Wanderlust

The one sentence pitch for this story:

Aliens arrive on earth, but they're not quite who we thought they'd be...

NASA weren’t the first to spot the ship. That credit went to the less snappily titled ISRO; the Indian space agency. A satellite was trained on a Saturnian moon when it detected something: an object, roughly the size and shape of a blue whale, that had appeared as if instantly formed from out of the vacuum.

For the first 24 hours after its appearance, earth went into meltdown. By the time it fell into orbit around the moon three days later the panic had settled into a kind of existential anxiety. Governments had put populous areas on lockdown; the police and the army were ubiquitous: on the news, online, and on the street corners. It wasn’t that anything was happening, it was just that we didn’t know whether an axe was about to fall, or we were finally being acknowledged.

And all the while this sleek platinum whale had slid silently through space.

By the time it fell into orbit around the moon, its arrival had become a kind of religious event. We had finally been seen, met, welcomed. Voices were coming from the stars, and they wouldn’t attack us – or that was the public feeling anyway – they were here to help us grow.

What could they teach?

How should we respond?

Where would they land?

The Americans had secured an area in North Wyoming and began preparing a welcoming party. Initially, they’d thought its proximity to Fort Bragg might come in handy. Midway through the preparations, however, they changed their minds – deciding that if there was an attack they’d want to keep their military well protected – and instead opted to setup a landing area in the Nevada Desert, somewhere where they’d find a lot of lights, and could have an array of mirrors that they flashed during the day. Las Vegas it was.

Donald Trump supported the move, saying that he wasn’t surprised the aliens had chosen his presidency to make first contact, and he was already preparing to negotiate a great deal on real estate. Not long after the speech, however, he was taken ill, and a man called James Cambry stepped in to replace him.

The entire world fought for attention: Europe argued that its history would make it the ideal first port of call, while China tried to outshine their American rivals; Africa called on its place as the heartland, while India staked their claim on having seen it first.

In the end, on a Monday morning, at a little after 9am GMT, the ship broke its orbit and began the slow passage to earth. It flew the route in a little over twenty minutes and then spent an hour zipping around the planet, slowing periodically, as though observing, before moving on.

And then it broke earth’s atmosphere.

For a few tense minutes it looked as though China’s lights had outshone the rest but the ship continued south and eventually landed, briefly, on a deserted beach on the Mentawai Islands in Indonesia, where a single humanoid figure stepped off. Then the ship rose again and began crossing the Pacific towards the west coast of America.

James Cambry watched images of the figure with a deep sense of unease. It was clearly humanoid and after it left the ship it walked to the water’s edge and entered the surf, and then it dove under the waves and disappeared from view.

“Can we track him?” James asked.

A suit nearby shook their head.

Cambry rose from his seat, flanked by security, and made his way down to the arena he hoped would become the ship’s landing place.

“They’ll be here in three minutes,” said a woman, who appeared alongside him. She took a deep breath and met him in the eye. “You’re calm?”

“Of course.” James smiled. “It’s life, right? Just not as we know it.”

She nodded and returned his smile warmly. “Walk in the park baby.”

In the distance there was a glint of light as the ship approached. To an awed silence it lowered itself into the arena and, with a sound like a breath escaping, it settled onto the dusty ground.

A ramp lowered and what can only be described as a… human walked out. She was tall, olive-skinned, and dressed in something that looked almost like a Star Trek uniform. She looked around her, seemingly sniffing the air, and then looked across at the waiting party, to where James Cambry calmly stood.

The world waited.

“Welcome… friend,” James said, opening himself out, pacifying. “Welcome to Earth.”

The woman recoiled slightly as if she’d tasted something bad. “Urgh.” She looked at James in disgust. “What's that smell? This place stinks.”

James wasn’t sure how to respond. He smiled but didn’t quite know how to manage the strange combination of pride, embarrassment and confusion that was jockeying for position inside of him.

Before James could bring himself together another figure appeared next to the woman, as though he’d been made from the air. He stared at her for a moment, waiting.

“This is an unvisited type-A planet,” she said, not looking back, as though she was defending herself against something unspoken. “It was worth a shot!”

“I know.” He nodded. “But it’s a mess. Like I said: the sea’s full of junk and the air stinks. This lot’re mental. The planet’s half a century away from being a wasteland.”

She nodded sadly, and then met her partner’s eye. “Alpha Centuri?”

He smiled happily. “Let’s go surfing baby.”

And then they turned back towards the ship.

And the last thing the world’s cameras heard her say, as the vehicle’s doors shut was: “We’ll come back later. When this lot have wiped themselves out.”


And so, in the end, the ship left almost as soon as it had arrived and after three days, as it passed Saturn, its boosters kicked in and it was gone.

James was left a little baffled. He replayed that scene again and again for the rest of his life and never really forgave himself. The truth was that the whole thing had taken him completely by surprise.

Earth did change after that, and for months – almost as much as a year – most humans worked hard to clean up their planet. Before too long, however, rivalries began resurfacing – made bitter by the scorn that grew from our acceptance of the damage we’d already done – and within a century, the species that had known itself as homo-sapiens had wiped itself out in the blaze of a nuclear winter.

The earth’s climate was changed irrevocably. But, over time a more watery world evolved, and this time intelligent life took the form of giant sea creatures, not unlike modern day blue whales. And one day, when strange surfers arrived on their shores, they joined each other in a dance of joy on the crystalline sea.

Notes on the writing:

I've always been interested by what would happen when space aliens finally arrive - assuming they ever do! I think it came from having really enjoyed Close Encounters of the Third Kind when I was a kid. There've been a few good examples of "realistic" stories since then - Contact by Carl Sagan is great; and The Arrival is also brilliant.

This story was also a response to something I'd heard Stephen Hawkins say about how we should fear alien life. I wasn't ever convinced by it. My thought was that if you had the technology to cross space, you wouldn't need materials or slaves - or food for that matter - and that it seemed far more likely that any life that was civilised enough to develop that kind of technology would be more interested in experience, rather than necessity. As a result I went for the alien-surfers rather than the invading aliens.

Structurally, the story starts with a long description that tries to set a kind of realistic tone to the piece of writing. The opening is quite distant from the events, reflecting on them rather than telling them. This isn't ideal for the opening of a story, as you normally want your readers to be dragged right into the moment. Here, I was relying on the audience being interested enough in the idea to carry it through.

Cambry is very important though; he's the human focus of the story. Having the whole plot end up zooming in on one character was essential if I was going to get a reader to really engage. It also allows for the aliens to actually have the conversation that is required to make the story work. In reality the aliens would have seen enough through their radar to not even both landing, but the conversation was essential for the storyline so I needed it.

In the first draft, the conversation was much longer as I desperately tried to milk my eco-message even harder. But in the end - because I was reading this in public - I cut it right back and the story is much better off for it.

In my limited experience, it's rare to find too many stories that don't benefit from a hell of a lot of editing. So when you're writing against the clock, remember to keep it to the point, and keep it moving.