《Field of Night (Starlit Arena)》


 Greetings

    Samer¡¯s eyes refused to work. Perhaps because the night before they¡¯d melted, oozed down his face, and formed a congealed puddle next to his textbooks. The perils of pulling an all-nighter.


    Fortunately¡ªbut regrettably¡ªthis wasn¡¯t the first time. He squeezed his eyelids shut, and through the magic of willpower, his eyes reconstituted themselves.


    He found himself slumped over a desk near the back of a lecture hall. A place he knew all too well.


    A vibration stung his thigh, causing him to spasm. Again? He grimaced and left the offending device consigned to his pocket. The stupid phone hadn¡¯t stopped buzzing the whole morning. His former teammates had lost their third game in a row and, in their desolation, had chosen to bombard him with pleas to rejoin the team. Not happening. But that didn¡¯t make him feel any better about ignoring them.


    An old visualization came to mind. A set of scales, labeled Samer¡¯s Sanity, teetering dangerously to the side titled Guilt. Then, a weight titled Basketball Team materialized in the sky, and dropped on one side with a resplendent clang. It was too much. The scales tilted and crashed, sending up a plume of dust.


    Hold it together, Samer. He thumbed the silence toggle on his phone.


    However, in an act of defiance, it continued to shake, insistent. A modicum of unease unfolded in Samer¡¯s stomach. The last time his phone had behaved so demandingly, it was paramedics trying to reach his mother¡¯s emergency contact. Concern washed his tiredness and annoyance away, and he scrambled to fish his phone from his pocket.


    A cacophony of buzzing spread throughout the lecture hall. Any conversations taking place halted.


    It¡¯s all of us? He reviewed the all-caps, white-lettered notification splashed across his phone¡¯s display. Tune in immediately for an announcement from the president.


    What is it this time? A knot clenched in Samer¡¯s gut. A stifling tension descended on the room, reinforced by the gasps of his fellow students. Emergency alerts these days were all too frequent, but a direct message from the leader of the free world came with an extra dose of foreboding. Samer usually did his best to avoid the news, finding it depressing and distracting, but that wasn¡¯t much help if the news came to him.


    A few clicks from the pale-faced professor and an image materialized on the whiteboard: the president, her eyes commanding and her brow glistening with a light sheen of sweat.


    ¡°My fellow Americans. Citizens of the world who may be listening. I thank you for your time and attention. My administration brings you urgent news. Please know that I do not share this information lightly.¡±


    The president paused, outwardly steeling herself. Her next words would be remembered for eternity. ¡°We are not alone. I can confirm that intelligent life outside of Earth exists.¡±


    Samer¡¯s vision dissolved into spots as blood rushed to his head. The lecture hall swam around him. He¡¯d loved science fiction stories since childhood, but he¡¯d never imagined a world where his daydreams could become reality. This must be a dream, right? He willed his brain to wake up, expecting to find his cheek smashed into textbooks and the golden glow of a desk lamp above him.


    It didn¡¯t work. He lightly smacked his cheek. Nope, nothing. The realization sank in. Aliens are real.


    The president had continued speaking. Samer wrenched his attention back toward the screen. ¡°The proof is incontrovertible. An emissary has arrived. On Earth. The being . . . forgive me, he goes by the name Tar. Editor Tar, to use the title by which he calls himself.¡±


    She paused to take a sip of water. Cavernous silence engulfed the classroom. Samer gripped his desk, white-knuckled. This further revelation staggered him even more. Aliens as an abstract, distant concept? Sure. Everybody would lose their minds, but life as normal would go on. But a living, breathing one, who had already stepped foot on the same soil that Samer now occupied? Utterly and completely mind-boggling. His brain generated a million questions all at once. One swiftly rose to the top, flashing in giant red letters: are we all about to die?


    Samer¡¯s chest tightened as raw fear surged within him. He knew the drill. Within days, Earth would be ruined, patrolled by flying squids incinerating anything in their path. He¡¯d desperately search for his mother and sister, creeping through collapsed buildings and accompanied by a stray dog he¡¯d named Lucky.


    Be logical, Samer. If the alien wanted us dead, we¡¯d already be dead.


    His pulse slowed by a small amount, and he took a deep lungful of stale classroom air. The scene around him settled back into place. The president¡¯s brow had grown more furrowed and belied her steadfast tone. ¡°Editor Tar has committed no aggressive actions and assured us he means us no harm. He¡¯s asked for a forum through which to present himself, to all of humanity at once. After careful consideration by myself and other world leaders, we¡¯ve decided to grant his request. Please stand by.¡± The feed cut to black.


