I. Earth

I blinked at the front page of the newspaper.

DETECTED SIGNAL PROVES EXISTENCE OF INTELLIGENT LIFE IN SPACE, screamed the headline. I checked the date. No, it wasn't April Fool's. For a minute I felt weak. "Honey, did you see the paper?" I called to my husband Mark, who was in the bathroom brushing his teeth.

"Not yet," he shouted, his voice garbled by wet foam. He walked into the kitchen then, dabbing his lips with a piece of toilet paper. He came over to the table where I was sitting, poked me in the back, and started reading over my shoulder.

"Is this a joke?" he looked at me, with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained schoolboy excitement.

"I don't think so," I said to him, grinning. "Looks like some college kids with a home network finally dug up some interesting data in that whole SETI-at-home deal."

"So much for the UFO conspiracy theories," said Mark.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, conventional wisdom for years has been that if we ever did discover evidence of alien life, they'd cover it up until they were sure we were 'ready'. Apparently, they realized that if someone was really out there, covering it up wouldn't do any good. Especially if the ETs were already close by."

Then the lights went out.

"Power outage?" I strained to see Mark's face in the dark.

"Um, yeah, I think so." He rummaged in a kitchen drawer for a flashlight, and found one (its batteries were fading, so it gave off a weak orange glow).

I pressed the light button on my watch; it was 10:17 PM. Since we couldn't think of anything else to do, Mark and I went outside and looked at the moon.

II. Sky

The pain was gone, for now. Relief moved through the group like a wave; they increased their speed toward the Blue Sphere, singing something angelic.

While in the joined state, there was no need for words. Joined, they were both ship and crew: each individual was at once the pilot, navigator, and tactical officer.

When the earth stretched vast and misty beneath them, the Sirians engaged their thermal armor; bound tightly together by organic bonds and a common purpose, they hurtled toward the surface.

III. Impact

There was a spot on the moon.

"Mark, do you see..."

"That black thing? Yeah I see it."

We stood, staring, and I realized that there was no spot on the moon. Something round and dark was approaching, and it was far closer than I had initially thought. I could not tell if it was flying or falling; everything seemed to have gone slow- motion.

CRASH.

Mark and I rushed over to the driveway, where there now seemed to be a shiny black sphere about ten feet in diameter where our car had previously stood. Spurts and curls of gray smoke snaked up from the thing's surface. Mark stepped closer. Neither of us said it, but we both knew what this was.

"Be careful! What if that thing's radioactive?" I called after him.

"Amanda dearest, if it is radioactive, we're already screwed."

I paced around the front yard, somewhat amazed at how calm I felt. This had been a really weird evening; the implications of what was happening were more than astounding. Yet they were happening. It was logical. In a Universe of mind-boggling size, it was highly unlikely that Earth was the only intelligently populated planet. Given enough time, it made sense that beings from separate worlds should meet. This was simply another fact of nature, and really not very different from having a visitor from another country.

"What's going on out there?" called Mrs. Winters, our elderly next door neighbor. She was standing on her front porch in a preposterous green housecoat, her hair piled stickily on top of her head under a sheet of Saran wrap (she was probably dyeing it purple or aquamarine; it would match nicely with her new dragon tattoo).

Mrs. Winters skipped down the steps of her porch, and began to powerwalk over to me, Mark, the driveway, the UFO, and our mangled automobile. Mrs. Winters is not your average seventy-five-year-old. I don't know what her secret is; she claims that you only get old if you act old. Hence the Day-Glo hair, the body art, and the eyebrow piercing. She offered to show me her other piercing one day, but I politely declined.

Our neighbor joined me in the front yard. She was the only neighbor we were likely to hear from tonight; we live in a small cul-de-sac consisting of only four houses. The large, rowdy Lee family was on vacation for the next week, and the other neighbor was a middle-aged man named Scott who had only moved in a few weeks ago, and who was completely deaf.

"Hey check this out," Mark called me over to where he stood, his hair sticking out and glowing around the edges from the motion-detector lights stuck to the garage. The air around the sphere began to shimmer, and I heard a strange crackling noise. Slowly, like the petals of a night-blooming flower unfurling, the sphere's component parts curled away from one another. I realized with a bit of a shock that this wasn't a ship at all; the black sphere had been formed by the curved, armored backs of the aliens themselves. The unfolding process took all of five minutes; during this time, Mark put his arm around me and idly tickled my ribs, as if we were watching a movie.

Soon, we had about twelve tall, muscular humanoids lying on the remains of our 1989 Ford Escort. They didn't move right away, but I could tell they were breathing; they had very broad, powerful-looking chests which obviously contained a set of lungs much larger than any human's.

