Alien to Alien

The One Who Noticed

Roger landed on the small blue marble. His commandants had spotted it a couple of light years ago.

There are over one quadrillion, nine hundred thirty-six trillion, two hundred thirty-two billion, nine hundred fifty-six million, four hundred seventy-three thousand and two planets that could support life, according to the Aeroidites, the peoples of Roger's planet. This small blue marble was number 1,936,232,956,473,003 according to their calculations.

It was another routine life-systems-supporting planet mission—Roger's 10,791st, but he still had not lost his zeal for discovery.

Many planets are red, orange, even purple. "Can you imagine a purple planet?" Roger thought. But Roger's favorite color just happened to be blue. He was looking forward to visiting this small blue marble, especially since his monitors confirmed that there were no pesky one-thousand-mile-an-hour wind and dust storms.

Roger landed on a glorious day. Puffy clouds dotted the sky. Giant trees sprouted over ponds and grass, providing shelter.

"Ah, trees," sighed Roger. His planet no longer had them.

The first thing he did was give one a hug—and even a kiss.

A little critter appeared.

"Squirrels," indicated his monitor.

"You are in a place called Central Park," the monitor spoke into Roger's ear.

There were hundreds of people out with blankets under trees and next to flowers. All of them held peculiar little devices.

"iPhones," indicated the monitor. "Old tech from two millennia ago," it explained.

Roger took a double take. Even children were on these little devices.

There was only one person not holding one—a little girl who happened to be staring directly at Roger.

He approached her. The monitor would interpret in the local dialect.

"Hello, my name is Roger," he said.

"Hello, my name is Cynthia," she replied.

"Beautiful day. Is it always like this?"

"Yes. It is summer, silly," she laughed.

"What are all these people doing with those little devices?" asked Roger.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't have one."

Roger smiled. "Well, whatever they're doing, you are seeing a lot more than they are."

The giant trees rested gently above them, providing shade. A soft breeze surrounded them with the scent of hyacinth while the rest of the world remained transfixed.

"Cute antennas," she whispered. "Very 1990s."

"Thanks," smiled Roger from ear to ear. "So glad you noticed."

A story by Pemba Umoja