Chapter 3: The Journey

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.