Extraterrestrial Emergency

Dr. Christine Podner pulled at a tangle in her hair. The two tall men in identical black suits had given her enough time to get dressed, but not enough to brush her hair. Under normal circumstances, that would have been at the forefront of her mind, but she had seen a brief glimpse of the guns under their black suits.

“You haven’t told me what the emergency is,” she said.

“We have an injured patient. The doctor told us to get you,” the blond member of the pair said.

“I’m not a medical doctor. I’m a theoretical xenobiologist,” Christine said as she got into the black SUV. That wasn’t entirely accurate. She had a medical degree and a veterinary degree, as well as one in biology and chemistry. The chemistry degree had mostly been for credibility. When you spent your life imagining what alien life might be like, you needed all the credibility you could get.

“We know who you are, ma’am. The agency gave you three scholarships through shell organizations. They almost brought you in after you wrote your paper on theoretical types of silicon-based alien life.”

Christine sat in silence as the SUV ran through a red light and turned down a narrow street. She had imagined that eventually she’d work for the government. But she thought it would probably be NASA.

“Is this a practical joke?” she asked.

“No joke, ma’am. We have an injured extraterrestrial. The doctor believes you have the best chance of keeping him alive.”

“Him?” she said. As a child, she had watched the stars and imagined someone looking back. As a teenager, she had many sleepless nights as she listened to stories of alien abductions on the radio. They had all been absurd and fake, but even fake stories stirred the imagination.

“Two aliens arrived a few weeks ago. A spooked guard shot one.”

Deciding that the only option was to take this seriously, she began to consider her training. The first problem was that she wouldn’t know their biology. So she said, “I’ll need to see the uninjured alien. It will understand more of its own biology than we do.”

“It has been mute and avoids us,” the man said. Christine would have ignored them too if she could, and she wasn’t their captive. At least she didn’t think she was a captive.

“Communication covers far more than language, and it can’t hurt,” she said, but that wasn’t true, and the fear began to work its way towards panic.

A few moments later, they stopped at a random spot on the city street. There were a few storefronts, but the two men didn’t take her to any of those. They went down a short, narrow stairway to an unmarked metal door. One man opened the door and motioned for her to go in. The door led to a dusty hallway with worn tiles and several burnt-out lights, and a flickering exit sign. All perfectly designed to make the place look as if there was no reason to be there. Even the keypad at the far end of the hall looked like something out of the 70s that was only there because no one had bothered to remove it.

The silent member of the two-man team pushed the metal buttons on the keypad. That didn’t open the door as she expected, but a small panel next to it that revealed the actual security system. He put his hand against it, and lights scanned it, then put his eye against a small hole. There was an affirmative beep, a click, and then the steel door slid open.

As terrifying as the security was, it confirmed that she was being kidnapped by professionals, and it was likely they worked for the government. That was confirmed by the huge seal on the floor just past the door. A woman with penetrating blue eyes, her blond hair pulled tight back in a bun, sat rigidly behind a desk. She didn’t blink as she watched them enter.

Without a word, the woman slid a lanyard with Christine’s name and a photo across the desk. The photo was from her LinkedIn profile, so they weren’t taking covert photos of her. They were just secretly funding her education so they could kidnap her in the middle of the night.

Once they were past the entrance, everything looked sterile and state-of-the-art. The lights were bright enough you could do surgery under them, and the perfectly uniform doors each had an identical keypad. She wondered what other secrets might be hidden behind those doors. All of that disappeared when they reached the second to last door, and she was led into a room about the size of a hospital examination room, with gray walls, a cabinet with a sink and some medical supplies in the corner.

Lying on a remarkably normal hospital gurney was the alien. It had trilateral symmetry, which made lying flat on the bed awkward. It had three stump-like legs at the bottom of its tube-like body and no head. Instead, it had three saucer-sized eyes evenly spaced near the top of its torso. Between each of those eyes, there was a two-inch-long beak of bright blue. It also had three long tentacles that came from the top of its body and hung down to its waist. They were trying to hold a hole two inches below one of those eyes that had blue liquid running from it.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to get her hands to stop shaking. She had only spent about six months as a medical intern, and none of those were in an emergency room, but she had learned enough to focus on that. And on the actual doctor who wore blue scrubs covered in the much darker blue of the alien’s blood. He had attached several medical devices to the creature, but the equipment’s readings were nonsense.

