Are We Alone?

Yes. You're welcome.

Sep 09, 2024

PART ONE

Commander Franck Rooney strode into a NASA media hub teeming with reporters who seemed to hold their breath as he approached the podium. Dressed in a crisp NASA flight suit, the patches of various missions decorating his chest and shoulders, he cut a striking figure against a large American flag and the NASA emblem.

He carried a thin, translucent tablet, which he placed on the podium as he glanced at the audience, his eyes sharp and assessing, while the room buzzed with the intense murmur of voices. He cleared his throat and adjusted the microphone. Then, he noticed the single glass of water on the podium, pristine and untouched but with an odd detail: a peeled chunk of a carrot submerged in the clear liquid. Nobody seemed to find this strange, so he paid no mind and focused on the moment.

The United States Press Secretary stepped in. “You’re live,” she said.

“Citizens of Earth, I am Mission Commander Franck Rooney, leader of the Hyperon Expedition. As you may recall, my crew and I departed aboard the Anima on a life-detection mission after the Lumenis Voyager found a biosignature in one of Alpha Centauri’s planets. This happened… how long has it been?”

Every reporter raised their hand, and Rooney motioned at one of them to stand up. “Thirty-two minutes ago,” the reporter said.

“Thirty-two minutes it is then,” Commander Rooney said.

“But that’s just not possible,” the reporter replied.

“I’ll get to that later.” Commander Rooney continued. “It took us 4.37 years traveling at the speed of light to arrive at Proxima Centauri b, the only planet in the habitable zone. After we got close enough, our tests concluded that Proxima Centauri b had liquid water, a stable atmosphere, the essential chemical elements required for life, and an optimal geothermal energy core. However, contrary to studies conducted at NASA, the planet had a slightly stronger gravitational pull, requiring adaptations at every level, from biology to engineering. So, after two days of debating the problem, the vote went nine to one in favor of aborting the mission. That’s how close we were to returning home. Luckily, the person to vote ‘aye’ was me, the mission’s Commander.”

Commander Rooney pointed at a reporter, and she stood up. “How did you convince your crew?” A reporter asked.

“I pulled rank,” Commander Rooney said.

“Why did you take the risk?” The reporter asked.

“The mission was to search for civilizational remnants in the Alpha Centauri System, not to travel all that way to take a gander.”

A second reporter stood up without asking for permission. “So, are we alone?”

“I’ll get to that in a moment,” Commander Rooney said.

“And where is your crew?” He asked.

“I’ll get to that in a moment as well,” Commander Rooney said. “The stronger gravitational pull on Proxima Centauri b increased our weight, making it difficult to run or jump. Every movement had to be deliberate, and it felt like dragging our feet through the mud, with the weight of our suit and equipment pressing down on us with force. The increased strain on muscles and bones taxed our cardiovascular system. Our muscles ached as if under constant strain, making even the simplest tasks like lifting a tool or bending down a monumental effort. The relentless pull of gravity sapped the team’s energy and morale, turning what should have been a fairly routine exploration into a grueling test of endurance and willpower.”

“Is that how your crew died?” The reporter asked.

“Who said anything about dying? I was entrusted with this position because of my experience and leadership, so with my guidance, the team became more than just a group of individuals —it became a cohesive entity. In that remote outpost, where survival depended on trust and collaboration, they were a living, breathing organism, seamlessly interconnected, each of them a vital part of the whole. In the nine months we spent in Proxima Centauri b, I didn’t hear one argument that wasn’t geared toward making everyone a better problem-solver.”

“So, are we alone?” A reporter asked.

“We bumped against every stone and every corner of that damn planet and nada. Niente. Nothing.”

“But the planet is inhabitable, right?” a reporter asked.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Commander Rooney said. He took a sip of water, held the glass against the lights, and looked around. “What’s with the goddamn carrot?”

The Press Secretary stepped in. “Do you need more carrots in your water?”

“I also had a couple of cookies back in the waiting lounge, and as much as I’m grateful for the freebies, why do they taste like sand?” Commander Rooney asked.

“We will look into it,” The Press Secretary said.

Commander Rooney continued. “Although we had to use three times as much fuel to leave Proxima Centauri b, our solar charging stations were in optimal condition. We met to discuss whether we should continue exploring the galaxy, and after voting, we decided to keep going.”

