The Traveler
FICTION
Malcolm Bolivar
“Why me?” I asked.
“Because we have been watching you. We needed to find someone with the right amount of … how do you humans say it … emotional intelligence, cognitive ability, and compassion. You are not the only one we have been watching. But you are the choice we have made for the moment.”
The screen I was watching contained only a small blue ball of light that pulsed when it spoke to me. There was no speaker anywhere that I could see.
“I know you have doubts,” the blue ball—heh, blue ball—said to me.
“Well, you have to admit this all seems a bit … hmmm … irregular.” I said to the screen. I looked around again. I was standing on the side of a country road near a really big tree talking to what looked like a floating box with a screen. The screen with my new best friend … blue ball. Too bad he didn’t have a friend. Now that would be funny.
“We understand. Unfortunately, we haven’t given you much time to process all of this. But there is a long journey ahead. We are prepared to move on to our second choice, if you do not wish to take part,” the blue ball said. He was growing on me. At least he sounds like a he.
“So you are the envoy of an intelligent race that wants to save all of humankind? And I am how you plan to do it? But first I need to get on your ship and travel to a location several light years away, before you can return me to earth with the power and knowledge to save the human race?” I asked, trying to prevent the incredulity I was feeling from creeping into my voice.
“Exactly.” It said dispassionately. I think I will make it an it, instead of a he. I couldn’t be sure, but I felt it might have been speaking with just a trace of condescension.
I sighed. It was all a little hard to process. I was …
having trouble …
processing …
thinking straight.
“I don’t know,” I said. I looked back at my car. I had put my flashers on, the car was still running, and my lights were on. I had left the driver’s side door open. It was late. What time is it?
“We understand your concern and hesitation. We felt like the time to act was now, and we feel that with you, this mission has the greatest probability of success. A 95% probability of success,” it said.
“What is the chance of success if you take the next person?” I asked. I was really just curious.
“67%,” it said. Was it feeling a little disappointed with me?
“Hmmmmm …” I was thinking. I couldn’t help feeling like I needed to be somewhere. Somewhere that wasn’t here.
“We understand your hesitation. But we need an answer,” it said a little more firmly this time.
“I feel like I have something I should be doing, or some place I should be going,” I said feeling very absent minded.
“Yes, you do. It is unfortunate. Our timing is not ideal for you. But it does not change the fact that this choice is up to you. Please provide us with your answer,” it said.
“Well … I guess so. Why not?” I said. The screen lit up bright and all I could see was white.
“Officer Waldecker, what have we got?” The large, lumbering man in the Sheriff’s uniform approached the diminutive officer. She tugged on her ponytail before standing up in the empty waiting room.
Waldecker shook her head. “Sorry Sheriff, he didn’t make it. Single car accident, on Serling’s Ridge Road. He hit that big oak out there right before the intersection at Twilight Lane. The doctor just came out and told me he was 10-7 before they could even get him into the OR.”
“What was the cause?”
Waldecker tugged on a small note pad in the front pocket of her jacket. “State Police Accident Investigators are still on the scene. Preliminary estimates are that he was doing about 80 when he hit the tree. No seatbelt. Airbags deployed, but at that speed …” she trailed off without finishing the thought. The Sheriff nodded.
“We got family to notify?” The Sheriff wheezed a little when he spoke. He pulled up his pants in a movement that was both comical and intimidating at the same time.
“That’s the thing. I just talked to Pete, I mean Officer Kalb, he’s at the home of the driver. Took a statement from the driver’s wife. She doesn’t know if she should come to the hospital. Apparently, the driver came home early from a business trip. According to Kalb, she said—and I quote: ‘he walked in on me fucking one of his co-workers. The music was so loud, I didn’t hear him come in, but I know he was watching us for at least a few minutes. He had this look on his face. He turned around and walked out the door.’ Kalb says that was around one AM. Two hours ago,” she checked her watch after reading from her notes.
“Well I guess that’s that,” the Sheriff said. “Leave a copy of the State Police accident report and your report on my desk tonight before the end of your shift. I will read it in the morning.”
“Yes, Sheriff,” Waldecker said. She turned around to grab the legal pad she left on the chair when she stood up. “It’s a shame, really. Terrible way to go. Terrible world we live in …” Waldecker stopped when she realized the Sheriff was already walking out the door of the emergency room waiting area.
She shrugged and headed out into the cold January night.
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