Welcome to the Neighbourhood

By Chaz Osburn

Professor Thomas Armstrong was deep in thought at his computer when he heard the door open to his office at the university’s Deep Space Multiple Wavelength Laboratory. 

“Is that you, Dex?” he asked.

“Yeah, Tom,” replied his colleague, Dr. Charles Dexter.

“Is Raj with you?”

“Yes, I’m here,” said Dr. Raja Patel, a professor in the Department of Microbiology. “Now what is so important that you dragged me away from happy hour at the Faculty Club? I was just about to order a martini.”

“Didn’t Dex tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Come here and take a look.”

Patel took a seat next to Armstrong, removed his glasses and peered at the computer screen.

“This is incredible!” he said.

“What do you make of it?” asked Armstrong. “We believe it’s some type of molecule. Dex thought your expertise would help because you hold doctorates in microbiology as well as chemistry.”

“You are partially correct,” said Patel, “it has a molecular-like structure. But in all my years I’ve never seen anything like it. There are traits of an organic liquid compound with high concentrations of nitrogen and an almost nanotechnological structure. It appears to be a life form — or life forms. I could tell with more certainty if I had a sample for the electron microscope.”

The two physicists looked at each other and smiled. 

“What?” asked Patel.

“For the past four weeks Tom and I have been receiving a series of interstellar transmissions,” said Dexter.

“From the vicinity of the Gibbons Quasar,” Armstrong quickly added. “When we picked up the first one, I assumed it was just a variation of a Y-Band…”

Dexter said, “A spectral Y-Band that turned out to be a language you were able to decipher. I have to hand it to you, Tom. You’ll win the Nobel Prize.”

“You mean we. It was your idea to tilt the radio telescope point four degrees, apply the electroband filter and focus on the spectral midrange. Otherwise, I would’ve missed it.”

Patel stood, his mouth open. “Are you saying this was sent by extraterrestrials?”

“Yes, by a species called Creelorians,” said Dexter, nodding. “They communicated that their planet sustained a cataclysmic event but that four million of them managed to flee beforehand. And now they’re on their way to Earth, which they’ve been aware of for millennia because the environment favours theirs. They hope to settle here.”

Armstrong said, “One of my big questions is whether that’s feasible, however. I mean, where are we going to put them all? And good lord, how big is their ship?”

Patel chuckled.

“What is so amusing?” asked Armstrong.

“Science, man!” Patel exclaimed, tapping at the computer screen. “As they are in a semi liquid state, four million inhabitants could easily fit in a container that humans would regard as small. Miniscule, relatively speaking.”

“Miniscule?”

“The size of a barrel. Or smaller.”

“Tom,” said Dexter, “show Raj the image of their ship — the one they transmitted last Tuesday.”

Patel studied the image Armstrong called up on his computer and nodded. “See?” he said. “So, tell me, when are these Creeolians — do I have that right? — set to arrive?”

“In nine days,” said Dexter. “We’ve provided them with coordinates to a landing site — the university football field just behind Emerald Avenue. It’s spacious and, best of all, not in use right now because the season is over. Tell me, would you like to join us when we welcome them to the neighbourhood, so to speak?”

“You bet I would!”

At precisely eight o’clock nine mornings later, the three professors, all dressed in their best suits, met at Armstrong’s office. The plan was for Dexter to drive — he was the only one of the three who owned a car — once they received a final message with an estimated time of arrival. 

“Oh my gosh” said Armstrong, logging on to his computer. “Listen to this transmission, which was sent just as we arrived here: ‘Entering atmosphere earlier than anticipated. Will arrive at the pre-arranged landing coordinates in 17.2 Earth minutes.’”

“Let’s get a move on it,” said Patel. “By my estimate it will take us a half hour to get to the field.”

Armstrong, who was looking out the passenger side with binoculars, was the first to spot the ship as it was descending a few hundred metres above the ground. “There is no way they’re coming down in the football field,” he said. “They’re going to land several thousand metres south.”

Said Dexter, “Likely in the vicinity where students live.” 

It took another ten minutes for the trio to arrive, find a parking spot and begin their search.

“I don’t see the ship,” Patel said. “How could we have missed it? Perhaps we should double back and search the next block.”

It was then that they heard music.

“Look!” Dex, pointing to a student apartment complex. “On the lawn.”

The three rushed across the street and looked in horror at a silver cylinder matching the image the Creelorians had sent. One end of the vessel had been modified to secure a beer tap.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Tom shrieked.

“We found that keg in the street fair and square,” said one of the teens. “Must’ve been from a different country, though, ’cause none of our taps fit it. But good old Jack’s a mechanical engineering major and he got ’er working.”

“You… you drank this?” asked Tom.

The student burped and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Yup. Can’t say I cared for the taste but free beer is free beer.”

About the Author

The author of two novels, Chaz Osburn is a dual Canadian-US citizen with a background in the newspaper and magazine business and in PR.

His short stories have been published in several print and online publications including Amazing Stories, Sci-Fi Shorts, Alternative Liberties, Every Day Fiction and Altered Reality.

He currently resides in Traverse City, MI.