The Last Starry Night

It was the Earth’s own good sun setting over the hill, flooding bronze and copper light over the cornfield behind Aunt Elsie’s house. Uncle Derek’s grill was going, and the smell of the barbecue was so good and familiar, it almost made Azzie feel as though her whole crazy adventure was just a bad dream. Of course, the six-foot-tall yellow worms and the odd turtle-octopus things tended to ruin the effect.

“It could not have been the Beast,” an Artist was saying quite firmly to Srini, wiggling its tentacles with agitation. Azzie was sitting at a picnic table with the Artist and Two-Tail the Shaman, as well as Mama, Johnny, Floyd, Srini, and Srini’s parents and little sister. “It cannot send its mind from body to body, like we can. That is why it requires Artists to act as attendants.”

“Then what was she?” asked Srini. “Was she an Artist?”

“Impossible,” said the Artist. “You said she needed Preimo’s help to get out of Trocmo’s body. Artists do not need any assistance to get ‘out’ of a body.”

“Are there other species that could do that?” asked Srini.

“None that I know of,” said the Artist.

“Me either,” said Two-Tail. “It would have to be a sentient species, surely, and the only sentient species are ourselves, the Artists, and the Warriors.”

“She sounds like a rough character,” said Floyd. He was on his third hot dog, and showed no signs of stopping. “You folks are lucky to be alive.”

“It was Grandma that saved us,” said Azzie.

“She is a remarkable woman,” said Floyd. He reached for another hot dog. Srini’s little sister, who was a tiny waif of a five-year-old, watched him eat, utterly fascinated.

“Hungry, Floyd?” asked Azzie.

“Five days of that government cafeteria food,” he growled. He had weathered the freezing Earth in the bunker with the US government. “And then three days of hospital food. I’m lucky to be alive myself.”

“Actually, you are, after that fall you took,” said Azzie. “That was so brave, Floyd.”

“So stupid, you mean,” he muttered, glancing over at his crutches leaning against the picnic table. “It’ll be months before I can walk properly again.”

Srini had more questions to ask. “So if she wasn’t the Beast, why did Azzie meet her during the Trial?”

“I don’t know,” admitted the Artist.

“Is it possible that the Beast is in league with her?” asked Srini. Floyd took another hot dog.

“The Beast is in league with no one. There is no reason for it to be in a league. It performs its function; that is all.”

“Maybe this woman found a way to control the Beast,” said Srini. “To influence its judgment. Is that possible?”

The Artist writhed its tentacles. “I suppose, in principle, it is possible,” it said. “But no one has ever done that before. There is no way to do it.”

“Then the judgment that humans are not sentient might not have been valid,” said Srini. “You have to admit the possibility.” Floyd took another hot dog.

“Perhaps,” said the Artist slowly. “It may be that you are right.” It twitched its tentacles and downed a glass of Aunt Elsie’s lemonade.

“It is too important a matter to leave in doubt,” said Two-Tail. “I will suggest that it be taken before the Interspecies Council.”

Srini and Azzie whooped. “You are a gentleman of principle, sir,” said Floyd.

Gwen wandered over with her mother and Aunt Elsie. “It was a rough time, all right,” Aunt Elsie was saying. “Dark as anything, not even any moon, and it just got colder and colder. Derek, bless him, kept piling logs on the wood stove. Good thing the sun came back when it did; it being summer, we didn’t have much wood stockpiled.”

“Amazing,” said Gwen. From Gwen’s expression, Azzie guessed that Aunt Elsie had told Gwen this story three times already. “Hey,” said Gwen, turning to everyone at their table, “do you folks have any extra ketchup over here? We’ve run out at our table.”

“’Fraid not,” said Floyd. “Say, how did your family make out?”

“Well, for whatever reason, we didn’t lose power,” said Gwen’s mother. She was a solid-looking woman with an easy smile. “So we had plenty of heat. We didn’t have any water, though, because pipes were bursting all over town.”

Gwen took a hot dog. The sun had set, and the cornfield was fading into a dusky blue. It was unusually crisp for a summer evening in Alabama; it felt more like spring than summer. Azzie suddenly realized that there were no mosquitoes at all. The freezing temperatures had done away with them.