    Samer¡¯s pulse shot up again. He couldn¡¯t tell if he was excited or terrified¡ªmost likely a mixture of both. A new image appeared, and to Samer''s astonishment, rather than enormous flashing light devices set up to bridge the communication divide, the set of a morning talk show came into focus.


    On a chair, center stage, sat the alien.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Okay. He doesn¡¯t look so bad. There were no tentacles. Or laser guns. Or tin robots with murderous grins.


    If anything, the alien looked deceptively human. He was humanoid in shape, with all the usual limbs and a recognizable assortment of facial features. His gunmetal-gray skin and hairless, ridged skull clearly marked him as not from Earth, but he¡¯d also dressed in human clothing: a tailored leather suit the color of wizened tree bark, as well as knee-high, silver-tipped snakeskin boots. A veritable (fashionable?) galactic cowboy.


    Samer¡¯s curiosity sparked. He knew shoes. Every extra penny he¡¯d scraped together went toward buying the latest style, for which his mother and sister gave him endless grief. These boots exuded extravagance. They hugged the alien¡¯s calves, dark and shapely. They told a story. Samer wanted to know what.


    As if noticing his gaze, the alien shifted and demurely crossed his legs. Samer shivered, the self-assured quality of the movement sending goose bumps down his spine.


    Tar¡¯s azure-colored eyes snapped to the camera. Samer held his breath in nervous anticipation.


    Tar lifted a gloved hand, palm forward. ¡°I¡¯ve been told to use the words ¡®Greetings, I come in peace,¡¯ but let me try something different. Hello. As your leaders have informed you, you may kindly call me Editor Tar. My home planet, Xarlogia, is thousands of light-years away. Thank you for welcoming me to your planet. It¡¯s a real thrill to be here and begin what I hope will be a deep, enriching relationship with your kind.¡± He spoke with no trouble, the timbre of his voice resonant and rich and full of vigor. The alien¡¯s words struck a chord in Samer¡¯s soul. His fear further dissipated.


    Tar glanced to his side as the well-known host of the show stepped onto the stage, then took a seat facing Tar. She wore a forced, if enthusiastic, smile and tilted her body backward more than looked natural.


    Tar moved the ends of his mouth in an upward curve. A smile. It suited his face well, smoothing out the sharpness of his bone structure. His black lips parted to reveal glimmering metallic teeth, like silver ore gleaming in a dark cave. Samer pictured himself rappelling down them, one tooth at a time.


    Tar gave a modest wave with one hand and held out the other. The host¡¯s smile slipped. She froze, gears visibly turning within her mind. Tar kept his hand outstretched, firmly in position. At last, the host lifted her own arm, and the two exchanged a perfunctory handshake. After, she splayed her fingers out and examined them but then noticed what she was doing and quickly clasped her hands in her lap.


    Samer exhaled noisily. Trial passed. He found it curious the alien had initiated the handshake. He¡¯d prepared for this encounter.


    The host invited Tar to share his story. How did he come to find Earth? What was the purpose of his visit? Samer eagerly anticipated the answers, like nothing in his life before.


    Tar grinned broadly and turned in his chair to face the camera. ¡°Oh, I happened to be in the neighborhood. Granted, a couple dozen light-years away, but I found the myriad of signals your planet broadcasts intriguing. I couldn¡¯t help but listen in, and I quickly developed a deep and abiding affection for your species. You live such vibrant lives, facing down difficult choices at every turn, but always remaining proud and resilient. You as a people are bold and determined and clearly hunger for advancement. In my assessment, you are a civilization destined for greatness.¡±


    He extended an open palm out and moved it across the screen. ¡°I never wavered in my decision to approach Earth. I will help your world progress however I can. It should serve as no surprise that there¡¯s quite the universe out there awaiting you. I know the value of a guide that can ensure that Earth remains protected and prosperous as you take further steps into exploring the great beyond.¡±


    He pointed up, as if to the heavens, and Samer could see it all in front of him. Humanity answering its calling to live among the stars. Tar standing proudly at their side, the benevolent alien uncle. It was an inviting image.


    Tar stood and gently opened his jacket, as if to forestall the audience¡¯s concern about mysterious objects in coats. He pulled out two small items. ¡°To demonstrate my good faith, let me show you a little of what I bring with me.¡±


    In his right hand, he held a long, thin glass cylinder. Samer squinted. A champagne flute?


