Chapter 2: The Departure

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."