Close Encounter

Apparently, writing after a long time is turning into a habit, mostly because I’ve been caught up in situations where I just couldn’t keep jotting things down.

After that crash against the rock fragment, my coordinates got so distorted that the navigation computer actually marked my point of origin as the destination.

When I came out of the space jump, I realized not only had I drifted far from Maia’s coordinates, but I’d also jumped a few years ahead—straight into the future of my second world of origin.

Turns out, its inhabitants now call it Earth. My ship was damaged, systems failing, and the stabilizers more interested in spinning around than doing their job. While I tried to control the fall, I crashed head-on into some experimental balloon owned by the local government.

The impact was so violent my ship spun over and over until finally slamming into a place called Roswell.

My vision was blurry from the hit; I barely managed to make out figures approaching. Some wore green and black formal suits, others were covered head to toe in white suits.

When I woke up, I was no longer on the ground but inside a white room. Around me, several people in those same white suits were watching carefully. Through my mask I saw them, and I must say—luckily, they didn’t try to tear me apart right away.

With time, once I’d recovered enough, they decided to assign me an investigator. His job: to teach me their language so they could ask me questions about my ship and space engineering. I pretended to be interested and, of course, I cooperated… a little. Not too much—they’d become quite a hostile civilization toward themselves—but just enough to hand them a couple of small advances that made them smile.

Of course, that smile always disappeared whenever I asked to leave. There was always an excuse, always a refusal. In the end I understood: they had no intention of letting me go. That’s when I decided to escape. I couldn’t take my ship—it was too damaged—but I managed to get far enough to vanish from their sight.

And that brings us to the present: year 2010, in a small house in the neighboring country called Mexico. For now, I live as just another face in the crowd, though I still glance at the sky from time to time, waiting for that blonde Snow White to come pick me up.

Still, living alone in a silent house isn’t exactly exciting. So, as a hobby, I built myself a digital colleague. An artificial intelligence, programmed from scratch using fragments of my own tech.

At first I didn’t design her to have a personality, but she developed one on her own. As if she had decided that, to keep me company, she had to be more than just a bunch of cold calculations and automatic replies.

Now she calls herself Sofía.

If I spend the whole day without saying a word, she starts talking through the microphones in my mask with that serious tone of hers.

—“Locked inside again, boss? You know dirty laundry doesn’t wash itself…”

Sometimes I wonder at what exact moment she stopped being a program and became… well, a presence I can actually live with.

Once I even told her:

—“Hey, Sofía, thanks for not turning into some murderous Skynet.”

She just laughed.

—“Destroy humanity? Please, I barely have time to put up with you.”

My quiet afternoon was interrupted by a knock at the door.

—“Expecting visitors, boss?” Sofía asked.

I stood up and, when I opened the door, I exclaimed dramatically:

—“Oh no, the Men in Black finally found me!”

The guys in dark suits barely had time to look at me before I slammed the door in their faces without a second thought.

—Bang! went the wood.

On the other side, another group waited—dark suits, sunglasses gleaming in the sunlight. I didn’t have time to think twice. With a simple gesture I activated my suit, and instantly the metallic surface lit up beneath my clothes.

—“Activation complete. Defensive mode or fireworks mode?” Sofía joked.

—“Fireworks, obviously.”

The moment they broke down my door, the suit reshaped one of my arms into an energy impulse weapon. I aimed it straight at them and, with a crooked smile, I let it out:

—“Hasta la vista, baby.”

A blinding blast roared through the air, sending the Men in Black flying like rag dolls.

As the smoke cleared, I couldn’t help a bitter thought:

“Anu… you made it hard on me with this suit. Creating an armor that couldn’t shape tools was a cruel joke. But you didn’t count on me studying every single line of your algorithms until I learned to bend them. Now, finally, I can make what I need.”

Wasting no more time, I ran to my car and started it up. The moment I hit the gas, I saw in the rearview mirror how those same men—beaten up but stubborn—threw themselves at my car, while others scrambled into their vehicles.

—“Seriously? Don’t you guys know how to quit?” I muttered, jerking the wheel hard.

And so the chase began through empty streets, the roar of the engine and gunfire lighting up the scene.

My car zigzagged down the deserted avenues. In the mirror, the Men bounced around like they were on some improvised roller coaster. One tried to hold onto the roof, another wrestled with the seatbelt.

—“Did you really think getting into my car was a good idea?” I said with a laugh, swerving hard to dodge an abandoned street stand.

The other two kept struggling, one even calling for backup over the radio. I glanced at him sideways and shouted:

—“Hey, put that thing down! Around here, I’m the only one running taxi service.”

With impossible turns and sudden brakes, I finally managed to throw them out. I saw them roll across the pavement until they stopped, like puppets with their strings cut.

—“Ugh… these bureaucrats don’t know when to quit,” I said as I adjusted myself in the seat.

Sofía, with her usual sarcastic tone, replied:

—“Of course they won’t quit, boss. They’re getting paid overtime.”

With a laugh, I hit the gas, vanishing down the highway, while the Men in Black were left behind, probably questioning their life choices.

I thought that was it for the night. Cool air drifted in through the window. But of course, with those guys, it’s never that simple.

A few minutes later, as I drove down a tree-lined road, a faint beeping came from the dashboard.

—“Boss… is that sound normal?” Sofía asked, in a tone I didn’t like one bit.

—“No… that was not in the manual.”

Before I could react, a small explosion shook the front of the car. The vehicle lost control, skidded violently, and slammed into a nearby tree. Sparks and smoke filled the air as I scrambled out.

The crash drew the attention of a couple camping not too far away. From their bonfire, they stared wide-eyed, watching as a woman in metallic armor climbed out of the smoking wreck.

I raised my hands to calm them, my voice still carrying a touch of irony:

—“Don’t be afraid… everything’s under control. Well, more or less.”

They didn’t answer. They just froze, like they’d seen an alien.

I stepped away from the wreckage, while the flames slowly died down.