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“Could it be the Russians? Have you scanned the vessel?”
“Nothing is showing up on our scans, and it doesn’t sound like the Russians. Melinda, whoever it is on the line insists on speaking with the person in charge—that would be you.”
Wide awake now, I had sat up in bed. “Ok, patch the call to me but make sure you record everything as you listen in. Have you engaged our security protocols?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Ok, let’s do this.”
A moment later, Tom had murmured, “You’re in.”
My voice calm, with no hint of the excitement or nerves beneath, I’d said, “Greetings. I am Melinda Garcia, head of the Earth Federation mission on Mars. Who am I speaking to?”
“Greetings to you Melinda Garcia. I am Pravol from the planet Ven in the second galactic quadrant. We come in peace and would like to make ourselves known to you.”
Listening to the strangely disembodied voice speaking through some kind of translating device, I’d become immediately aware that history was being made. But that was only the beginning. Since that initial contact, it has taken time and no little effort to build up a positive working relationship with the Venorians. They are a technologically advanced race, and understandably cautious about who they develop friendly relations with. As a way to help build bridges between our people, we came up with the idea to organize an exchange program. And here we are tonight.
I clink my glass for silence. All eyes turn to me.
“A year ago, I had the honor and privilege to become the first human to make contact with the Venorian people. That fateful day, we took a massive step forward into a greater understanding of the universe around us, perhaps only rivalled by Neil Armstrong’s first footsteps on the moon over a century ago. We had no way of knowing if the aliens hailing us were friends or foes, yet we were determined to reach out the hand of friendship. So, it gives me great pleasure to be standing here today, welcoming among us our new friends, the Venorians. Through this exchange program, I believe we will be fostering even greater understanding and cooperation. Welcome, my friends. Let us raise a glass in a toast to our enduring friendship.”
I raise my champagne flute, as do others in the room.
All too often, the busy nature of my day-to-day life means that I fail to properly observe the moment. This is a rare occasion where I do just the opposite. In the lull as we each take a sip of our champagne, I take time to reflect on just how much we’ve achieved in one short year and to feel pride for my role in all of this. I, Melinda Garcia, daughter of a humble janitor and a short order cook, have made history. I know mom and dad will be watching the footage of this back on Earth, feeling incredibly proud. Wyatt too.If only he could have been here with me.I blink the thought away. No, tonight I will not think of him. With a smile, I turn to the two Venorians standing beside me. “Pravol, Treylor, please help yourselves to some delicious food from the buffet.”
???
It’s late and I have an early start tomorrow morning, but sleep won’t come. Is it because I indulged in too much rich food from that fabulous buffet? I usually maintain a strict diet and exercise regimen, religiously keeping my forty-one-year old body trimmed and toned. However, it’s not every day that real scallops, beef and chicken are on the menu, not to mention the decadent profiteroles and strawberry cream tarts. I couldn’t resist helping myself to this deliciousness, even while playing host. The result of this indulgence sits heavy in my stomach.
Perhaps my sleeplessness can be attributed to something else. Among the many visiting dignitaries for last night’s momentous gathering was Lucas Rivera, an up-and-coming politician in Washington. I’ve met him once or twice before in passing. He’s about a decade younger than me, with the wits, looks and charm that will get him far in this game. All through the evening, I felt his eyes on my newly ringless left hand as he engaged me in a subtle flirtation. There’s definite interest there. Should I encourage it? It’s two weeks to the day since I officially became single again. Maybe it’s time I dip my toes back into that dating and hooking up world that I inhabited before Wyatt and I became a thing all those years ago. Who better with than a handsome, clever guy like him?
I blow out a frustrated breath. Nah. Men like him always have an agenda. Besides, if I’m being truthful—and the early hours of the morning are always a time for truthfulness—I’m still not ready to move on. Two decades of loving one man won’t wash away in a single rinse.
I shift on my pillow, trying to get comfortable, but slumber remains elusive. There’s so much to think about and process, not least the momentous hosting of five aliens from the planet Ven. I’d always pictured aliens in my mind as having blue or gray skin, with a tail and maybe some horns and fangs too. But that’s not what the Venorians are like at all. In fact, in appearance they are almost like us, just larger and with a bronze tinge to their skin. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed about that. I’ve read one or two of Wyatt’s beloved science fiction novels in my time, so I’ve almost come to expect alien life forms to be… very alien.
Having said that, there is one thing very different about these aliens. I’m nearly one hundred per cent sure that they’re a telepathic race. The idea was first put in my head by Martha Reynolds, one of the candidates for the Venorian exchange program, when I interviewed her two days ago. She told me she’d glimpsed something in the video footage of my first meeting with Pravol last year that had her believe the Venorians were telepathic. I watched the footage with her several times, but the evidence was inconclusive. Last night though, I decided to put the theory to the test.
The Venorians have a singular form of greeting. They look you directly in the eyes then place a hand on your cheek and join their foreheads to yours for a few moments. When Pravol came to greet me, I deliberately focused my mind on one thought, which I repeated over and over in my head.You have a bug in your hair. You have a bug in your hair. Lo and behold, as Pravol stepped away from me, a frown on his serious face, he slipped his fingers into his hair, looking for said bug. It’s not proof, but near enough.
It's a shame Martha wasn’t one of the final five selected for the exchange program. She deserves to be, with her power of deduction. I did vote in her favor, but the cabal on the selection committee overruled me. Still, I’d be interested in her take on the Venorians now she’s had a chance to meet them in the flesh. Perhaps she put them to a similar test as I did last night. I sit up, feeling restless, and say, “Athena, schedule a meeting with Martha Reynolds as soon as possible.”
A short time later, Athena, the computer on my communicator and my absolute life saver, responds, “Meeting scheduled with Martha Reynolds at one pm this afternoon.”
I lie back again and close my eyes. It’s no good. Sleep refuses to come. After a futile minute or two, I sit up again and tuck my arms around my legs in a gesture I’ve become familiar with in the two lonely years I’ve spent on Mars. I usually cradle my affection starved body like this just before I cave in and call Wyatt. I really shouldn’t. We’re divorced now.Don’t do it Melinda. Don’t.
“Athena, call Wyatt.”
He answers on the second ring. His handsome face smiles back at me, blue eyes warm with love. “Hey honey. I’ve just watched you on the news with the Venorians. I’m so proud of you!”
I smile back. “Thanks.”
“How you doing?”
“I’m still buzzing. It’s making it hard to settle down to sleep.”
“I bet. Well, I hope I’m not adding to the excitement too much by saying everyone back here is talking good things about you. I’ve had three calls from journalists wanting the scoop on you, plus dozens of calls from friends and family wanting to talk about your meeting with the Venorians. You’re quite the celebrity now honey.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh God, please no!”