Approaching the patient, she said, “The blue suggests blood bound by Hemocyanin.”

“So, you’re my expert consultant,” the doctor said, moving next to her so they were both standing beside the bed.

He was short, and his face was covered by a white mask and thick black-rimmed glasses, but even under the mask, it was clear he was worried and likely about more than just the death of his patient.

“There is no expert on this. At least not a human one. But I’ve been imagining what this might be like my entire life. They’re bringing the uninjured alien soon. Hopefully, they understand we’re trying to help and will be useful, but without a common language, I’m not sure how much they can do.”

“I just need to know the difference between its heart and its spleen, assuming it has either,” the doctor said.

“Hopefully, it has more than one of each. The trilateral biology is our best hope,” Christine said. She wasn’t convinced there was any hope. The wound looked bad, but at least if they brought in the other alien, he wouldn’t die entirely alone.

The doctor nodded and said, “So, what do I do?”

“For now, I think we have to assume basic first aid will help. Can we remove the bullet and close the wound?”

The doctor looked at his tray of instruments, then picked up a scalpel and asked, “Is that an order?”

She glanced over to see what the guards said, but then she realized they hadn’t come into the room. That was good. The last thing they needed to do was antagonize the injured alien with armed men who looked a lot like the person who had shot it.

But having her give orders made her uncomfortable. The doctor wasn’t asking because he trusted her. He didn’t know her. He was asking her so that she would take the blame. Christine didn’t want that responsibility, but she saw someone who was injured and in pain, and this might help.

“It’s an order. Cutting back the skin will not be what kills it. The problem is that we can’t use anesthetic. Hopefully, it doesn’t feel pain the same way we do,” Christine said.

The doctor nodded and made a tiny X incision over the wound. He then used a small tool that Christine didn’t recognize to explore the wound with images that appeared on a small tablet. The bullet had hit something white and presumably hard. The device carefully extended three tiny pieces of metal; he slid them over the bullet, tightened the tool’s grip, and pulled out the bullet.

The creature’s tentacles stretched out and then began to flail, and there was a thick, dank, acrid odor that she feared was its way of crying out in pain. It wouldn’t have the same reaction to pain as something that evolved on Earth, but pain would almost certainly evolve in some form on any world. It was too vital for survival not to exist.

The smell only began to recede when a similar-looking alien was led into the room. It was thinner than the other and had longer and thinner tentacles that Christine decided made it more feminine. But that was simple human bias. They may not even have genders, and if they did, comparing them to human genders was almost certainly wrong.

But the reaction was remarkably human. It moved through the door more quickly than Christine would have thought with the short, stubby legs and rushed over to the corner furthest from the door, putting two of its eyes in the corner and the tentacles pulling tight around the body. That was as close to curling up in a ball to protect itself as Christine could imagine. It was terrified.

Christine moved over to the door and shut it tight. She then turned off one light. The enormous eyes suggested they might have evolved in a low-light environment. With that done, the alien twisted so two of her eyes were focused on Christine and the tentacles loosened. Christine could only assume that was her relaxing, and she said, as softly as she could, “I don’t know if you can understand us. But your friend needs your help.”

The body turned, so one eye was still focused on Christine while the other could see the injured alien on the table. Those eyes reflected the same fear Christine was feeling. But the alien didn’t have anyone on its side. That left Christine. She wasn’t the person anyone would pick to be on their side if a fight broke out, but she was the only one here.

The injured alien’s tentacles had gone limp, and Christine gathered her courage and picked up a tentacle carefully, and then rubbed her hand slowly along it.

