The Scientific Indian

If a pacifist bunch of aliens land on earth and offer us all the details of the past, what would be the consequences? What, in particular, would believers feel - threatened or elated? Would humans be mature enough to handle the truth? How would religion affect what could possibly be the greatest event in human history? J Ramanand deftly handles this question in this wonderfully clever story with a mildly pessimistic ending. This story is the first prize winner of 2007 TS3C.TheScian Science Fiction Short Story Contest J. Ramanand works in text mining in a software company and is a Punekar by residence. He can be found quizzing on weekends and is the youngest winner of BBC's Mastermind India quiz. His science fiction gurus are Douglas Adams, Philip K. Dick, Christopher Priest, and Charlie Kaufman. His homepage is here. He blogs as quatrainman.

15:00, the 5.23th day of the year +80, New Priest City
The gentle whirring of the animated bot shook him out of his reverie. His phone had been redirected to text, and the on-screen panel was blinking with the name of Val. From his office cubicle in Sapphire Productions, Neek took a quick look around to ensure his inquisitive neighbor Weber wasn’t in hearing range.

“Val?”, he said and quietly hoped his sister would stick to the code.

“I have the flu, san.”

“You’ve got it then?”, he tried not to let his emotions show. He was absolutely and terribly excited.

“Yes. Just got back from the Doctor’s.”

By now, his listlessness had drained away. Since his sister had remained true to her side of the script, his responses were automatic - the advantages of prior rehearsal. She had the papers. It was not exactly a great secret but some things are better left unopened. The papers were a good example of what humans wanted to forget. There may be some religious cults still holding on to some vestigial violence. They could turn on him and his sister. He didn’t want to take a chance.

“I’ll come over this evening.”
“Ok, san.”
“Bye.”

He had a few errands to clear out before the train. He got busy. At 17:00, he gently spoke the words “shutdown” and heard his eavesdropping computer go “Bye Neek. Hope your sis gets well”. As the monitor dimmed out, its dying beam marked out Weber, who had sidled up.

“Hey Neek – what plans? We’re planning to hit Strafers. Kill some Huns this time – haven’t played the ‘Luftwaffe’ for a while.”

“Thanks Web, but my sister’s unwell. I’m leaving for her house in Wellstown immediately.”

“You’re a noble and sociable man, my friend, one of the last left in our world!” With Web, Neek could never quite tell where irony segued into sarcasm. A shrug was all he offered in receipt.

“What is the matter with her? Something serious and peculiar, I hope. Mind you”, Weber said, dropping his voice in mock-terror, “I bet it’s because of the Azureans using us as little brown and pink lab rats”.

Neek curled his lower lip in imitation of a smile. This was a popular theory of their times. However, he knew that Weber was simply too cynical to believe in it. Weber probably has concocted an elaborate and disparaging theory to explain away his own sorrows. Did pessimism come easy to one who spent his childhood in the Siberian cold?

“Nothing of that sort, sadly. Seems she has the chills. She just needs her brother to help her get over it.”

“My best to the lady, Neek, I wish her an unending supply of paper napkins. All I can do. Perhaps I’ll drop in a prayer to the Lord God of Medical Emergencies. Have a good journey, if you can help it.”

“The view will make up for it!” Neek concluded, as they both sniggered in unison at the thought.