“What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve believed?”

What an odd question for a job interview. There were so many things; how to narrow it down to The Most? “Hmm. Give me a second,” I said, stalling for time.

I’d been to a number of job interviews since losing my entry-level spot at Gartech. In the nine months I was there, I had barely started learning the practical, real-world applications of my post-grad speciality when the entire Ener-Gen program was scrapped. (This was, of course, right after the discovery of Terracite-42, which, I don’t have to tell you, changed way more than global plans for a space program. We all remember The Upheaval.)

“Well, let’s see…” Still stalling. I could tell that the project manager was used to this, was neither in a hurry, nor going to allow the stall tactic to let me off the hook. I’d have to answer.

My mind raced. When I was a child there were many ridiculous things: Nocturnal gift-bringers; Inanimate friends; That I might have a chance to go pro in an athletic endeavor. But as I aged, those fantastical ideas weakened, diminished, and finally died. The world got smaller, realer.

Except…

There was something I could disclose. Something I didn’t want to discuss. Something I couldn’t discuss, not if I wanted to be employable, to go un-mocked in my academically-centered, fact-based career path.

It was about how we weren’t alone.

Even when I was young I knew it, but through rumor, innuendo, hushed voices and overheard, clipped, cryptic conversations. I knew that others knew.

I looked at project manager who’s name I had already forgotten. The last executive in a line of executives I had to impress if I wanted the gig. Something about her, something in her eyes, in the way she was just slightly leaning in, expectant, told me that I could trust her with the truth, even when every part of my rational mind was screaming ‘no!’ Wouldn’t that be the great irony if the most ridiculous thing I believed was that I could confess the most ridiculous thing I believe and not face ridicule…?

Or, maybe, that was the point. I mean, why ask the question at all, if not because the Search was what actually mattered? But the search for what? If this was a psychological test, she was searching to see who was at risk of letting their particular brand of nutty get in the way of solid, practical, science-based work. On the other hand, if this was a probing question, maybe the point was to unearth who could think openly, imaginatively, who wouldn’t let the “can’t-be-dones” sneak in and prevent real innovation from happening.

Something about her, something told me that she wanted the latter; That what they needed were open minds, not textbook-regurgitators. I took a deep breath, matched her slight lean forward, and went for it:

“Well, the most ridiculous thing I’ve believed is simple, if not a little crazy. I believe we’re not alone in this universe.” I waited just a moment, searching her countenance for a clue, anything that would let me know if I was doing the right thing.

Nothing, so I continued, too far in now to stop.

“I… I’ve seen, um, them.”

“Them?”

Gulp. “Yes, ‘them.’” She leaned back into her chair and I immediately felt like I was losing the job, and maybe my reputation—but something inside me felt compelled to continue. “I’ve, well, witnessed them. On more than one occasion.”

“Really? Tell me about that.”

“You, uh, okay, well, the first time was about, well, maybe a year or so ago. I had, you know, ‘felt’ like they were around, real, ever since I can remember. But the first time I had a real encounter was around then, a little over a year ago.”

“What happened?”

I took a deep breath and let it all spill out in more stream-of-consciousness than cogent thoughts: “It was night, but not too dark. I was working in my greenhouse, getting it set up for the colder months, when a light—super-bright, like, so bright it hurt—split open the dusk, and there was a loud sound, like wind tearing through a cave, but way, way louder. So loud I had to cover my ears. Then, just as quickly, it was dark and quiet again. But the things is, see, I ran out of my greenhouse to see what was happening, and then, when it was dark again, I, well, I was sort of dizzy, and had trouble staying upright, so I sort of leaned against my greenhouse to collect myself, and that’s when I noticed that all of my plants were gone. All of them. Nothing was left. And it was much later than it felt; Like, somehow I’d lost half the night.”

“Wow. Was that the only time you were, well, visited?”

I struggled, unable to determine if she was showing genuine interest or mocking me. But, again, I was too far in to turn back, so I decided just to continue. “No. The next time was a few weeks ago. And I saw them, the beings, this time.”