Mrs. Winters looked at Mark and I. "Well, aren't you kids going to take them inside?"

"You mean in the house?" I sputtered.

"Of course! You can't very well leave them out here in the driveway, can you?"

The aliens seemed unhurt, but they didn't look motivated enough to get up and march through the front door. So Mark, Mrs. Winters, and I picked them up one at a time and carried them into the living room. They filled the entire floor when laid next to one another like sardines. We now had to climb across the couch in order to get from one side of the living room to the other. After a few minutes of catching our breath, the lights came back on.

"Well, I guess it was just a power outage," I said to Mark. "I thought maybe the aliens had turned off the grid somehow."

"Apparently not," said Mark, who was fiddling with the TV set. "Hmm, I wonder if the outage blew something in the TV."

On a strange instinct, I switched on the dusty radio on the kitchen counter. Nothing. "That's weird. I don't think it's likely that the TV AND the radio blew a capacitor or anything like that."

Just to be certain, I flipped on my Walkman. Nothing. All the radio stations were dead.

IV. Bob

The return to consciousness was like moving upward through layers of water; each layer had a different color and pressure and temperature. It had been very cold at the bottom, but now things seemed to be getting warmer in gradients. Bob's exoskeleton had melted back into his skin, and he was thirsty. What was this strange cave he was in? He lifted his head weakly, and suddenly it all came flooding back to him: their mission, the Blue Sphere, a slight miscalculation, a crash. They had meant to land in the water. Water was an excellent data storage meduim; the Sirians could have learned much about Earth from talking to the fish, the minerals, the currents and whirlpools.

All his crewmates seemed fine; they were still in stasis, each absorbing his, her, or ir part of the thermal shield. Bob had a very fast metabolism; he healed quickly and tended to be skinny for his race. He could see three creatures standing nearby; two females and one male, but no ixmale. Bob wondered for a moment if perhaps this race had only two genders; he shuddered at the bizarre implications of this. He and the other Sirians had already learned the languages of the Blue Sphere; their minds were very well-equipped at signal reconstruction, and they were actually able to extrapolate an entire language from hearing only a few words.

Humans are not so adept at mastering tongues other than their own native one, and are therefore mightily impressed when they meet someone who learns languages quickly. Bob, however, did not anticipate exactly how impressed they would be when he opened his mouth and uttered, in his resonant tones, "Hello creatures of the Blue Sphere. My name is Bob."

V. Communications

"Bob?!" I was incredulous. Aliens I could accept. But aliens named Bob, who spoke perfect English? My mouth was hanging open, and I was probably drooling. Mark was blinking very rapidly; he does that when he's nervous. Mrs. Winters looked delighted.

"Well hello to you, Bob!" squeaked our neighbor. "I bet you'd like a cookie!"

"There are urgent matters to discuss, humans." Bob looked worried, or at least I think he did; his facial expression was tight and intense. "My companions will awaken soon, and we are expected to send a report back detailing our findings here."

"So are you guys explorers?" I inquired.

"In a manner of speaking. We were exploring this area, and then we were attacked. I and my crew were sent here to determine the threat posed by your world, and if necessary, to neutralize the threat."

"Who attacked you?" asked Mark. "Are there other populated planets nearby?"

Bob cocked his head to one side. "You did!"

"That can't be right. We can barely get to the moon, let alone attack another species in space!"

"We were able to temporarily dampen your torture machines, human. However, the dampening field will not last forever. It is imperative that we protect ourselves."

"T-torture machines...?" I hadn't the faintest idea what Bob was going on about; I started getting mental pictures of medeival stretching racks and iron maidens.

"Your species has developed means of transmitting signals through the air. However, these signals are not harmonious. They are messy, they leak all over the elctromagnetic spectrum. When the explorers passed by your planet, they were immediately struck with horrifying pain. Some of them were even killed."

"So you're saying that our radio transmissions are deadly to your race?" I asked Bob.

"The elders of my people concluded that such gross negligence of the effects of your transmissions can only be construed as malicious. When traveling, my race is dependent upon the correct set of signals. We have no need of your radio devices. We are what you might call transmitters and antennas."

Before any of us could ask another question, or Bob could continue, there was a sudden stirring on the living room floor. Eleven other beings, tall and dark and bleary-eyed, were stretching and blinking.

"My companions have been briefed on our situation," Bob informed us.