“What was the voting count this time?” A reporter asked.

“We knew we were abandoning our families and loved ones and weren’t sure we could return to Earth. We also opted not to use the Cryopods because we needed to conserve energy, which meant we were awake during our journey. Still, we kept going because we’re explorers, and that’s what we do. We figured that if we found ourselves stranded, the worst-case scenario would be for one of us to board the evacuation module and return to Earth, leaving the others behind,” Commander Rooney pointed at one of the reporters in the back, who stood up and stated his name and the name of his agency.

“But the ship on the landing pad is not an escape pod. It’s the Anima, if you can call it that. I use the name because it’s written on the ship's starboard side, but it is twice the size of the Anima you departed on. In fact, I’ve never seen anything that looks like that.”

“Not even in movies,” said another reporter.

“I’ll get to that in a moment. What’s important right now is that we skipped the Barnard’s System, given that its only planet receives a fraction of Earth's warmth from its sun. We set course for Luyten’s Star System instead, which is eight light years away from Alpha Centauri,” Commander Rooney said.

“What activities did you pursue during that time?”

“Sleep, play cards, try to keep the others from eating all the ice cream,” Commander Rooney said. “Man, these guys played so many cards. They competed in poker tournaments, one after the other, non-stop. A mere game became a ritual, and a ritual became a creed. Soon, there were rules added. They made up so many rules that the crew didn’t know why they played. It was not fun for anyone, yet nobody quit. I played a little during the first months to make the others feel like I was part of the team, but soon, I withdrew to my quarters to work on my chess game because I was having trouble with the Closed Sicilian. In the final stages of one of those endless poker tournaments —I was asleep— Johnson accused Reyes of cheating, and when I woke up, Johnson had dragged an unconscious Reyes to the airlock. Before I could say anything, Reyes came to his senses, and confused, he hit the eject button with his foot, and both of them were lost to the void.”

“Over a game of poker?” One reporter asked.

“You can judge them if you want, but you tell me, what’s a reasonable way for two people to kill each other? God? A flag? A pair of sneakers?” The room grew quiet. Commander Rooney proceeded. “Besides, I checked the recordings, and to be fair, Reyes had been dealing from the bottom of the deck for months.”

“So you think the attack was justified?” The reporter asked.

“What matters is that we were down a chief engineer and a medical officer, we were three light years short of reaching Luyten’s Star System, and morale was at its lowest. Nobody wanted to touch the cards because they were bloodied, even after I offered to join in and shuffle.”

“How did you manage to stabilize the situation?” A reporter asked.

"Coup attempts were brewing, and the verbal and physical abuse I endured was something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I was forced to retreat to my quarters and lock myself in. I spoke about compassion, empathy, and wisdom while they tried to break down the door like wolves. I read them passages from NASA-approved books like How to Win Friends & Influence People and Tuesdays with Morrie, but that proved ineffective."

“What negotiation tactics did you use to restore humanity in your team?” Another reporter asked.

“Leadership,” Commander Rooney said.

“Could you be more specific?”

“I was the only one with access to the weapons,” Commander Rooney said.

“So you killed them?” The reporter asked.

“Who said anything about killing? I forced them into their Cryopods, and they went to sleep. I only kept Lt. Daniel Abebe awake because he was the most receptive to learning chess. And I did shoot Lt. Leila Ben Ali, but only after she sneak-attacked me while I was putting XO Emma Dubois in her Cryopod. Apparently, they had developed a relationship.”

“Why did you choose violence to handle the situation?”

“Listen, being stuck in the same routine for ten years is brutal—especially with Freddy in charge of the navigation and sustainability protocols. With nothing to do, the crew got restless. And when people get bored, they stir up trouble. That’s just human nature. We thrive on chaos and will create it when there’s none to be found. If you think I’m wrong, name one period in human history where no violence occurred.”

“Who is Freddy?” One reporter asked.

“It is the name I gave the AI system. It stands for Futuristic Robotic Exploration and Data-Driven Yield. I was very proud of having devised such an acronym, given that I’ve never been known for my creativity.”

“Aren’t you afraid of being charged with murder?” the reporter asked.

“No mission of this magnitude goes down perfectly as planned.”

“Are you saying NASA gave you permission to kill?”