She had imagined it would be slimy or sticky. It felt very little different from running her hand along a human’s arm, except there were no bones. She just hoped that the gesture translated into the alien psyche as a gesture of kindness.

After a couple of minutes, the uninjured alien began to inch forward. Once she was close enough, Christine lifted the tentacle and held it towards the smaller of the aliens. It stopped and looked at her, with each eye turning to do so. It then slowly reached out and wrapped her tentacle carefully around the others. If that wasn’t a friend holding the hand of someone in pain, then Christine might as well go home because she didn’t understand anything.

“We’re trying to help him, but we don’t know what to do. Do you know how to heal him?” Christine asked, and she slowly reached down and touched one of the other tentacles of the uninjured alien. It pulled away, but that was more like someone flinching. But after the surprised reaction, the tentacle wrapped around Christine’s hand, holding a tight, but not painful, grip.

After several seconds, Christine pulled the tentacles lightly towards the injured alien. It looked at the injury for a second and then turned so that none of the eyes were looking at it, but it never let go of the injured alien’s tentacle. It seemed the alien didn’t like to look at people in pain any more than Christine did.

“What do you need to know, Doctor?” Christine asked. The doctor had put in some padding around the wound, but nothing else.

“An organ was injured. I don’t know if I should repair it or remove it.”

“Which one?” Christine said, and the doctor pointed at what appeared to be a long, bulbous tube.

“Give me the scalpel,” Christine said, and the doctor handed it to her. She let go of the alien, and one of the enormous eyes watched her as she gestured towards the end of the tube with the knife. The smaller alien made a loud chattering noise and grabbed Christine’s hand back.

“Our anatomy expert thinks he needs that.”

As she spoke, the tentacle stopped pulling, but it wrapped around her, and she squeezed it lightly. They might not have had language in common, but they could communicate what was important.

“I see,” the doctor said, and he put down the scalpel that he had and took the needle and thread and slowly began to close the wound.

The alien made a short whistling sound, and Christine said, “I think it knows we’re trying to help.”

“I hope so,” the doctor said. He had relaxed considerably. His job was almost done, but Christine couldn’t relax. There was more going on here than someone accidentally firing a weapon, and keeping the alien alive wouldn’t solve the bigger problem.

“Doctor, do you know what type of bullet you took out of him?”

“Same type that goes into the guard’s guns,” the doctor said, and Christine realized perhaps he wasn’t as unconcerned as she had assumed.

“Do you have any sedatives?” Christine said.

“Of course. But using it on the alien could kill it,” the doctor said.

“It’s not for him,” Christine said. She didn’t know if the agents outside were listening, but if she assumed this was impossible, then she had already lost, and she wasn’t willing to give up yet. And from what she could see of this place, you didn’t bring people here to negotiate.

This is where you kept prisoners.

“You won’t be able to knock them both out, and they’re not afraid to shoot people,” the doctor said.

“It won’t be me using it,” Christine said, and she took the small syringe of chemical restraint used to rapidly tranquilize a violent patient. She wasn’t surprised he had those ready. The people they treated here were probably more uncooperative than average.

“Inject it into a large, fleshy area,” the doctor said.

Christine held out the syringe so that it was between her and the uninjured alien. She hoped she had convinced it that she wasn’t an enemy.

First, Christine mimed the plunger on the needle, and the alien chirped yes. She then held it over her butt, and there was another chirp. She then pointed at the door, and there were two chirps, this time perhaps happier. The alien also reached out with a tentacle, and with impressive dexterity, took a scalpel. She then hummed something quietly, and after a second, twisted her tentacle to take the syringe from Christine. She then whistled yes again.

“I think we have a plan. Do you know your part, doctor?” Christine asked.

“I need to get them both next to you and keep my patient alive at the same time.”

They waited a moment, and then Christine said, “Is everyone ready?”

To her surprise, there was a whistle of yes from both the uninjured alien and the injured one.

The doctor said, “Give me one minute to help.” He added some more stitches and a large white bandage, and then said, “Anything else I do is likely to do more harm than good.”

