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May 2050
James
The first year of college is almost over. How did that happen? It always amazes me how fast an academic year goes by, and yet exam week seemed to take forever. I finished my last exam a while ago and went straight to dinner. Two hours of science followed by two hours of math made me very hungry. Now I just need to finish packing. Arkeda and I have boxes and suitcases all over the room. It’s a mess.
Then there’s a knock at the door. Arkeda is closer, so he opens it. Petyr and Mark are standing there. “Hey guys, come on in,” Arkeda says.
I work my way around a stack of boxes to get to the door. “Maybe we should talk in the hallway. We kind of lost the floor.”
Arkeda looks over his shoulder at the mess. “Good idea.”
We grab our IDs and step out into the hallway. I close the door behind us.
Petyr says, “My roommate and I are having a little end-of-exams celebration. We’re going to watch Warhawk: Origins. You want to come?”
“Sure,” I say. “Why didn’t you just text us about it?”
Petyr shrugs. “With exams and reviewing for exams, I’ve been sitting all day. I needed some exercise.”
“Works for me. I haven’t seen Warhawk in ages.”
“I’ve never seen that movie,” Arkeda says.
“Man, seriously?” Mark says, looking at him incredulously. “You’ve never seen Warhawk?”
“No, never. What’s it about?”
“An alien sent to earth as a kid. He ends up becoming this, like, awesome superhero. Dude, you’ve missed out. You have to see it!”
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Arkeda
The movie begins with the boy who will become Warhawk being sent to Earth, escaping an invasion just in time. Watching the opening scenes, I finally start to understand how my parents must have felt that day, almost eleven years ago now. My parents sent me towards Earth with no idea if I would get there, knowing they’d never see me again.
As I watch, I remember my journey. Seeing the similarity to Otreau provided only a small comfort. As the memories come, I feel the beginnings of tears. I push them away. I don’t want to explain why I’m so upset.
The movie continues. I manage to make it through the first twenty minutes, then the rest of the movie is a blur. I’m vaguely aware of fighting and explosions, people asking me if I’m okay, but I can’t answer. For the next two hours, I’m eight years old again and then my life flashes past.
I’m hugging my parents one last time, feeling my heart
break into a million pieces as I watch everything I’ve ever known fade away.
I’m reading the letter my parents left me, seeing the photograph for the first time.
I’m back in the first few days at Dominique’s house, crying so much she almost took me to a doctor.
I’m hearing all the foster families’ questions, bringing the pain back full force.
I’m reading The Force of Tears.
I’m at home on Thanksgiving, with Dominique.
And now this.
As the credits start rolling, I take several deep breaths and pull myself together. Any doubts I had back in November about telling my story to someone are gone. For the first time in my life, I can’t keep it a secret anymore. Susan, Howard, Dominique, James, Mark, and Petyr–they all deserve to know. I just need to find a good time to tell them all together. I only want to do it once.
“Hey,” James says. “You okay?”
This time, I’m able to answer. “Yes, I am now. Sorry. That brought back a lot of painful memories.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Mark says. “It’s okay.”
“He’s right,” Petyr says. “I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t realize this movie would be so hard for you. I shouldn’t have pushed you to watch it.”
“You didn’t,” I say. “I wanted to. I needed this.”
And it’s true. It’s been almost eleven years. It’s long past time to move on. This summer, I’ll invite Mark, James, Petyr, and Dominique over for my birthday, and I’ll tell everyone then. Even if I lose them, I have to tell them. It’s the only way I’ll be able to continue. I can’t just keep pushing the grief away.
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August 2050
James
Mark, Petyr, and I cut our summer vacation a couple weeks short to celebrate Arkeda’s birthday. He said he has something to tell us, and he wants to do it in person.
“I’m going to tell Susan and Howard too, but I only want to go through it all once,” he’d said. All three of us had agreed to come. Now we’re in the living room at his house. It’s time for whatever Arkeda has planned.
Arkeda stands up. He looks tense. “I want to thank all of you for everything you’ve done for me.” He turns to me, Mark, and Petyr. “James, Mark, Petyr, you are the closest friends I have ever had, and the only friends who have never tried to convince me to talk about my past, although I know you’ve been curious. You accepted me as I am, and that means a lot to me.
“Dominique, you were the first person I saw after...” he pauses. “After it happened. You found me on the side of the road and took me into your home while I processed everything that had happened to me and learned how this world works.”
My eyes widen a little. He was found on the side of the road? Beside me, Mark mutters, “Where is he going with this?”
Arkeda continues, “You were there for me while I was grieving, but you never tried to force me to share more than I was comfortable with sharing.”
“Which was pretty much nothing,” Dominique says with a
kind smile.
