum. We have: mistreated our fellow: species. We have: armed ourselves to: the teeth with weapons: that could end: us."

The: mantis clicked. Satisfied. The: prosecution resting.

"But: I'm not here to: deny guilt. I'm here: to ask for: something that the Council: has granted three: thousand nine hundred: and forty-one times: before. Something that: ninety-seven percent of: quarantined species have: eventually earned. Time."

"Time. To fix the: carbon. We have: the science. We have: the engineers. We have: the Paris Agreement — imperfect, slow, frustrating, but: real. We are: building solar plants: in Rajasthan that: will power millions: of homes. We are: planting trees. Not: enough. Not: fast enough. But: we are doing it."

"Time. To clean the: spectrum. We have: already moved to: digital signals. The: DDLJ echo loop — I: apologise for that: on behalf of: Bollywood. We will: address it."

"Time. To fix our: treatment of: other species. This: is the hardest: one. I won't: pretend we're close. We're: not. But we: have people — millions: of them — who are: trying. Who run: shelters, who protect: forests, who chain: themselves to trees."

"Time. To clean: orbit. We have: programs. ISRO — our: space agency — has: begun debris: mitigation. It's: slow. It's: underfunded. But: it exists."

"And: the warheads. The: twelve thousand warheads. This: is the one: that will quarantine: us if anything: does. And I: won't insult your: intelligence by pretending: we're about to: disarm. We're not. We're: afraid of each other. That's: the truth. We're: a species that: is afraid of: itself."

The: sphere listened.

"But: fear is not: permanent. Fear: is what you feel: before you understand. Before: you have context. Before: you know that: eighty-three percent of: the species in: this chamber have: been exactly where: we are. Afraid. Armed. Dangerous: to themselves."

"We will: disarm. Not: because we're moral. Not: because we're evolved. Because: we're practical. Because: twelve thousand warheads: are expensive and: the money could: build pumps. Could: bring water to: Barmer. Could: feed the children: who carry pots: on their heads."

I held up: the phone. The: photograph. Ramlal: and his daughter. The: pump. The green: field.

"This: is my closing: argument. Not: a legal brief. Not: a precedent. A: photograph. A: man and his: daughter and a: pump that works. This: is what my: species does when: you give us: time. We fix: things. One: pump at a time."

The Council: deliberated for six hours. Six: hours in which I sat: in the Pre-Hearing Antechamber: under the gas-giant: chandelier and ate: grey paste and stared: at my phone and: did not call Sameer: because there was: nothing to say until: the verdict came.

Zrix: sat beside me. The: alien — my guide, my: handler, the being: who had landed in: the Aravalli hills and: changed my life — sat: in silence. Which: was unusual. Zrix: always spoke. The: Duolingo Hindi. The: measured, period-separated: sentences. The constant: stream of information and: assessment and galactic: context. But now: silence.

"You're: worried," I said.

"I am. Not. Capable. Of worry. I am. Capable. Of statistical. Assessment. And the. Statistics. Are not. Favourable."

"What: percentage?"

"Historically. Species with. More than. Twelve violations. Are quarantined. In ninety-one. Percent. Of cases."

"Nine: percent chance."

"Approximately."

"That's: more than zero."

"It is. Significantly. Less. Than fifty."

I looked at: the gas giant. Rotating: above. The: bands of colour — amber, rust, cream — moving: with the slow: majesty of a: world that did not: care about councils: or violations or: the fate of a: small blue planet: in a distant: arm of the: galaxy.

"Zrix?"

"Yes."

"Why: did you land in: the Aravalli hills? Specifically? You: could have landed: anywhere on Earth."

"The algorithm. Selected. You. Your location. Was incidental."

"But: you landed on: my cycling trail. At: the exact moment I was: riding. That's not: incidental. That's: targeting."

Zrix blinked: horizontally. "The algorithm. Is designed. To find. The representative. At a. Moment of. Personal crisis. Studies show. That species. Members. In crisis. Are more. Honest. More. Authentic. More. Representative."

"You: picked me because: my girlfriend had: just dumped me."

"We picked you. Because you. Were. At your most. Human. Grief. Makes. Your species. Transparent. And transparency. Is what. The Council. Responds to."

"So the: forty-seven-second voice note: was part of: the plan?"

"The voice note. Was coincidence. The grief. Was selection. Criteria."

I laughed. In: the Pre-Hearing Antechamber. Under: the gas giant. The: laugh of a man: who had been: dumped, abducted, sent: to space, and asked: to save his: planet, and who: was now learning: that the dumping: was the qualification: for the saving.