“From where I stood, Earth was over unless I did something.” Commander Rooney pointed with a firm finger toward the reporters. “You were dead. You were dead. And you were dead. All of you —and your children, too— were dead. It was my job to find you a new planet to live on or maybe another civilization that could bail you out of the mess you made. I did this for you. And you’re worried about Lt. Ali and Lt. Abebe’s death? My objective was to ensure the success of this mission, and that’s exactly what I’ve done.”

“Pardon me,” a reporter stood up. “You mentioned you killed Lt. Ali—that much is clear. But I believe you just added Lt. Abebe to the list.”

“Two years into our chess lessons, I caught him trying to wake up the crew. It was a one-man mutiny.”

“Why did he disobey your command a mere year away from reaching Luyten?” The reporter asked.

“One never really gets to know another person regardless of how many years you spend with them,” Commander Rooney grabbed his glass and then put it down. “I’ve heard of adding a slice of cucumber in the water, but this carrot is disconcerting,” he said.

The US Press Secretary stepped in and took the glass. “We’ll get you some cucumbers.”

“In any case,” Commander Rooney said, “we ran out of fuel before reaching Luyten.”

“Did Freddy miscalculate the route?” A reporter asked.

“No. Freddy said we wouldn’t make it, especially after I was forced to place the crew into their Cryopods. But hasn’t it happened to you that you’re driving your car, and the yellow light comes on, but you still have enough fuel left to make it to a gas station? That’s what I hoped for when I charted our course. Unfortunately, the universe didn’t smile upon us, and soon we were drifting aimlessly through the empty darkness.”

“How are you still alive?” The reporter asked.

“I turned the Anima on manual and initiated the emergency protocol, which shut down almost all systems. I knew I was going to die, but there was something —call it a biological directive, call it hope— that prompted me to extend the little life I had left as long as possible.”

“Why didn’t you take the escape pod?”

"When Science Officer Alex Lindstrom shot at me —perhaps as a subconscious act of compassion— he missed, and the bullet struck the panel controlling the escape pod, causing it to eject into space.”

The reporters exchanged glances and whispers, wondering if they had caught the same detail. The Press Secretary entered with a glass and set it on the podium. Commander Rooney raised the glass.

“Is this a pickle?” he asked.

“I thought this is what you asked for,” she said.

“I thought we settled on cucumber,” Commander Rooney said.

“I’m confused,” she said.

“Evidently.”

“So you’d like a different fruit in your water?”

“How about a whiskey?” He asked.

“We’ll see what we can do,” she said.

“You said Science Officer Alex Lindstrom shot at you?” A reporter asked.

“It turns out that Freddy anticipated I would shut him down, so he initiated the crew’s reanimation protocol without my permission. Luckily, I was able to abort the sequence, but I failed to notice that Science Officer Alex Lindstrom’s pod had fully thawed.”

“Weren’t you monitoring the Cryopods?”

“Unfortunately, the crew was midway through the revival sequence when I shut Freddy down. This unexpected halt left the Cryopods in a precarious state, with the partially defrosted occupants trapped in this limbo, neither fully asleep nor awake. I found myself in an impossible position: if I restarted the Cryopods, we would quickly deplete our energy, and all of us would die within a week. So, for the sake of the mission, the best option was to do nothing."

“But you said you were going to perish anyway,” the reporter said.

“Hope is the last thing to die,” Commander Rooney said.

“What happened to the crew?”

"Their bodies warmed unevenly, causing intense pain from cellular damage due to the temperature shifts. Without the controlled environment needed for safe reanimation, their organs and tissues began to deteriorate, leaving them in a state of agonizing semi-consciousness. They were aware of their situation but unable to move, experiencing suffocating helplessness as their vital systems failed and oxygen levels dropped —except for Science Officer Alex Lindstrom. He awoke unharmed, skulked into my quarters, grabbed one of my weapons, and tried to kill me. After he missed, I explained that we were both going to die soon anyway, and he dropped the weapon.”

“And where is he now?” The reporter asked.

“It was just a matter of adding the numbers. Survival time under emergency protocols lasts twice as long if only one person is alive.”

“So you killed him, too?”

“Had I made a different decision, I wouldn’t be here, and all would be lost for you. Listen, the reason I came back after all these years—”

“You’ve only been gone for thirty-two minutes,” a reporter yelled.

“We hadn’t even finished packing our vans,” added another.

“I’ll get to that in a moment.”