    Tar lightly tapped the stem. Golden liquid began to rise from the bottom. From nowhere. Once filled, he handed the glass to the host. She swirled it, pursing her lips, then took a sip. A second ticked by before she gave a more relaxed smile and exclaimed that it tasted wonderful.


    Tar nodded approvingly. He then held out the second object, a toy-sized spinning wheel. Yellow straw rested on the spindle. With a flick of his finger, the wheel whirred, and the straw spun and disappeared. In its place, a filament of gold emerged.


    Samer gasped, echoed by others in the classroom. A fairy tale come to life.


    Tar took a theatrical bow, evidently not held back by the lack of in-person audience. Samer caught a hint of a calculating expression on the visitor¡¯s face. It wasn¡¯t a difficult leap to speculate that Tar made this demonstration with the specific purpose of appealing to humanity¡¯s aspirations of wealth and extravagance. He was planting the seeds. What was this all a prelude to?


    Tar handed the gold thread to the host, who held it aloft, her eyes widened in shock. ¡°I must say, humanity inspires me. Even with your species being as young as you are, you have cultivated such a rich abundance of culture and lore.¡± He pointed to the items held by the host. ¡°These are only but baubles. More to come, I promise.¡±


    Tar returned to his chair. He stroked his chin, looking more subdued, except for the spark in his deep-set eyes. ¡°There is one additional avenue of cooperation which I¡¯d like to mention.¡±


    Samer tensed. Here it comes.


    ¡°I come from an intergalactic body called the Liberated Collective. My role as Editor is to select and sponsor individuals to compete in a prestigious intergalactic fighting competition. It would be my absolute pleasure to bestow this honor upon a few handpicked members of your species. I can only take on a small group, but I vow to fully support these future champions so that they might earn riches and rewards and help usher Earth into its new era. I look forward to initiating my recruitment drive soon.¡±


    Samer flinched in surprise, his suspicions subsiding. That actually sounds . . . amazing. The thought of outer space filled him with a mixture of awe and yearning. Could he be part of that vanguard, one of the first humans to journey into the final frontier?


    Reality sank in. That was an easy one. Impossible. Even if I were chosen, I can¡¯t leave.


    The alien stood and made his exit, flanked by Secret Service. A cavalcade of news anchors, pundits, and politicians appeared after, all expressing various degrees of shock and disbelief. Not one suggested that Tar represented a hostile threat.


    Samer¡¯s attention drifted as he tried to sort through the morning¡¯s heavy assortment of emotions. Tar wasn¡¯t what he expected¡ªand it seemed everybody else agreed. He looked around and observed that his classmates appeared relaxed, excited even. Tar had capably put his captivated viewers around the world at ease. Samer wondered what to make of it all. Especially those boots.

 Tea

    Samer drove the ball between his legs, pivoted, and ducked underneath the guard¡¯s outstretched arms. He pushed the ball up and out with a quick thrust of his hand. Swish. The movement came easy to him.


    His teammates swarmed him and clapped him on the back. He raised his fist in a victory pump, and they all let loose a raucous cheer. A few of the opposing team¡¯s players grumbled in irritation, but most shook their heads ruefully, acknowledging a hard-fought game.


    With the match over and the sun dipping below the horizon, everybody dispersed for home. Still exhilarated and reveling in a level of freedom he rarely experienced anymore, Samer chose to take the long way home.


    Meandering down the main street of his small suburb, he noticed a group of people standing in front of the community center. They¡¯d arrayed themselves in a half-circle, hands gesticulating and voices raised in the high tones of excitement. His curiosity piqued, Samer veered in their direction.


    As he drew closer, their object of interest came into sight and Samer discerned the source of their enthusiasm. A large colorful poster hung from the wall, announcing the arrival of a new store downtown. The advertisement promised phones, appliances, and a host of other gadgets featuring the latest in thrilling Xarlogic tech.


    Tar occupied the center of the poster and wore a gold suit that made his teeth shine. He extended both hands to the colorful array of goods surrounding him.


    In the eight months since Tar¡¯s arrival on Earth, his branded stores and their manufacturing hub counterparts had spread across the globe like wildfire. They were widely celebrated for bringing jobs, economic development, and community revitalization. Government officials from every known jurisdiction ruthlessly competed to secure the next one. It was both highly impressive and deeply concerning, but Samer had other things to worry about.


    And yet here the alien was, right on his doorstep. Samer hadn¡¯t expected Tar¡¯s budding commercial empire to arrive anytime soon. He lived in a depressed area that politicians disregarded. The question of why here tugged on him. Win would surely have some insight. He¡¯d ask him later.