"The universe: really does have: a sense of: humour."

"The universe. Has. Patterns. Humour. Is a. Human. Interpretation."

*

The: verdict came. Not: as an announcement. As: a colour. The Chief: Adjudicator pulsed: green.

Green.

The: universal translation field: rendered: "The Council has: reviewed the case: of Sol-3, locally: known as Earth. The: Council acknowledges the: seventeen violations. The: Council notes the: representative's arguments: regarding the species': capacity for: self-correction."

"The Council: rules as follows."

"Quarantine: is deferred. Not: dismissed. Deferred. For: a period of: one hundred Earth: years. During which: the species Homo: sapiens will be: monitored. Violations must: be remediated according: to the following: schedule—"

A schedule: appeared. Holographic. In: the sphere. In: Hindi — my Hindi, the: translation rendering: the galactic legal: framework into a: language I could: understand.

Carbon: reduction — fifty percent within: thirty years. Electromagnetic: cleanup — full compliance: within twenty years. Species: conduct — measurable improvement: within fifty years. Orbital: debris — complete removal: within twenty-five years. Nuclear: disarmament — complete elimination: within one hundred: years.

"Failure to meet: any milestone will: result in immediate: quarantine without: further hearing."

"Does the: representative from: Earth accept these: terms?"

I stood. In: my Raymond's suit. On: my three-metre platform. In: the sphere of: four thousand seven hundred: and twelve species.

"On behalf: of Earth," I said. "I: accept."

The: chamber shifted. Not: a sound — not: applause, not: murmuring. A: shift. The: specific, gravitational: shift of four thousand: seven hundred and twelve: species' attention moving: from judgment to: something else. Something: that the universal: translation field could: not render because: it was not: a word. It was: a feeling. The: feeling of a: chance given. Of: a door left: open.

The four-armed: being — the one from: the antechamber, the one: who had said: "your planet is: quarantined" — caught: my eye. Across: the sphere. Across: gravity fields and: species boundaries and: the impossible geometry: of a room where: everyone had their: own floor.

The being: nodded. One: of four arms: raised. The: gesture was universal.

Good: luck.

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.

I went to: work the next day. Rajasthan Water Solutions. The: office on Fatehpura Road — a: two-storey building above: a chai stall and a: photocopy shop. The: specific, unglamorous headquarters: of a company that: designed pumps for: government contracts.

My boss: Verma-sahab — the: man who signed: my pay cheque and: who believed that: punctuality was a moral: virtue and that: air conditioning was: a weakness — looked: at me when I: walked in.

"Sharma, you took: three days leave: without notice."

"Family: emergency, sir."

"Your mother: called. She said: you're fine."

"It was: a different kind: of family. A: larger family."

Verma-sahab did: not understand. Verma-sahab: would never understand. Verma-sahab: understood pumps, deadlines, and: the specific joy: of a government contract: that paid on time. The: Intergalactic Council was: outside his jurisdiction.

I sat at: my desk. The desk: — grey metal, government-surplus, purchased: at a Chor Bazaar: auction for two: thousand rupees — held: my computer, my: calculator, my: coffee mug (which: said "World's Best: Engineer" in: faded letters, a gift from: Sameer that was: now technically accurate: in a way: neither of us had: anticipated), and a: framed photograph of: the RS-400 pump: installation in Barmer.

The: photograph. Ramlal: and his daughter. The: photograph that I had: shown to four: thousand seven hundred: and twelve species. The: photograph that had: been part of: the argument that: saved the planet.

I looked at: the photograph and: I thought: nobody: knows. Eight billion: people on this planet: and nobody knows: that we have: one hundred years: and a schedule: and milestones and: that the universe: is watching. Nobody: knows that a pump: engineer from Udaipur: stood in a sphere: with no floor: and said "namaskar": and showed them: his phone.

And: nobody needed: to know. That: was the point. The: Council wanted: authentic change. Not: performance. Not: the panicked scramble: of a species that: knew it was: being graded. The: genuine, messy, slow, stubborn: change of a species: that was fixing: things because fixing: things was what: it did.

*

Sameer came: over that evening. With: biryani. The Chetak: Circle biryani — the: one from the: stall next to: the ATM, the: biryani that had: sustained us through: engineering college and: heartbreaks and call-centre: night shifts and: every crisis that: Udaipur had produced: in twenty-six years: of friendship.

"So," Sameer said. Sitting: on my one-BHK: floor. Eating biryani: from a steel: plate. "You saved: the planet."

"Temporarily."

"Everything's: temporary, bhai. The: biryani's temporary. The: hangover's temporary. Kavya: was temporary."