“True,” Arkeda says, returning the smile. “But you accepted that. You were almost like another mother to me, and I wish we had reconnected much sooner than last Thanksgiving.
“Susan, Howard, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to call you Mum and Dad, but that’s who you’ve been the past five years. You were the first foster family who accepted me for me and adopting me, giving me a permanent home again, means so much to me. I don’t know how to say just how much. You took me to my first school dance, you taught me how to drive, you taught me about puberty.” He breaks off with a grin. “That was fun.”
“Yeah, sure it was,” Howard says sarcastically.
I can’t help laughing at that, even though I don’t know what the joke is.
“The point of all this is, I have felt closer to all of you than I have to anyone else since–since I left.” He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for his next words. “Which is why I want to tell you the truth. I want to tell you where I come from.”
I look at him, surprised, and I see my surprise mirrored on the others’ faces. He’s never told anyone where he’s from.
“It’s going to sound impossible,” Arkeda says, “but I swear to you, cross my heart, that it’s all true, and I would like you to keep it among us. I don’t want everyone to know. Other people may not be ready.”
They may not be ready? What’s that supposed to mean? I lean forward, curious.
Arkeda takes another deep breath. “I am from a place called Otreau. My hometown was called Katósa. On my last day, about eleven years ago, I was at Master Jabari’s seulaitál studio. Seulaitál is a form of martial arts that is nearly identical to taido.” He looks at Petyr. “That’s what I’ve been doing with you all year, Petyr.
“I was only eight years old, but I was a year ahead in my lessons. That day, we were reviewing what we had learned in the last class. I was confused about why everyone else was having trouble remembering how to do it. I didn’t understand then that my memory was better than most people’s.
“By the end of class, we hadn’t been taught anything new. Master Jabari wanted us to work on what we already knew before he taught us anything else. I wasn’t happy about that, because I felt I was ready for more, but there was nothing I could do about it.
“Every day after class, I watched the older classes. Then, when I got home, I would practice the maneuvers they’d been taught. Sometimes I would practice with my father. His name was Damari, and he was very good at seulaitál. I never did beat him, unless he let me, but he always told me that he was proud of how well I did for my age. I think, if I’d had just a few more years, I could have beaten him, but now I’ll never know.”
Arkeda stops, blinking a lot.
“That day,” he says, “my father came to the studio to get me. I usually spent class days at the studio, watching other classes, and I’d never had to leave early. I tried to find out what was wrong, but he wouldn’t give me an answer. All he would say was that there wasn’t much time, that my mother was waiting, and he’d explain everything when we arrived.
“I assumed we were going to the library. That’s where my mother worked. Her name was Kai, and she never left work early. But we went to Venetíchi Airfield instead. My father was the head of security there.”
Arkeda smiles, looking a little wistful. “I wanted to work at Master Jabari’s studio, but the airfield was my second choice. There was a simulation room there that I’d been to before, so at first I thought we were going there. Instead, my father took me to a room I’d never been to before.
“Room may be the wrong word. It must have been 300 feet wide and at least twice as long, and it was full of planes and airships. Some of them were huge, meant for fast long-distance travel, and others were just big enough for one person.”
“Wait,” Howard says, holding up a hand. “Sorry to interrupt you, but you never said where exactly this Otreau is. I’ve never heard of it.”
Arkeda sighs. “See, that part is why I said you wouldn’t believe me. Otreau is, quite literally, another world.”
Wait. “What are you saying?” I ask. “That you’re–that you’re an–” I can’t say the word. How could it possibly be true?
“An alien?” he says. “Yes.”
All six of us stare at him in shock, mouths open. All I can think is, he’s crazy, over and over.
Petyr is the first to speak. “Quatsch! Aliens don’t exist. Besides, you look just like us!”
“I know,” Arkeda says. “but there are some differences, and I spent a lot of time learning how to hide them before I was sent here. That’s what the simulation room at the airfield was for. Damari and Kai showed me what this world’s atmosphere would be like for me. I spent months getting used to it without knowing that it wasn’t just for fun, that I would actually need it someday.”
“You’ve noticed I walk silently,” he says abruptly.
“Yes,” Susan manages to break out of her disbelief long enough to answer. “You surprised me, the first few days, when you would come into a room when my back was turned. I didn’t know you were there until you spoke.”
Arkeda smiles. “I remember that. Anyway, it’s because of the differences between Earth and Otreau. By now, it’s become second nature, but if I don’t focus on it, I would be here.”
And he rises into the air. He’s standing about a yard above the floor as easily as if he was still on the ground! I didn’t think it was possible for my jaw to go any lower, but it does. How is he doing that? I’m actually starting to believe him!