    Samer reached the corner diner at the end of the road. Through the front window, he spotted his sister, Nadia, speaking to a table full of guests. She wore her standard waitress uniform and had a pen and notepad in hand. Like him, she was tall and lanky, and had thick, dark hair; those who met them easily guessed they were siblings.


    Unlike Samer, though, she knew how to work a crowd. He felt a twinge of joy at the big smiles her infectious energy generated. The tip money she earned always went a long way.


    Not wanting to distract her, Samer zipped ahead, making a few turns while navigating his neighborhood. He reached a wide avenue, once having served as a busy highway, and arrived at a dated, Tetris block-shaped, squat building. A metal pole topped by an empty signboard stood out front, the rusting reminder of the building¡¯s storied past. A couple of decades ago, it had been converted from a motel to apartments¡ªnot long before Samer and his family moved in.


    He sometimes leaned on the rickety handrail and imagined the motel during its heyday. He saw a constant whir of cars coming and going, families spilling in and out of their rooms, and children playing in the now-dilapidated pool. No matter its present, the former motel still served as a monument to familial happiness. It gave him comfort.


    An evening wind picked up as he climbed the stairs to the second level. He gave a gentle rap on the door to his mother¡¯s room. Only hearing the quiet hum of the evening in return, he took out the key and eased inside.


    Even with the shades drawn and the cooler evening temperature, the air hung heavy and stifling. A glance at the thermostat confirmed the heat had been raised to the max. A petite figure occupied a sliver of the bed, still and silent.


    He crept over to the connecting door that led to the room he shared with Nadia. As he reached to grasp the handle, his phone vibrated on his hip, and because he¡¯d forgotten to silence it, the opening notes of the Space Jam theme began to blare. He stifled a groan of exasperation. He knew better than to be so careless.


    As he fumbled to turn the sound off, his mother, Sara, coughed and started to move. She paused when she spotted his dark outline. ¡°Samer, is that you?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t suppress his trademark sheepish grin. ¡°Sorry, Ma. Didn¡¯t mean to wake you.¡±


    She pulled herself up and looked him over before frowning. ¡°Were you playing basketball? I thought you were meeting with your tutor.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Ma, I did. That was five hours ago. You¡¯ve been sleeping all day.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    He squinted at her. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    She looked up, considering. ¡°Same as usual. Tired, weak. Not looking forward to my appointment later this week.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want me to come too? We both know Nadia struggles getting you up and down the stairs.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°No, your sister took time off specifically so she could do this. You need to study. You can¡¯t be worrying about me during finals.¡±


    ¡°You know that¡¯s not how it works, right? I¡¯m always worrying about you.¡±


    She reached up to take his hand into hers, the touch of her skin like rough paper. ¡°My son, my beautiful, precious son, please, I¡¯m asking you to do me this favor. Concentrate on passing this test, so you can start your new job without any trouble. You deserve to start your adult life on as good a note as possible.¡± She squeezed his hand tightly. ¡°We don¡¯t want the accounting firm to withdraw its offer because you didn¡¯t pass your final semester classes. Your focus right now needs to be on yourself. Don¡¯t concern yourself with me.¡±


    Samer cast his eyes down, unwilling to meet her gaze. This was all he¡¯d thought about these past few weeks. He¡¯d arrived at a precarious moment, and the stress had been driving him crazy. Full-time employment would mean he could pay for health insurance for his mother. It would mean they could free themselves from depending on distant relatives to ship them cheap medicine from abroad. And best of all, they could stop frequenting the one free clinic downtown, requiring a long bus ride and sitting in a crowded waiting room full of sick people.


    His mother didn¡¯t see it that way. She urged him to graduate and then begin his own life. She supported his efforts to land this job because she thought that was what he wanted. But the reality hung heavy over Samer that a single bad episode could lead to a hospital bill they couldn¡¯t afford. That worry threatened to crush Samer, turn him into an indiscriminate piece of dust and kick him to the curb.


    ¡°Yes, Ma. You¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°Of course I am. Really hear me now though. I can see those thoughts in your head. I want you to succeed for you. That is what counts¡ªwhat makes this all worth it.¡± His mother made a shooing movement with her hands. ¡°Now go, leave me to rest.¡±


    She made it sound simple. But why would his own life matter if he¡¯d failed his mother? The question almost escaped him, but he clenched his mouth shut. Don¡¯t make this harder on her than it is already. He hid his look of resignation and hurried for the adjoining door.


