Scott lay back in the sand. The late afternoon sun hung over the horizon, searching for its home beyond the waves. Another perfect Hawaiian sunset.
“It’ll have an amazing mum, too,” he said, taking her hand. “To think, they foresaw that.”
“Come again?”
“The Hürantåns, they prophesized that our child will be great.”
At the mention of their otherworldly acquaintances, Brooke frowned and sat straight, pulling her knees up. “I didn’t know you wanted to talk about them.”
“I, well, it’s strange how they mentioned our offspring, and how it will save the Earth.”
“Scott, the longer that all fades into the past, the better. It seems so far away. And it can stay that way,” she said, shaking her head. “They abducted us and treated us like zoo animals. The whole thing seems so… unreal, all that stuff about the prophecy.”
She shuddered, and Scott sat up and put his arm around her. “I know, Brooke, but it happened.”
He looked down at the sand, and then up into her eyes. “We can’t pretend it didn’t. Pete’s gone, the trident, our, ahem, honeymoon…; We can’t ignore it.”
“I want to ignore it,” she said. “I have other things to consider now. The Mothers of Intention, the baby: these are real, on Earth. Here. Hürantå seems like a crazy dream. I’m happy that it’s not happening anymore. “
“But what if it was? What if our story with them wasn’t over?” He tested the waters, but it was obvious she didn’t want to swim.
“Scott, I need it to be over, ok? We will soon be parents. Dirty diapers, no sleep, saving for college. We can’t have Xero Nekton and space ships to worry about. We need to put all that behind us. I’m part of a group that’s working to change the world. Part of real live, human change, not aliens and laser beams. We need to put it behind us, Scott.”
He bit his lip. He couldn’t tell her now, she would flip her lid. If I bury my head in the sand, maybe the problem will go away.
He smoothed the warm white silicate over his toes. Who were these shadowy people, anyway? Why do they want me to stop my research?
“Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that our actions–my work with the Peterplankton, and your activism–what if it’s ruffling a few feathers?”
“That would be great, Scott,” said Brook, straightening out her legs and running the sand through her fingers. “We want to ruffle a few feathers, don’t we? That’s the whole point. The world is too complacent. We are dumping the equivalent of a truck-full of plastic in the ocean every second. Chew on that. Half of that originates from five companies: Coca-cola, PepsiCo, Nestle, Tim Hortons, MacDonalds. Don’t those CEOs even give a shit? And what about people? Why do they continue to buy these products–single use plastics, wrappers, containers–and just huck them in the garbage? It gets chucked in a landfill, or into the ocean. Or ‘recycled’? Only nine per cent of plastic ever made has been recycled. It’s a sham, Scott. It’s as if there was some conspiracy, some evil force…”
Brooke rolled on her knees and stood herself up, lending a hand to Scott. “I don’t care if I ruffle a few feathers. In fact, I don’t care if I ruffle the entire flock. This is our home, there are billions of us, and if even one billion are treating the world as their personal trash can, then the layer of plastic will keep growing until the whole world is shrink-wrapped!”
Scott grabbed her hand and let her pull him up. “Okay, Brooke, touché.”
I guess they were going to ruffle. I better watch our backs, he thought as they made their way back home.
Marine Space 