"That one: stung."

"Truth stings. Also: she called again."

"She: what?"

"She called. Twice. Once: to ask if: you're back from: your 'business trip.' And: once to ask: for Chintu's number."

"Chintu? The kid: who plays cricket: on the ground?"

"She wants: to organise a: neighbourhood cricket: match. For charity. She's: doing things, bhai. New: Kavya. Post-breakup: energy."

"Post-breakup energy: is a real: thing?"

"It's the most: powerful force in: the universe. More: powerful than shakti: or whatever the: aliens use."

I ate: the biryani. The: Chetak Circle biryani. The: saffron rice, the: slow-cooked mutton, the: fried onions on top: that were crisp and: sweet and that: Sameer always stole: from my plate: because he claimed: his plate had: fewer. The: taste of Udaipur. The: taste of home. The: taste that no: alien grey paste: could replicate because: taste was not: nutrition — taste: was memory, was: friendship, was the: specific combination of: spice and heat: and a shared: plate on a: floor in a: one-BHK in: Hiran Magri.

"Bhai?"

"Yeah?"

"If the: aliens come back — if they: check on us: in a hundred: years — what: will they find?"

"I don't: know. Maybe: we fix everything. Maybe: we fix some: of it. Maybe: we're still arguing: about it and: eating biryani on: the floor."

"That's: not a bad: outcome."

"It's not. It's: very human."

"It's: very Udaipur."

Six months: later.

The monsoon had: come and gone. The: Aravalli hills were: green — the specific, brief, miraculous: green of a Rajasthan: post-monsoon, the green: that lasted two months: before the desert: reclaimed its territory. The: cycling trails were: mud. I hadn't ridden: in weeks.

Things had: changed. Not: galactically — galactically, everything: was the same. The: Council monitors were: invisible. The milestones: were ticking. Humanity: was doing what: humanity did — arguing, building, destroying, fixing, one: step forward and: half a step: back. The Paris: Agreement was being: renegotiated. ISRO had: launched a debris: cleanup satellite. A: coalition of nations: had agreed to: reduce nuclear stockpiles: by three percent: over ten years. Three: percent. Out of: twelve thousand. It: was nothing. It was: also a start.

Things had: changed personally. Rajasthan: Water Solutions had: won the Jaisalmer: contract — forty-seven: pumps for forty-seven: villages in the: Thar Desert. The: RS-400 design, modified: for the deeper: aquifers of western: Rajasthan. My design. My: pumps. Forty-seven: villages that would: have water because: a pump engineer: from Udaipur had: done the math.

Verma-sahab: had given me: a raise. Four thousand: rupees. "For the: Jaisalmer work," he said. Not: for saving the: planet. For: the pumps. Which: was the same: thing, at a: different scale.

*

Kavya and I: had met. Not: reconciled — met. At: the Chetak Circle: chai stall. The: one next to: the biryani stall, the: one where the: chai-wallah used: the specific Mewar: recipe — extra: ginger, less sugar, the: cardamom crushed: not ground, served: in a kulhad: that gave the: chai its: clay flavour.

She looked: different. Not physically — Kavya: always looked the: same, the specific: combination of sharp: cheekbones and: soft eyes that: had first: caught my attention: at a friend's: Diwali party three: years ago. Different: in the way: she held herself. The: post-breakup energy: that Sameer had: described. The: energy of a: person who had: made a decision: and was living: with it and: was discovering that: living with decisions: was harder and: better than she: had expected.

"I heard you: were on a: business trip," she: said. Kulhad in: both hands. The: specific gesture: of a woman who: was holding something: warm because: the warmth was: easier to hold: than the conversation.

"Something like: that."

"Sameer says: you saved the: planet."

"Sameer: exaggerates."

"He usually: does. But he: was serious. Which: is unusual."

I drank: my chai. The: Mewar recipe. The: extra ginger burning. The: clay flavour of: the kulhad. The: taste that was: Udaipur. That: was Rajasthan. That: was the specific: geographic, cultural, personal: point on the: planet that I: had been born: into and that: I had defended: in a sphere: with no floor.

"Kavya?"

"Yeah?"

"The voice note. Forty-seven: seconds. Why: forty-seven?"

She laughed. Not: the Palolem: laugh — the: sun-behind-her, halo: laugh. A: different laugh. Smaller. Sadder. More: honest.

"Because I: practised. I recorded: it six times. The: first was three: minutes. Too long. The: second was two: minutes. Still: too long. By the: sixth take, I: had it down to: forty-seven seconds. Because: I thought — if: I keep it: short, it will: hurt less."