“This is why I spent so much time in the simulation room,” he says. “I was learning to control my height.”
He goes back down but leaves an inch of open air between himself and the floor. My eyes are riveted to that space. My best friend is an alien, I think.
Arkeda says, “Yes I am, James, but I’m still the same person you’ve known for the past year.”
My eyes snap up to his face. I’ve thought from day one that it was like he could read my mind, but I wasn’t serious about it. But now he just proved it. I tear my eyes away long enough to glance at everyone else. Their shock and disbelief have changed to confusion. Of course. They don’t know what he did.
“What just happened?” Mark asks.
Somehow, I manage to say, “I thought, my best friend is an alien, and Arkeda answered me.”
“You know what we’re thinking?” Petyr asks Arkeda.
“Yes,” he says.
I feel like my mind is stuck, trying to comprehend everything that’s happening. “The mind reading,” I say. “Is that an... Otreau... thing, or is it because you’re here? On Earth, I mean?”
I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this. His story is impossible, but after living in the same dorm room for a year, I would know if Arkeda was crazy. Unfortunately, the only other option is that his impossible story is true.
“It’s an Otran thing,” Arkeda says.
“Otran?” Dominique asks.
“From Otreau,” he clarifies. “We don’t communicate like you do here.”
He stops, and a pained look flashes across his face. “Didn’t. We didn’t communicate like you do. We projected our words directly to another person’s mind. My parents taught me how to control the distance, and how to shape the words with my mouth so it would look like I was saying the words aloud. I thought it was just something fun, maybe something I could use as a prank. They were actually preparing me for when I would have to come here.
“You see, my parents were also scientists–hobbyists, really. They monitored the suns.”
“Suns?” I ask.
“Yes,” Arkeda says. “Otreau orbits–orbited–a binary system: a red giant, Soláris, and a white dwarf, Soléiy. My parents told me they were so close together that Soléiy was stealing matter from Soláris, that it was getting bigger while Soláris got smaller. They told me that Soléiy had gotten so big that it was becoming unstable and would explode soon, but no one wanted to believe them. The coming explosion was why they sent me away. They wanted me to survive the supernova, to have a life they wouldn’t be able to give me. They were too old to go to a different planet, but I was young enough that I could learn to adapt.
“And I have. It hasn’t been easy, hiding who I am all these years. I’ve been more open with all of you, even before today, than I have with anyone else.”
He relaxes, his confession finally done. That inch of space between his feet and the floor closes until it’s unnoticeable, but I know it must still be there. He sits on the couch, trembling. He seems calmer but on the verge of tears. With his memory, sharing that must have been as painful as when it happened. Susan immediately starts rubbing his shoulder, comforting him.
We sit there for a long time in silence, processing what Arkeda just shared. I think we all come to the same impossible conclusion: we know Arkeda isn’t crazy, so he must be telling the truth. Finally, Petyr breaks the silence.
“Could you say something?” he asks. “In your native language, the way you would normally say it.”
“Sure,” Arkeda says. He closes his eyes and, even though his lips don’t move, I hear his voice in my mind. From the looks on everyone else’s faces, I know they’re hearing the same thing.
Ego habechot enútem prasthima quoti retisiz inep alaskíniaz arsimiz.
Qito quonai enútem somnéiro tóutem vosetra falirosi
tóutem muólla mirvramástos regmatiz,
Ego faken noden skero subapo quoi calorénus,
uli upo voséis autha provlísi faroya.
Ego tamono skero qito autha qenai alsilos,
Ego tamono skero qito autha qenai magnarekoya.
After a few minutes, Dominique asks, “What does that mean?”
“It’s a poem that my mother gave me the day I was sent away. She found it buried in a book at the library where she worked.” Arkeda has returned to mimicking vocal speech. “I translated it as best as I could a few years ago. It means,
“I have a premonition that soars on silver wings.
It is a dream of your accomplishment
of many wondrous things.
I do not know beneath which sky,
Or where you’ll challenge fate.
I only know it will be high,
I only know it will be great.”
“It’s beautiful,” Susan says, her arm now across Arkeda’s shoulders. “Knowing your story, I can see why she chose that poem. It fits you perfectly.”
“That’s exactly what she said,” Arkeda says. He smiles at Susan. “I think you would have liked her.”
“I’m sure I would have.”
As strange and impossible as Arkeda’s story is, I believe every word. Maybe it’s because his emotions, while he told his story, were genuine. Maybe it’s because he is still the same guy I’ve known since last September, like he said. Whatever the reason, my life, and the lives of everyone here–Susan, Howard, Dominique, Mark, Petyr, and, most of all, Arkeda–will never be the same.
I’m adding Otran to my bucket list.