Christine nodded, and the doctor called out, “Help!” though he was careful that it didn’t sound scared.

The two men rushed into the room hands inside their suit jackets. In an annoyed voice, the doctor said, “You didn’t bring the nurse I asked for, and I need an extra set of hands.”

The two men looked at each other, and then the younger moved up, but almost as soon as he got there, the doctor said, “Frank, move around the other side. You might find some way to make yourself useful or at least hold him down.”

Christine thought it was absurd, but they were used to following orders and moved into place.

The alien next to Christine started to pull away, but Christine gave her a small squeeze on what might be called a shoulder, and it seemed to give her a bit of courage as the one tentacle without a tool wrapped loosely around Christine’s leg and squeezed back lightly.

The doctor handed the blond man a long plastic tube to suck out the blood. He hadn’t bothered with it and the wound was closed, but there was enough blood that it might be useful.

“Just get what blood you can and be careful not to damage anything.”

As he took the tube from the doctor, the alien’s tentacle reached around and stabbed him with the syringe. As it did, Christine saw the advantage of the alien’s limbs. They didn’t have human fingers, but the flexibility of the tentacle let it reach places no human could.

The guard’s reaction might have been funny if it hadn’t been so serious. He grabbed his rear, his face showing surprise, and he reached for his gun. The injured alien wrapped his tentacle around the man’s arm in what might have seemed a convulsion if Christine didn’t know how strong he was, but rather than pull the gun the guard took a couple of steps backs staggered, and then sat down on the floor.

As he went down, the doctor said, “Some people just can’t seem to handle the sight of blood. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t enough to convince the brown-haired agent, but he hesitated long enough that both Christine and the alien could attack. The tentacle gave the alien a longer reach, and it made a long slash across the guard’s back. He was wearing body armor so it didn’t hurt him. But it distracted him long enough for Christine to grab another scalpel and drive it into the back of his hand.

Christine then dropped her weapon and grabbed his arm. But he was considerably stronger than she was, and he knocked her to the ground.

He drew his gun and pointed it towards Christine, but the uninjured alien moved between Christine and the gun, and the injured alien wrapped one of his tentacles around the man’s wrist.

The gun went off. But the gun had been pulled to the side, and one of the gray wall tiles exploded. The uninjured alien slashed out with its scalpel again, this time cutting his hand the same way Christine had.

The guard’s gun fell to the ground next to Christine, and she grabbed it, pointed it at the guard and said, “I will shoot you.”

“This is treason,” the agent said, but he raised his hands.

“In my country, we don’t shoot helpless people, no matter who or what they are,” Christine said, and she tried very hard to believe that.

“We don’t in mine either,” the alien on the table said. He spoke slowly, but in clear English.

“We should get somewhere safe,” Christine said.

“I believe all we will have to do is walk out of this facility,” the alien on the table said.

“What do you mean?” Christine said.

“We were kept secret because the men believed your people would help us. And you have proved that assumption to be correct. I am willing to trust the goodwill of your people.”

“Do you think our friend will fit in a wheelchair?” Christine asked.

“I’ll get one,” the doctor said, and in seconds, she was pushing the alien out of the room, the smaller alien with her tentacle still wrapped around her wrist, and as they moved out, there was a clicking sound.

“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry either of you were hurt,” Christine said.

They passed the stern-looking woman at the front desk without a word. She stood and yelled, but they only pushed the alien faster. When they reached the exit, Christine hesitated before pushing the door open.

Someone yelled something, and a small crowd began to gather. Christine turned to the doctor and asked, “What happens now?”

“We hope they’re right about the goodwill of humanity.”

I understand why so many stories exist about aliens being dangerous. As a kid, Independence Day was one of my favorite movies. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve just become more interested in what happens if they’re not. And one of the obvious answers to that question is that just because they’re friendly doesn’t mean we will be.

But I have some hope that if we ever get the chance that they will see the good in humanity, even though sometimes I have a hard time seeing it.

Elton Gahr

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