    #


    Early the next morning, Samer woke to the dulcet tones of his sister¡¯s snoring. Ugh, make it stop. He caught himself mid-pillow throw, recalling that she¡¯d stayed late to close out the diner. She deserved the sleep. I need a job just to afford my own room. A little extra motivation for the day, as if he needed it.


    He took pains to noiselessly get ready, putting on his usual studying outfit of loose sweatpants and an oversize sweatshirt. He pocketed a loose banana from the kitchenette and let himself out.


    Spring had provided a gloriously fresh, dewy morning, so he decided to skip riding the bus and take a leisurely stroll instead. He let his mind wander, eager to enjoy some time during which he didn¡¯t have to think. A true treat.


    His college¡¯s squat, red-bricked library hummed with activity, but he eventually located an empty desk and unloaded his seemingly endless pile of textbooks. The usual assortment, all necessary for the advanced accounting courses he¡¯d committed to as a condition for his job offer.


    He had a final that afternoon, and despite having prepared for it extensively over the past few weeks, a feeling of dread coiled in his stomach.


    He detested having the ground so unsteady underneath him. A year ago, he¡¯d thought he¡¯d figured it all out. While never exactly an academic slouch, his real passion lay with playing competitive basketball. He poured his heart into becoming the best player possible. It paid off. By his junior year, he¡¯d made captain of the college team and attracted the notice of a couple of professional scouts.


    He didn¡¯t care about the glory, though he¡¯d be lying if he said it didn¡¯t come with perks. He cared about the opportunity to make money, so he could take care of his mother for the rest of her life. That was what motivated him to wake up at five in the morning every day to practice, to endure the hostile crowds at away games, to take on a mentor role with the other players. Not himself. His family.


    Which was why everything got so much worse with the arrival of his senior year. While sitting in the stands at one of his games, his mom collapsed. After a few days in the hospital that he could now barely remember, she was diagnosed with chronic heart disease. Treatable, but a lifelong condition, meaning she¡¯d either need advanced medicine, which they couldn¡¯t afford, or round-the-clock care.


    Samer quit the basketball team the next day.


    He took on a part-time job working as the team¡¯s equipment manager and switched his minor in accounting to be his major. When not looking after his mother, he spent every spare moment he could studying and working, with the occasional pick-up game whenever he couldn¡¯t take it anymore.


    He¡¯d known he was biting off more than he could chew but figured if he just threw himself into everything without abandon, then it would all work out. Of course it hadn¡¯t¡ªthe balance had proved way too difficult. He¡¯d come perilously close to failing his midterms. He¡¯d came home, looked in the mirror, and watched as the word failure branded into his forehead, his unkempt hair doing little to cover it. He¡¯d avoided the mirror for a few days after that.


    Desperate and willing to put his pride aside, he¡¯d made the decision to seek outside help. One of his professors came through with a recommendation.


    ¡°You should ask Win. He¡¯s an excellent tutor, and I happen to know he has an opening for a new student right now.¡±


    Samer scratched the back of his head. ¡°Who¡¯s Win?¡±


    The professor threw him a questioning look. ¡°You know, he sits behind you, answers most of my questions . . .¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah, that guy. Didn¡¯t he set the curve on the midterm?¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The professor smiled. ¡°I guess word gets around. He left a stack of flyers by the door if you want to take one.¡±


    The idea of having a tutor who knew of him already¡ªand likely had expectations of the kind of person he was¡ªhadn¡¯t exactly thrilled Samer. But a few days of unproductive studying later and he gave in and made the call. The two met at this same library, in a quiet corner where Win usually set up camp. The tutor had a lean frame and sat on the edge of his chair. He wore a pair of trendy glasses in front of his chestnut brown eyes and tied his long, black hair into a ponytail. He dressed smartly, wearing tan slacks and a colorful, collared shirt. He projected a knowledgeable conviction, and after talking through what Samer needed (all the help he could get?), it seemed like he¡¯d be in good hands. Samer felt a sliver of hope for the first time in ages. Then the conversation took a turn.


    ¡°I have to say though, I was surprised to hear from you,¡± Win said, peering at him.