As they sat up, I had a much better view of our strange guests. None of the aliens wore clothing; I wondered if humans were unique in our tendency to hide our bodies. There were three very obvious, very distinct categories of genitalia here; Bob was presumably male, with an impressively large red leathery phallus. Those I assumed were females had equipment resembling that of a human female, but much more prominent. The third category had what appeared to be a rounded pouch; these individuals were the smallest and stockiest of the three types.

Strangely (at least I thought it strange), the other aliens did not seem interested in talking to us. Instead, they huddled together, making conversational gestures and odd sounds that were less like vocalizations and more like music. It was as if their throats were filled with wind-chimes and harplike instruments. Their language, if this is what I was hearing, was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. I could see why some of the things we humans tossed about on our airwaves might seem repellent to these creatures.

"So, um, Bob..." I addressed the tall alien. "Please tell me you guys aren't planning to destroy our planet or anything drastic like that."

"No, the planet Earth is necessary for the gravitational balance of your solar system. The sphere itself cannot be destroyed. However, you and your race must be dealt with. You must either agree to give up your radios and televisions or you will be neutralized."

"Somehow I don't think the human race would go for that, Bob. We need those devices! We haven't evolved the same biological hardware that you have. The police need radios! Ambulance drivers need them! It's not just a matter of entertainment, it's a matter of communication. If we can't communicate across long distances quickly, people will die." I hoped I sounded convincing enough.

"Plus," piped up Mark, "You're the ones who came to OUR part of the galaxy! It's not like we just went to your planet and started shooting or something. If you can't stand to be near this planet, then don't come around here."

"Your people may not be traveling very far right now," sighed Bob, "but you are sending out junk all over space. Your satellites beaming noisy garbage all over the place. Your shuttles. Your ambition, which makes it apparent that your children's children's children will most certainly be cruising around the galaxy leaving a trail of pain in their wake. This has to be stopped."

Just then the doorbell rang.

Mark peered through the peephole. "It's Scott!"

VI. Scott

Mark let Scott in. Scott looked slightly nervous. "I"m not really sure why I'm here," he said.

Scott's voice sounded slightly muffled and a bit stilted, but he was intelligible. He had obviously worked very hard to learn to speak. "Hello, Scott," I greeted our neighbor, hoping he knew how to read lips.

One of the aliens sitting on the floor, a female, made a strange high sound. Everyone flinched except Scott. The female alien looked pleased.

Bob's neck twitched. "Pamela informs me that this human," he motioned to Scott "is partially neutralized."

"Neutralized...? Oh, you mean he can't hear." I suddenly felt silly.

"If a human cannot hear, it is unlikely he will turn on one of your radio devices, correct?"

"Well, probably not. But he can still watch television. They have these things called subtitles so you can read what's going on." I explained.

"And if a human cannot see, he will not have use for a television, will he?"

"Well, probably not." Where was Bob going with this?

"Humans!" Bob smiled openly, warmly. "We have found a solution that will allow your people to prosper in peace, and that will protect my people. The dampening field expires in five of your minutes. I and my companions must be clear of your world before that happens."

With that, the aliens on the floor began to curl together, to interlock like some strange flexible puzzle. Within a minute, they were a seamless opaque ball. The ball began to vibrate; it grew red, yellow, then white. The ball was so brilliant I could not take my eyes off it. The aliens then began to talk, or sing, or whatever they called that lovely sound they made. I just wanted to stare and listen, so I did.

VII. Aftermath

Apparently, Bob's compatriots in the sky had decided not to kill us. However, we had indeed been "neutralized". I woke up in darkness and silence that did not lift. Mark and I had to find one another by touch. In the weeks that followed, the world fell into a chaos unparalleled by any war or plague in recorded history. Patients died on operating tables as the result of the Sirians' actions; motorists crashed into one another in the biggest pileup in the Universe. The Sirians did not kill any of us, but they made it impossible for some of us to stay alive.

Our genetics were altered; as well as being blind and deaf ourselves, children were born without the ability to hear or see. We had truly been attacked by aliens, and the result was a mixture of despair and strange benefits. I never learned much about Bob's race's moral code, but it was obvious they placed their own survival and comfort above that of any other race. They were terrified of our potential, they were impatient, they were quick to act. The result was a period of darkness as we humans reoriented our spirits. Those who had been blind or deaf all along became the interim leaders of nations.

Mark and I stayed in our little cul-de-sac, but never bought another car. We learned Braille (as did pretty much everyone else), and learned to cook, read, make love, and raise children by touch alone. We turn our faces to what the eternal evening brings, and realize that though the night of our eyes and ears may last forever, our hearts and minds are free. It really isn't a bad life. At this point I don't really care whether the doctors find a cure for whatever has happened; I'm convinced that many of us have developed senses even more profound than sight and vision.