The Press Secretary walked in with a drink. Commander Rooney took a sip and returned the glass to the Press Secretary. “This is cognac!”

“I’m not your waitress,” the Press Secretary said.

“See what I mean,” Commander Rooney said to the crowd or reporters. “A person feels a little pressure, and she pushes back. Now imagine being in a situation exponentially more challenging, far away from Earth, alone.”

“You should be dead,” a reporter said.

“Yeah, why aren’t you?” Another asked.

“I survived one extra month, but as expected, my time came, and the last flicker of power dimmed across the ship. Twelve light years from Earth and the fuel depleted, I felt the cold settle in—no more than a day to live, I calculated, drifting between stars, too far from Luyten, too far from my home, the United States of America. My hands trembled as I faced the unshakable truth: there would be no mission success, legacy, or glory. The human race was doomed, and I could not save all of you even with my best efforts. Then, a light filled the cabin, and suddenly, impossibly, I wasn’t alone. A presence, vast and incomprehensible, surrounded me. The void answered, and the rescue I never dared hope for arrived —not from Earth, but from the galaxy itself.”

PART TWO

Commander Rooney paused the press conference. “What does a man need to do to get a whiskey?” A heavy stillness settled over the room. “Madam Press Secretary? I haven’t had a stiff one in over thirty years.”

A sharp, exasperated sigh emerged from backstage.

Commander Rooney continued. “Virek’s spaceship was a sleek, silver vessel that glided silently through space. Its angular design, crafted from Yvorian nanometal, allowed it to morph depending on atmospheric conditions, making it malleable and nearly invisible. The ship was powered by a quantum fusion core, harnessing energy from nearby stars, and its propulsion system enabled faster-than-light travel through folded space. Inside, the control panels were holographic, reacting to Virek's neural commands. The interior of the ship was—”

A tidal wave of energy surged through the room, and every reporter in the briefing chamber shot to their feet. A cacophony of voices crashed together as questions flew in all directions.

“Who is Virek?”

“What is a Yvorian?”

“How can they travel faster than the speed of light?”

The journalists couldn't stop asking questions, their voices colliding, each trying to overpower the other. Commander Rooney gestured for them to quiet and take their seats.

“The Yvorians are a race of highly advanced, interconnected beings that function as a unified organism spread across multiple solar systems. Each individual Yvorian is a sentient extension of the larger collective consciousness, their thoughts, emotions, and actions integrated into a single, harmonious entity. While maintaining physical forms, their minds are linked through a vast neural network called the Nyad. It transcends space, enabling instantaneous communication and shared experience across their species, regardless of distance. Each Yvorian has a distinct role within the collective, but all share the same goals and expectations. Their sense of self is secondary to their connection with the whole, making them profoundly collaborative and focused on maintaining equilibrium between planets. Since dividing them is nearly impossible, they live in peace with one another.”

“And who is Virek?”

“He’s a Yvorian and my best friend.”

“So, we are not alone then!” A reporter yelled, and a few others clapped.

Commander Rooney carried on. “Yvorians communicate telepathically, and although Virek’s words were not English, the concepts appeared in my head as if placed there with his hand. As soon as I boarded his ship, I understood him perfectly. I felt a warm welcome. I was in good company. I was safe. Then Virek took me to his central planet, Thallax —which is not the planet’s actual name, as Yvorians have expanded their presence over many systems and do not distinguish between them. Thallax is a name I gave the place for my classification purposes.”

“It sounds like the name you give a hemorrhoid cream,” the Press Secretary said from behind the scenes, and a wave of suppressed chuckles spread among the reporters.

“We arrived at Thallax, the central and largest planet of the Yvorians, which was a vast, ethereal world bathed in soft, golden light from its twin suns. Its surface was covered in large crystalline structures that pulsated with subtle energy, mirroring the Yvorians' interconnectedness. Vast plains of flora stretched as far as the eye could see, flickering with hues of blue and violet. The air on Thallax was filled with a gentle hum, resulting from the planet's natural energy resonating in harmony with its inhabitants.”

“Did you develop a positive relationship with the Yvorians?” A reporter asked.

“One cannot have any other kind of relationship with the Yvorians but a positive one. They are the most constructive, respectful, optimistic beings I’ve ever encountered. They did not need to kill animals like we do since they fed by absorbing sunlight directly through their translucent skin. I can confidently assert that they treated me with the same care and respect they extended to their own kind. At least that’s how it felt in the beginning.”