    Win¡¯s frank curiosity made Samer fidget a little. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Win¡¯s expression had an air of innocent thoughtfulness. ¡°It¡¯s meant as a compliment. You don¡¯t seem like the type of person to ask for help. I mean, you¡¯re captain of the basketball team, correct?¡±


    That question was exactly what Samer feared. His chest tightened, and he inhaled sharply. ¡°Was. Not anymore. Sorry . . . it¡¯s a sore subject.¡±


    Win winced. ¡°Oh, sorry. I didn¡¯t realize¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Samer cut in. He stared at the blank wall behind them, annoyed with his own defensiveness. Now he¡¯d made the tutor pity him, which was even worse. He made to stand. ¡°Maybe this isn¡¯t a good idea. I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯ll be the easiest to tutor.¡±


    Win reached out to stop him. ¡°Wait. It¡¯s on me. I should know by now to be more tactful with my students, but it¡¯s hard to turn the analytical side of my brain off sometimes.¡± He mimed gently knocking the side of his head, then gave Samer an earnest smile. ¡°Forget I asked. But I¡¯ll just say I¡¯m pretty good at solving problems, if you ever have the need to talk.¡±


    Samer took a breath and relaxed back into the chair. He needed to be smart about this and not screw up his chance at getting the support he needed. Besides, Win¡¯s offer was unexpectedly touching and maybe not wholly unwelcome. He¡¯d had few people to talk to since leaving the team. ¡°Thanks, I might take you up on that.¡±


    Win nodded and pushed a book across the table. ¡°Great. Should we get started?¡±


    ¡°Wait, what? I thought this was just an introduction.¡±


    ¡°Well, now that that¡¯s taken care of, I¡¯ve got a lesson plan ready. Come on, show me what you¡¯ve got.¡±


    Samer groaned and reluctantly pulled out his study notes.


    The school year had passed by quickly from there, and his initial misgivings aside, Samer found himself grateful he had made the choice to reach out to Win. The tutor was both patient and understanding and seemed to have an abundance of time with which to help Samer. He even went above and beyond his tutor responsibilities and helped with reviewing Samer¡¯s resume and job applications. When Samer received the job offer, Win was the first person he called. It was nice to have a friend.


    #


    This morning, Win walked up with a clear air of distraction. He wore a wrinkled sweater, dark circles were under his eyes, and his hair hung loosely around his head.


    Samer looked in puzzlement at Win¡¯s disheveled state. The tutor typically ran his life like clockwork. ¡°What¡¯s up? Something on your mind?¡±


    ¡°Right, you could say that. You know how Tar announced his recruiting session started a couple weeks ago?¡±


    Samer chuckled. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m aware. To great fanfare, as always.¡±


    Win smiled weakly. ¡°Yes, well, a cube appeared on my doorstep yesterday.¡±


    Samer¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Hold up. You¡¯re lying. You¡¯re being recruited?¡± There was no way somebody he knew would be selected by the Editor. It was like winning the lottery. With worse odds.


    Win¡¯s cheeks burst, and he let out a mouthful of air. ¡°I can¡¯t say for sure. I haven¡¯t activated the cube yet. I couldn¡¯t open it at home, not with my grandparents around. It could still be something else? I heard they¡¯re hiring for the new store downtown; maybe this is a flashy way of attracting people to go to the opening.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a store advertisement, but sure. Where did you put it?¡±


    ¡°I have it with me now.¡± Win pointed to a lump in the front pocket of his jacket. His eyes were wide with a slightly manic look to them. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t distract from studying, but . . .¡±


    Samer took a big gulp of air. This will be interesting. ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s do it. Should we go find a study room then?¡±


    The two searched until they found a hidden room in a quiet part of the building. After they stepped inside, Samer locked the door and closed the blinds.


    Win furrowed his brow. ¡°Do you think that¡¯s necessary? People are accustomed to Xarlogic tech now.¡±


    Samer shook his head. ¡°Yeah, but everybody will want to know what it is or take pictures. Who knows how long it would take until some nefarious government agency finds you?¡±


    ¡°Paranoid but probably accurate.¡± Win reached into his jacket to pull out the cube. It was completely opaque, not unlike the color of space. There were no obvious buttons. ¡°Thoughts on how to activate it?¡±


    ¡°Try putting your fingerprint on it or something.¡±


    But before Win could do so, the cube launched itself out of his grip, causing Win to yelp. Floating in the air, it stopped in the exact middle of the room. It let out a gentle hum and, without warning, emitted a cascade of piercingly bright lights that illuminated every corner and crevice.