“You did?”

“Yes. One hundred percent.”

“What did they, you know, look like?”

I could feel the last of my hesitation falling away. If she thought I was crazy or mocking me or whatever, I no longer cared. This was serving as a sort of therapy, so I’d either land the job or finally be able to sleep through the night again. Both seemed, at the time, equally as important.

“At first, I thought they were similar to the bags that are used by refuse collection agents.”

“Really? The big, floppy white—“

“Yes. That’s how they presented, first. Or, with their shiny faces, maybe like the grub of a Turlock Moth.”

“How disturbing.”

“It was. I almost ran. But, since I was in my food storage unit, they couldn’t see me and, I believe, they assumed they were alone. That’s when, well, I thought they were molting—“

“Molting?”

“Yes, and in a way I suppose they were, but it was not an exoskeleton per se, but a protective garment. There were four of them. The first took off what I now know to be a sort of helmet. A few moments later, the other three did likewise. They then proceeded to help each other out of their protective suits. They were wearing clothing underneath, but I could see some exposed skin. This is the strangest part. They were various colors.”

“Our species has various colors.”

“Yes, but, this was different. Dramatic. And their skins was… soft. At least, it appeared to be, they way it moved, compressed. They seemed… I don’t know: vulnerable.”

“And you think that might explain the protective suits?”

“Maybe. Probably. Listen, I feel like I’ve gone very far into a story that could not only call into question my ability to work here, but might—“

“You’re worried about your academic reputation.”

I fidgeted in my seat. “Yes, I am.”

“Let me show you something.”

She got up and guided me to a door toward the back of her office, opening it and waving me to follow. We walked down a long hallway, took a quick left turn, and went through two more doors and a vapor lock. Before I could take it all in, she was walking confidently across the floor of the most massive room I’ve ever been in. Others were doing various jobs, carrying out tasks. I could see the quick, subtle stiffening from those that noticed her, an executive, walking through their area. A sign of respect.

I was so overwhelmed I almost missed it, the massive craft in the center of the massive room. It was white and gray, shiny. Hundreds of scientists and techs were analyzing, testing, connecting, observing. On one side there was some kind of cryptic dark squiggles that I assumed were some kind of alien script. At another section of the craft was a picture, rectangular in form, with alternating red and white stripes, save for a small area blue and white.

“Come with me.”

I followed her into a room that had glass walls. On our side were desks, with scientists observing something. As I approached, I saw what they were looking at: My four alien visitors!

“We believe that two of them are male, two are female, based on our assumptions of how they might mate. Though, they appear to not be mating couples but coworkers.”

“Coworkers.”

“Yes. When our security forces took them into custody they appeared to be collecting samples of our ground soil and flora, just like—“

“When I saw them at my home.”

“Exactly.”

“So, I’m not—“

“You’re not crazy.”

I looked at them, the four. They looked so soft. Breakable. They had hair, but only in specific locations around their heads. They had 20 digits, five on each of four limbs. They walked upright, and had large craniums, considering the initial assessment on their reproductive organs.

“So, you want the job? You want to see what we can glean from their technology, what we can utilize?”

I was still thrown off by all of it, my head spinning. I answered before I knew what I was saying. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” she said, extending her fore-tail. I extended mine as well, touching hers in a gesture of agreement. “Check in with Arthrex and he’ll get you set up with a workstation.” She started to leave, her scales professionally shined, reflecting light in little flashes, before turning back and saying, “But remember, and you’ll get sick of hearing this from me, but ultimately we are only to learn from them, not harm them. We must ensure that these beings are capable of returning to their world in the same condition we found them. That’s a non-negotiable.”

“Of course.”

Alone with my thoughts, I wondered how my life had suddenly taken such a turn. I thought I was destined to be a never-was, and now I was on a team studying the soft, large-brained strangers. The weird two-eyed, bipedal alien visitors. The oddities that landed in the metallic craft with the red and white stripes around white stars in a field of blue as their banner.

I took a sip of warm bhydralseep and opened my notebook.