What did I overhear from you? Yes, you were asking about the medicine from the friendly aliens. Stay there.
She gets up and walks to a counter full of large, white bottles. She opens one, then hands me two blue pills.
You have cancer? Take these.
She puts the cap back on the bottle and picks up another bottle.
You have heart problems? High cholesterol? Poor blood circulation? Take these. I can go on and on, but you get the point. It took a few years for the technology to be studied and deemed safe, despite the aliens' promises. This particular race of aliens focuses on medicine, from what I understand. After the war was over, they sent a representative, and they discovered our need. They conducted their test, studied our biology, and then returned a year later with these pills. They didn't give them to us for free. Why would they? But you'll have to talk to someone else about that deal.
Those pills alone have saved countless lives, but that is not all. We have machines that can heal a broken arm in seconds or seal cuts as good as new with a wave of the hand. Truly remarkable.
They have changed medicine. Many doctors who specialized in internal medicine are out of a job or function as diagnosticians. I'm a pediatrician, so there is still a need for me since most of these pills aren't to be given to children. It is truly a gift.
Her phone rings, and she answer it.
Off you go, young man, I have a delivery. The aliens can't do that, can they?
Jim Turner
Phoenix Station
Jim Turner is a man of medium height, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He agreed to meet me in his classroom on the civilian side of Phoenix Station. The classroom is unremarkable in every aspect. Its beige walls and fluorescent lighting could have been part of any school in the world.
I was an underwater welder before Invasion Day. It was a great job that paid good money. I'm from Houston, but I was doing some work on an offshore rig during the attacks. Got lucky, I guess. I didn't even hear that damn, killer noise. I lost most of my family that day. My parents lived near Atlanta, and they never traveled far from home, so I'm sure t hey died there. I never saw their bodies.
My wife was 29. She was beautiful and fierce, full of Latin passion. We'd been married for about five years and were hoping to start on our first child soon. I had just talked to her the day before. We didn't fight. I know a lot of people talk about the last things they said to someone, but we just talked about food. I think I mentioned that I had some stomach problems, and she told me to eat more greens, that it would help me be more regular. ( He laughs, then sits quietly.)
At first, I didn't believe the news. I tried to get home, but it was impossible... I threatened, begged, and tried to persuade anyone I could, but it wasn't happening. I had to see my house with my own eyes. I had to. I wanted to see my wife. Just one more time. Just... I... I wanted to see her.
But then we saw a news report out of Houston, and I knew. Someone had sent some kind of drone into the city, and you could see... well, you know. Dead bodies and fires all over the place. After that I didn't want to go back. I think my wife would have been at home or at least on her way home from work.
I used to think about it a lot… about what she went through. I mean, I have read the reports of people who heard the noise and survived, even inside the cities, because they were in the basement or something. They described the noise and what they went through, but what about the people who died from it? Those who took the full impact from it. Did they die quick? Were they in pain? Did they know they were going to die? (He pauses.)
I'm sorry man, I know you don't want to hear any of that...
It's your story. You tell it how you want.
That's just it, isn't it? Nobody wants to hear my story. Oh, I know people will listen, just to be nice. But my story isn't original, not anymore. Tens of millions of people lost someone or everyone. Nobody wants to sit and listen to a story of a man's wife dying when their kids just died. The whole world either has survivor's guilt or is dealing with the crushing loss of a family member.
I had a buddy, a roughneck who could eat nails for breakfast, who didn't lose anyone, and he had to watch as all his friends suffered catastrophic loss. He couldn't do a thing for us. The guy didn't know if he should cry in sympathy with us or enjoy the good fortune he had. He almost had a nervous breakdown after a few days. I told the guy I was happy for him, and I meant it. There was so much death that day, and I was happy some didn't have to go through that. He was lucky, but he was in the minority.
Anyway, after finally accepting the news, I fell into a funk. I couldn't be bothered to work or even get out of bed. I didn't care about the ground war that was happening. I mean, what's the point?
After like six months of living like that, I snapped out of it. There was no significant cause for it I guess. I just realized that my life wasn't over yet, and there were still things to be done. So, I started working again. I got a job welding for the government, just building facilities, repairing tanks, really anything they needed me to do. I volunteered for