    Samer flinched and threw an arm in front of his eyes. ¡°Ow. My eyes. What was that?¡± Samer pulled his arm down a fraction, just enough to see the cube had calmed down, though it still whirred with activity. ¡°The Editor could have warned us. I¡¯m seeing spots.¡±


    A surprisingly human-sounding, melodious voice sounded out from the cube. ¡°Denizen of Earth, confirm your identity to proceed.¡±


    Samer¡¯s pulse quickened, and he turned his gaze to Win, whose face had turned white. ¡°So, it¡¯s probably what you think it is.¡±


    Win stared at the cube as though it was about to explode. ¡°Right. I just utter my name and my life will change?¡±


    ¡°You can still say no. The Editor was clear on that point. We have to volunteer.¡± Samer twisted his mouth. ¡°Though for all we know, he just kidnaps people and then tells everybody that they agreed.¡±


    Win chuckled darkly. ¡°Finally, we have an explanation for random UFO abductions.¡±


    Samer nodded, half serious, half in jest. ¡°Exactly, but he got tired of sneaking around.¡±


    Win snickered, then tapped his chin. ¡°Okay, but in truth, you might have a point. This could very well be a trick of some sort. He¡¯s asking us to take a leap of faith here.¡±


    Samer scratched his head. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s part of it? He needs to find people who are willing to go to space on nothing but his word. Anybody overly cautious would probably walk away at this point.¡±


    Win gave him an appreciative nod. ¡°That¡¯s a good insight. All right, we¡¯ve established that I likely want to do this, so here goes nothing. Ready?¡± He squared himself with the cube, patted his chest and dropped his voice an octave lower. ¡°Anurak ¡®Win¡¯ Suparat.¡±


    The cube¡¯s hum intensified, and it started to rotate. It picked up speed, becoming a blur of movement. Samer held his breath. If this thing explodes¡ªdeath by spinny cube, what an epitaph.


    The cube folded in on itself and disappeared with a pop. A transparent screen noiselessly appeared in its place. It neatly bisected the room, leaving Samer and Win standing on opposite sides. Pixels formed and chased each other on the screen.


    Quickly, the image sharpened, revealing a familiar visage: Editor Tar. He appeared so realistic and three-dimensional that Samer stumbled back a step.


    When seeing Tar previously on the flat screen of the television, Samer thought he looked like a piece of jewelry, metallic and sparkling. The effect multiplied now seeing him up close and breathing. He¡¯d even brushed his skin with a hint of lustrous gold.


    An inalienable (Samer gave himself extra points for the pun) fact: Tar could never not stand out in a crowd. He was the main attraction.


    The Xarlogic was facing Win. ¡°Greetings, human. You have been given the great honor of being selected to serve as a champion of humanity in the galaxy¡¯s largest arena, Starlit Arena.¡± He spoke robotically, as if a recording. ¡°Should you accept my offer, which I have no doubt you will, you will receive training and resources that will enable you to reach heights never seen before by your species. Here, drink this tea in order to bear witness to the limitations you currently labor under. I guarantee that you¡¯ll see the world in a whole new way.¡±


    Tar gestured to the air, and a mug apparated into existence onto the table. Like the champagne and the gold thread, the Xarlogic apparently had a talent for materializing objects. Curls of steam rose from the clear liquid inside.


    The rote speech continued. ¡°You will have twenty-four hours from now to report to the nearest one of my stores. They¡¯ll know your name. You are one of the chosen few, a human truly worthy of ascending to the universe¡¯s biggest stage. Don¡¯t waste this priceless opportunity. You¡¯d live to regret it.¡±


    Tar pirouetted theatrically but stopped mid-twirl. The image hiccupped. Tar now stood in place, his gaze fixed on Samer. A calculating look crossed his face, even as his azure eyes sparkled with glee. After a moment, the Xarlogic smiled.


    His tone now had more life to it. ¡°How fortunate! The gentleman in front of me also shows great promise. I¡¯d encourage him to also think about joining. Simply pass our entrance exam and you will become champions together.¡±


    Tar gave a deep bow, and the image flickered out.


    Samer gawked at Win, and the expression was returned. His heart pounded in his chest.


    ¡°He wants us to drink tea?¡± Win asked, eyebrows stretching to the top of his forehead.


    ¡°He recruited me too?¡± Samer whispered at the same time.


    #


    Five minutes had gone by, and the tea still sat in place, now noticeably cooler.


    Samer¡¯s crossed arms rested on his chest. ¡°There¡¯s no way I¡¯m sharing it with you. Tar might come back and zap me. He didn¡¯t actually say I could have some.¡±


    Win steepled his fingers. ¡°But he didn¡¯t say you couldn¡¯t try it either.¡±


    Samer frowned at the mug. ¡°I suppose, but anyways, there¡¯s only one cup. How about you try it first?¡±


    Win reached into his backpack and pulled out a Thermos bottle. ¡°I¡¯ll pour some into here. That way we can try it at the same time. I can see the curiosity brimming in your eyes. Come on, join me.¡± He waggled the bottle in Samer¡¯s direction.