“Did their attitude change toward you at some point?” A reporter asked.

“Oh, no. They were always cheerful and kind. Even as I explained to Virek that I was starving, he knew there was no food for me to eat, so he took me to the Central Nexus, where they upgraded me.”

“Upgraded, you said?”

“My nourishment comes from the sun now. Gone are the days when I had to go to the supermarket to purchase dead animals and plants. Unless the sun shuts down, my hunger and other metabolic requirements are gone forever.”

“What other upgrades did you receive?”

“Well, that’s the thing. At first, I only got that one upgrade, and I was grateful for it, don’t get me wrong. But as I spent more time in Thallax, I noticed that Yvorians could float, for example. They could teleport short distances with a mere thought. Meanwhile, I had to walk to places. It felt a little uneven, if you know what I mean.”

“Was it tiring to walk in Thallax?”

“No, I never tired of any activity while I was in Thallax.”

“Have Yvorians invented flying cars?” Another reporter asked.

“Most of their basic survival needs have been met, so they don’t need money, food, water, medicine, sleep, or transportation aside from their spaceships. The Central Nexus regulates their reproductive cycles, which rarely occur given their long lifespans.”

A man wearing a servant’s uniform crossed the stage and placed a glass on Commander Rooney’s podium.

“And who might you be?”

“Here’s your whiskey, Commander, sir.” The man exited.

“I hope the Press Secretary didn’t spit in it,” Commander Rooney said, holding the glass against the light and examining the liquid inside.

“Excuse me,” A reporter said.

“Shoot,” Commander Rooney said.

“You said you only feed from the sun.”

“I know, but I miss this.” Commander Rooney took a swig and grimaced. “Has anyone here ever tasted whiskey before? And why must you put a grape in it?”

“What do Yvorians do for fun?” A reporter asked.

“They practice collective mind meditation —a shared mental journey where they explore vivid simulations together. They perform harmony rituals, aligning their energies with natural forces, like solar flares or planetary shifts. They create living art that changes in real time, reflecting the group's mood. They also love galactic storytelling, where they weave tales of their history. I could go on.”

“Please, tell us more,” a reporter said.

“It sounds like heaven,” another said.

“Well, that’s the thing, isn't it?”

“Do you mean to say they refused you the right to participate?” A reporter asked.

“Not at all. Virtek himself invited me to join, so I was upgraded again. I was given the many gifts of the Yvorians, plus they also granted me my own spaceship —the one you saw on the runway.” Commander Rooney closed his eyes, and suddenly, in front of him, beams of light created beautiful, intricate displays that rippled across the press room. He opened his hand, and like magic, a crystal appeared, producing harmonious, soothing music nobody on Earth had heard. “This is called Gleamweaving,” he said.

The Press Secretary had come out onstage to watch the show. “This is incredible. Did you tell them about us? Are they coming to our rescue?” She asked.

“I did not reveal one detail about Earth. They asked me repeatedly, but I deflected. You don’t know how often I wanted to return home —or at least fly in for a pop-up visit— but I refused for fear of being tracked.”

“But why would you do that? Wasn’t your mission to seek help?” She asked.

“My gut feeling suggested their friendly demeanor might be a facade. I wasn’t certain, but over the years, I realized that no other species lived near or among them. I visited dozens of solar systems and saw nothing but Yvorians and planets resembling Thallax. I knew there was no path to reaching Yvorian levels of advancement without conflict because, if we have learned anything about our universe, it is that creatures that live too comfortably eventually stagnate, get devoured by predators, and go extinct.”

“But the Yvorians were kind and generous. You said it yourself,” she added.

“For the Yvorians to evolve and expand around the galaxy, they first had to eliminate all competition. Or else, why did they ask me so much about Earth?”

“Because maybe they wanted to get to know you! It’s like when you meet a guy from Egypt, and you ask him what Egypt’s like!” The Press Secretary yelled.

“Imagine an advanced civilization discovered Thallax and the Yvorians treated them with the same generosity and compassion they showed me. That civilization would have subjugated them eventually.”

“You don’t know that,” The Press Secretary said.

“Everything in our universe points to it, given that the number of resources and ideal planets is finite. We see it in biology and even human societies. Nations that don’t expand —economically, technologically, or territorially— become vulnerable to the forces of the more powerful ones. Growth is vital for survival, both in nature and society.