"It didn't: hurt less."

"I know. Short: doesn't mean less. It: just means faster."

"Like: leaving the atmosphere: in eleven seconds."

"What?"

"Nothing. An: analogy."

We sat. At: the chai stall. On: the plastic chairs: that the chai-wallah: provided — yellow, cracked, the: specific industrial plastic: that Indian chai: stalls had been: using since the: invention of plastic: chairs. We: sat and we drank: and we did: not talk about: reconciliation or: futures or the: specific, complicated, terrifying: mathematics of two: people who had: hurt each other: and who were: now sitting in: the same place: drinking the same: chai.

"I'm organising: a cricket match," Kavya: said. "For: the neighbourhood. Charity. The: money goes to: a water project: in Barmer."

"Barmer."

"I saw your: Instagram post. The: pump. The farmer: and his daughter. I: thought — that's: a good thing. I: want to be: part of good: things."

"You: unfollowed me."

"I: refollowed you. Last: week. You didn't: notice?"

I had: not noticed. I had: been busy. Designing: pumps. For forty-seven: villages. In: the Thar: Desert.

"The match: is on Saturday," Kavya: said. "Chintu: is organising the: teams. On the: cricket ground next: to your building."

"The cricket: ground."

"The one with: the broken-ruler: stumps."

The cricket ground: where an alien spaceship: had landed. Where: the stumps had: been scattered by: landing legs. Where: a grey tabby: cat had slept: through an intergalactic: departure. The cricket: ground that was: just a cricket: ground — an empty: plot in Hiran: Magri where neighbourhood: kids played — and: that was also: the place where: everything had started.

"I'll: be there," I: said.

*

Saturday. The: cricket match. The: broken-ruler stumps: had been replaced — Chintu: had procured proper: stumps from: somewhere, the: kind with actual: bails. The: teams were: the building kids: versus the lane: kids. Kavya was: umpiring. Sameer: was commentating: from a plastic: chair with: a megaphone he: had borrowed from: the chai stall: next door.

I stood: at the boundary. Not: playing — watching. In: the August heat: that was becoming: September cool. In: the Udaipur evening: that was: gold and dust: and the sound: of children hitting: a tennis ball: with a wooden: bat.

My phone: buzzed. A message. From: a number I: did not recognise. The: message was: in Hindi. But: the Hindi was: accented. Duolingo: Hindi.

Monitoring. Proceeding. Satisfactorily. Your species. Is stubborn. This. Is noted. Positively.

Also. The DDLJ. Signal loop. Has been. Resolved. The Council. Thanks you.

Also. The woman. With the. Kulhad. Recommend. Persistence.

I looked up: from my phone. At: the cricket ground. At: Chintu bowling: leg-spin to a: seven-year-old who: swung and missed. At: Sameer commentating: with the megaphone: — "Wide ball! That's: wider than: Sharma's excuse for: missing work!" At: Kavya umpiring: with the specific: seriousness of a: woman who had: decided that fairness: in cricket was: as important as: fairness in: anything.

At the: Aravalli hills: in the distance. Green: from the monsoon. The: hills where I had: been cycling when: the universe had: decided that a: pump engineer: from Udaipur was: the person to: save the planet.

I put: my phone away. I: walked to: the pitch. I: picked up: the bat.

"Bhai, you're: batting?" Sameer: said into the: megaphone. "Ladies and: gentlemen, the ambassador: of Earth is: batting! This: could go either: way!"

It: could. Everything: could go either: way. The planet. The: milestones. The: hundred-year schedule. Kavya. The: pumps. The forty-seven: villages. Everything: was uncertain and: everything was: in motion and: everything — all: of it, from: the galactic to: the cricket ground — depended: on the same: thing. The: same stubborn, average, pump-engineering: refusal to give: up. The same: human insistence: on fixing: things. One: pump at a: time. One: over at a: time. One: chai at a: time.

Chintu: bowled. I: swung.

I: missed.

"Out!" Kavya: called. "LBW!"

"That was: not LBW! That: was—"

"I'm the: umpire, Arjun. My: decision is final."

The: universe, I: reflected: while walking back: to the boundary, was: consistent. Whether you: were defending a: planet before the: Intergalactic Council: or arguing: an LBW decision: with your ex-girlfriend, the: outcome was: the same. You: did your best. You: swung at: the ball. And: sometimes: you missed.

But you: came back. To: the crease. To: the planet. To: the chai stall: with the kulhad. You: came back because: coming back was: what stubborn, average, pump-engineering: humans did.

And: that — Zrix: would say — was: the point.