    ¡°And here I was thinking you were the responsible one. Look, I should get going. I don¡¯t want to be late for the test.¡± Samer picked up his bag and inched toward the door. Win stayed silent, a small smile flitting across his face. Samer sighed in resignation and returned to the table.


    Win gingerly picked up the cup, then carefully poured some in the bottle. Nothing about the tea changed.


    ¡°I guess that didn¡¯t ruin it?¡± Samer asked.


    ¡°Looks fine to me. Only one way to find out,¡± Win said.


    He handed the cup to Samer, who grimaced but took it from him. He held it at arm¡¯s length. It¡¯d be stupid to drink it. Imagine telling a doctor that alien tea was the cause of my ailment. He¡¯d be laughed out of the building.


    Still . . . if he was being honest, he did badly want to know what about the tea could conceivably entice people to join the Xarlogic. To leave their whole lives behind. To reach new ¡°heights,¡± whatever that meant.


    Plus, the worst that could happen was that he¡¯d die horrifically, and his mother and sister would win the first lawsuit against an alien. The payout would set them up for life. All of life¡¯s problems solved in an instant, no?


    Morbid even for you, Samer.


    The concoction beckoned. Screw it. He threw the tea to the back of his throat and swallowed. Win didn¡¯t hesitate to follow suit. The flavor evoked French toast, one of Samer¡¯s favorite foods. The taste of butter and syrup glided down his throat.


    Samer clenched his stomach muscles, waiting for something to happen. It took a second, but then . . . the world blossomed. He lacked the words to describe it fully. Lines and waves spread out, surrounding him and moving in complex patterns. Some stood still, deep and murky, etched in place. Others floated by him, a bare whisper, disappearing into the unknown. Getting lost in these patterns gave him immense pleasure, like he¡¯d tapped into a new sense.


    Full of wonder, Samer sharpened his concentration. His perception stretched further. A slow, massive grind in the ground beneath him. Heat gushed from the ceiling lights and danced on his shoulders. Warmth that left him as he exhaled, replaced by coolness that he simultaneously inhaled. He couldn¡¯t parse the word exactly to describe these additional phenomena but settled on energy as the closest description.


    Ouch. Pressure descended on the back of his brain. He took a step back and almost tripped over his chair, knocking it over. The sound of the chair hitting the ground created a chord of discord that sent the lines bounding off in different directions. One grazed his backside, fervid and lancing like he¡¯d touched an oven burner, and the pain caused him to flop forward onto the table. He barely caught himself with his elbows before smashing his face.


    Enough, no more please. He squeezed his eyes shut until he knew for sure the tea¡¯s influence had worn off. He lifted his head and looked around to confirm. Ugh. It was like was being hollowed out from the inside, the way he felt after a bad night¡¯s sleep.


    Win stood over him, eyebrows curved down in distress and his mouth agape. ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    #


    Tar shifted from the projection back to his physical body, located hundreds of miles away. A tingling sense of pleasure spread throughout his limbs. He¡¯d executed the start of his plan to perfection.


    Would I ever expect any different? This moment represented the culmination of millennia of effort. Now, all came to a head as he¡¯d scoured the planet. His search algorithms had carefully screened for recruits with both exceptional latent talent and the right psychological profile. Going in, he¡¯d tried to keep his expectations low. Stumbling onto Earth had been an act of merciful luck. A massive population with a propensity for conflict? Glorious. Even accounting for the costs of centuries of the required societal manipulation, he¡¯d reap a fortune no matter what. But please, oh disgraced, fallen Ebulon, give me what I want.


    At first, adequate results. Decent even, if not the pie in the sky he¡¯d sought after. Then, to his delightful surprise, when he¡¯d just about resigned himself to moving on, two gems sprang into view. A brother and a sister. Wonderfully yin and yang in their temperaments; perfectly so, as it increased the likelihood that one would reach ascension. Oh yes, The Path has blessed me. They would sprout and grow under his watchful eye. Then, their dazzling success on the galactic stage would become his.


    His enemies¡ªand there were a lot, he was the first to admit¡ªwouldn¡¯t see it coming. Their downfall would be swift.


    Of course, prizes such as these required careful handling. These past six months, he¡¯d carefully engineered a scenario to lead them to his doorstep. Tar rubbed his hands in anticipation. Within the next day or two, he¡¯d have exactly what he wanted.