The fact that the Yvorians showed such an impressive development suggests they have consistently overpowered their rivals. It may not be the path they wanted, but survival forced them to expand their influence across the galaxy. No other choice exists since any species that fails to grow allows others to gain the upper hand,” Commander Rooney said.

“We could be Gleamweaving right now, you idiot!” The Press Secretary screamed.

“I dare you to perform collective meditation and harmony rituals for ten years, and then you tell me if you’re still entertained. It’s fun initially, but after a few decades, it hits you: Why am I still here? I had no hunger, so I didn’t need to hunt. I suffered no illnesses or had any desire to sleep. I could float everywhere, so I didn’t get that endorphin rush you receive after exercising. I thought of a place, and poof, I appeared there. How can one enjoy a life without struggle? Without a bit of flavor? Isn’t it fun for you to go to restaurants on a Friday night to people-watch and gossip about how so-and-so looks much older and how so-and-so is not as slim as you thought she was? I couldn’t do any of that. With all my needs met, I was another purposeless soul meandering through a very long existence.”

“At present, there are sixty-four armed conflicts around the world, but you needed a bit of flavor?” The Press Secretary said.

“It all changed for me when Virtek took me to their Museum of Ancestral History on the outer rim of their domain —a massive, glistening structure built into the side of a crystalline mountain that housed the long history and evolution of the Yvorians. Inside, you could see holographic timelines suspended in midair, tracing the species' rise from primitive beginnings to the peaceful society they now embody.

In the central hall, the tone shifted as intricate weapons of destruction were displayed —dark reminders of a violent past. Massive war machines, shimmering plasma rifles, and planet-leveling bombs, preserved in perfect condition, hovered without any protective energy fields. Each weapon was labeled with holographic records detailing devastating wars fought millions of years ago when the Yvorians were consumed by division and conflict.

A colossal display showcased the Reckoning Era, a period of near-total destruction, where the power of their weaponry scorched whole planets. The museum emphasized the turning point in Yvorian history when they chose to transcend violence and embrace unity. I walked through immersive simulations of the last great war, feeling the weight of those final moments before peace was realized. The museum ended with an exhibit of the present-day Yvorians as they contemplated their past not with pride but with the understanding of what they once were and the path they chose to leave behind.”

“See? They evolved. What else do you need? You need to go back and ask them for help.” the Press Secretary said.

“That’s not what Commander Rooney is saying, Madam Press Secretary,” one reporter pointed out. “I believe he was emphasizing the unguarded planet-leveling bombs in perfect condition.”

“Exactly. I knew it was a matter of time before they extracted Earth’s location from me, so I took the initiative and went on what you would call a suicide mission,” Commander Rooney said.

“But you said you spent decades with the Yvorians, and never once did they force the issue,” a reporter said.

“Remember, the Yvorians have very long lifespans, so thirty years must feel like a few days to them. In any case, I stole the Neural Disruptors, which you think would be heavy, but they were surprisingly easy to load into the Anima. And since nobody guarded the museum, I walked in and out without a soul to stop me. The real problem was, how could I, one man, defeat an entire civilization?

First, I launched the Neural Disruptors from a hidden position on a moon just beyond Thallax. The devices sent waves of crippling energy toward the Central Nexus, targeting the very threads that bound the Yvorians’ minds together. Panic spread through the collective, a feeling the Yvorians had not known in millennia. Their seamless communication faltered as fractures rippled through their neural web. It was as if their entire species was being torn apart from within.

Second, as the Yvorians struggled to maintain unity, I activated the Planet-Leveling Bombs. One by one, they detonated with silent, blinding intensity, decimating entire regions of Thallax. The shockwaves erased ecosystems in seconds, but the most devastating blow was to the Nexus. The central hub of their consciousness collapsed, untangling the delicate balance that connected every Yvorian across the stars. Those on other planets suddenly went silent, their minds disjoined from the whole, leaving them disoriented, their life force severed.”

One reporter stood up. “You claimed to have visited hundreds of Yvorian systems, so please explain how you had time to destroy all the neural centers before they stopped you. I imagine all their power was not so radically centralized in Thallax.”

“You are correct. The Yvorians relied on many Nexus to maintain unity.”

