One Weird Day

Pandora's Jar

They are fascinating. Very different. All communication is non-direct. Vocal speech. A well-developed nervous system, too.

They must let me out. I need more oxygen. I won't last long, trapped inside like this. Won't see the results of my efforts.

The huge creature approaches again, bringing an even bigger one with him. Two pairs of eyes, distorted by the thick glass, stare.

"I told you it was purple. Right? Didn't I tell you?"

The bigger one is quiet for a while. "What the hell is this?"

"I told you! Told you, Dad!"

"You didn't touch this thing?"

"Only to put it in the jar."

"Craig, for all the... Go wash your hands immediately."

The sounds barely get to me, but the thoughts, the emotions, the relations are clear. They are family members. They are also kindred to the smaller one, the one who had come to see me before, and then had left, moving very fast and making loud noises.

They are repulsed and slightly scared by what they see. Which is me.

"Where did you find it?" The jar is moved, brought closer to the eyes of the bigger one—the 'Dad'—and I slide to one side on the slick surface. "What...three eyes?"

"Cool, right? Can I take it to school tomorrow?"

"No." The Dad scratches his head. "I'll take it to work, show it to the guys from the biology department."

"But I found it!"

"Craig, this thing could be dangerous." The jar with me inside is moved again. I get jumping glimpses of the smaller one—Craig—following, making noises to indicate he is upset.

"I don't want it in your room. I'll put it here for the night, and don't you dare touch it."

The jar is placed on the opening in the wall, and I can see the world outside. It's full of oxygen. Just the kind of world we've been looking for. Everything is on a huge scale, more fit for larger creatures, but manageable.

My time is running out. The light fades slowly until it's dark both inside and outside the dwelling. Its inhabitants cease their thinking gradually.

All of them but one.

A face appears on the other side of the glass. It's the smaller one who had escaped after having seen me, the one they had called Pandora. She's still disgusted by me, but determined. She pities little things.

"Hello, little wormy." She unscrews the top of the jar, and the air rushes in, intoxicatingly sweet. "Go home, little wormy." She turns the jar upside down and, after a short fall, I land on the ground.

It takes me ages to climb back inside the house. By then, it is completely quiet. I proceed cautiously, looking for the Dad, following the ragged echo of his brain activity. I must start from him. I climb up until I'm right next to his face. His eyes are closed, but I don't need his eyes.

I enter through his ear.

I plug in.

He—I—sits up on the bed. His feet hit the floor a little too hard. A woman past him stirs and opens her eyes. "What is it?"

I summon his memory, his habits, his voice. "Just thirsty," I say. "Sleep."

I walk him into the yard, up to the fence. The tall grass is wet against our bare feet. In the corner of the yard, obscured by the bushes, lays the ship. The landing didn't go quite as planned, but the bushes had kept us undiscovered. The first two scouts had never come back, and the connection was lost. I'm the third one to go out—and the first one to succeed. I'm proud of having achieved that, of taking part in ensuring a better life for my species.

We pick the ship up. It's heavy, but we can handle it. Shakily, we make our way back to the house. In the kitchen, we put the ship on the table. The lid opens, and there they are, my kin, swarming, greeting me, thousands of them. The Dad pulls back—he's still there, somewhere, at least some of his instinctive reactions are—but I tighten my control, and he calms down. I lower our hand on the table, and three of my fellow officers climb on our palm.

We go upstairs, and leave them, one by one, on the woman's pillow, on Craig's, on Pandora's.

The window is wide open. We fill our lungs with air. The long journey is over. Instead of a dying planet, slowly burned by an expanding sun, a new home—full of oxygen, water, and creatures with nervous systems just asking to be taken. To be ruled. Their history, their experience—we'll take it from here.

In the morning, the four of us stand by the kitchen table, on which a temporary city is being raised. Craig and Pandora put their small glass jars filled with volunteers into their school bags, next to their lunch boxes. My wife and I fill two more jars to take to work. Tomorrow, more people will come to take more of us to new places.

As the school bus drives away, I hug my wife, and we wave, standing on the porch.

The air is fresh, the sun is warm, and the future is full of promise.