“Then answer the question: Why aren’t you dead?” The Press Secretary asked.

“I came to learn through my actions that the Yvorians didn’t defend themselves because they had indeed ditched their defense systems in favor of their unity.”

“Are you saying the Yvorians didn’t counterattack?” One reporter asked.

“Given their lack of retaliation, one could assume the Yvorians were genuinely compassionate and harmonious and that their violent behavior had been eradicated millennia before, as correctly displayed at the Museum of Ancestral History.”

“How did you explain to your best friend Virtek the destruction you set upon his people?”

“Once I started, it was too late for Virtek and every other Yvorian across the galaxy. And before you say anything, I want you to know I understand if you feel like judging me. But you and I know that leaving survivors behind would only fuel an endless cycle of revenge and violence. Sparing even one planet would mean Earth would eventually be surrounded by Yvorian ships. Thus, I neutralized every Nexus successfully as I encountered no resistance.” Commander Rooney cleared his throat. “And after months of bombings, the once-elegant and beautiful race of Yvorians ceased to exist.”

The room was suffocatingly muted, the air thick with the weight of the news. Reporters, camera people, sound engineers, and government officials sat motionless, hanging their heads. Aside from a murmur, no one spoke or knew how to follow up.

“You deserve to be dead,” The Press Secretary said.

“Perhaps. Sure. It’s up to you,” Commander Rooney said. “I could become the symbol of your strange sense of justice, or I could be the savior who brought you advanced technology like faster-than-light travel, anti-aging and longevity science, biological upgrades, quantum communications, climate control systems, self-sustaining ecosystems, teleportation, not to mention Gleamweaving, collective meditation, and more importantly, time-travel —which is why, from your point of view, I arrived thirty-two minutes after taking off while from mine I was gone more than three decades.”

“Will you share all that technology with us?” A reporter asked.

“I’m a proud American first and a citizen of Earth second. But, in a way, I’m also the last of the Yvorians. So, to answer your earlier question, Are we alone? The answer is yes, we are alone. You are welcome.”

PART THREE

Commander Rooney grabbed his tablet and exited at a measured pace. Behind the stage, he saw his wife and two daughters for the first time in decades. He hugged and kissed them as his youngest leaped into his embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. The older one didn’t celebrate much, given that, to her, it felt as if she had just seen her dad. Armed security then escorted Commander Rooney and his family to the bulletproof SUV parked outside.

“President Martinez would like to meet with you tomorrow. She’ll be at your address first thing in the morning,” the agent at the wheel said.

“Who is President Martinez?” Commander Rooney asked.

“I don’t understand the question, Commander,” The driver said.

“You were gone so long you don’t remember your president?” His wife asked.

“Wait. Stop the car. Who won the World Series?” Commander Rooney asked.

“The Mets! Who else?” The driver said.

“And who won the Super Bowl last?” Commander Rooney asked.

“That would be the Cleveland Browns.”

“And the NBA Finals?

“The Knicks. Are you feeling okay, Commander?”

“Oh boy,” A sudden wave of panic swept across Commander Rooney’s face as he opened the SUV’s door. “I have to go,” he said.

“Wait. What about us?” His wife asked.

“And what about humankind?” The driver asked.

“I don’t know. Wait for the Franck Rooney of this universe to arrive —if he’s still alive. I mean, no two universes are the same.” And with that, Commander Rooney ran across the runway, boarded The Anima, and launched past the stratosphere into space.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

The Odyssey was central to “Are We Alone?” in that Odysseus, often celebrated as the most cunning of the Greeks, is rarely scrutinized for his disastrous leadership. We tend to overlook that, despite his cleverness, all his men perished under his command, not to mention he also abandoned his family to pursue personal glory.

What fascinates me is how societies frequently admire determined, charismatic figures like Odysseus, even when their achievements come at a significant cost to others. This tension between authority, ego, and triumph led me to explore the exponential damage we overlook due to the narrow scope of our appraisals.

I also drew on Fermi's Paradox, which raises the question of why we haven't seen evidence of extraterrestrials despite the high probability of their existence. One of the more unsettling scenarios it presents is that if we ever encounter alien life, it could lead to our annihilation, as advanced civilizations, upon contact, may see less developed species as threats or obstacles. In a universe where competition for resources and dominance is inevitable, they would see no benefit in coexisting with us.