“How about you?” asked Gwen, turning to Srini’s parents.

“We went up to the observatory, where we work,” said Srini’s mother. “There are backup generators there, so we were fine. There were many deaths in India, however. Many people are poor, and have no way to live with cold.”

Floyd nodded. “It’s a terrible shame.”

“The most frustrating thing to me is that we’re not even sure who caused all this,” said Srini. “This woman claimed to be the Beast, claimed to be eons old, claimed to have incited the Warriors to attack the Earth – and who knows how much she was lying about?”

“Do y’all think she’s really dead?” asked Floyd, taking another hot dog.

No one answered.

“So,” said Floyd at last. “I noticed that no Warriors came with your delegation, Two-Tail. Just three Shamans and three Artists.” The other four aliens were at other tables; their human escort, consisting of UN officials and US Secret Service agents, were here and there in the yard, in the house, and in the fields. Gwen took another hot dog.

“Yes,” said Two-Tail. The Shaman had eaten nothing at all. “Well, those Warriors who are left alive are very busy. They can’t really spare anyone to come on a diplomatic mission. Their government collapsed, and they’re trying to create a new one. Warrior politics are very ... contentious. Also, they were not sure how Warriors would be received on Earth. So they decided to send no one on this mission. I am confident that others will come in the future.”

“Have y’all had any trouble yourselves?” asked Floyd. “I mean, with folks that don’t like aliens.” He took another hot dog.

“No,” said the Artist. “But then, we have generally only spoken to government officials. This party is our first informal gathering.”

“The Warriors’ homeworld,” said Azzie. “Is it – is it totally gone? Or – or –”

“Oh, it’s fine,” said Two-Tail. “Their homeworld has been preserved as a wildlife refuge for thousands of years. They kept it in its own toy universe even before the Long Exile. You should definitely visit it sometime. It has some of the most amazing life forms that I know of.”

“We did meet one specimen,” said Gwen. She took another hot dog.

“Oh, yes. Well, you should see what eats the predators.”

Aunt Elsie’s screen door slammed, and Grandma’s clear voice rang out like a bell. “Homemade ice cream!”

As Grandma went from table to table serving scoops from the old hand-cranked wooden bucket, and Aunt Elsie followed her around offering everyone sweet tea, the crickets began their chorus in earnest, and the soft light of the Pacific fell gently on them. Azzie could barely see Australia above her, getting brighter as the sun’s light faded. The ice cream was fantastic.

At last Grandma sat herself down next to Floyd. “How many hot dogs are left?” she asked. “After all that hand-cranking, I could eat a whole hog.”

“They’re gone!” said Srini.

“Gone!” cried Grandma. “There should have been twenty-five for each table. How many did you eat, Floyd?”

“Well, a number,” admitted Floyd. “I reckon I lost count. No more than seven, though.”

“Seven!” cried Grandma. “Well, all right, that’s seven for you. How many did the rest of y’all eat?”

Azzie had had two, and so had Johnny. Srini’s parents had split one, and Ngoc, Srini and her sister had concentrated on the potato salad. The Artist had eaten one tiny bite of one, and Two-Tail had had nothing at all.

“That makes thirteen,” said Grandma. “Where’s the other twelve?”

Gwen looked a little sheepish.

“You ate twelve hot dogs?” cried Grandma.

“Well, no,” said Gwen. “Actually, I had a bunch over at my table before I came over here to talk...”

Grandma shook her head. “Don’t that beat all,” she said. “Azzie, your father never ate that many at a sitting, and he was a growing young man with farm chores ... he could pack them away like nobody’s business. But this beats anything I ever saw.”

“You should see her in the spring, when she’s rowing crew,” said Gwen’s mother.

“They were good hot dogs,” said Gwen earnestly.

“That’s all right,” said Grandma. “I’ll just have an extra helping of ice cream.”

“Look up there,” said Floyd, pointing to the sky in the west. “It’s Venus.” The brilliant planet looked like a jewel embedded in Madagascar. “I don’t reckon I’ll ever get used to this view,” he said. “But the important thing is, the Warriors were defeated.”

“Say what you like, Floyd,” said Grandma. “The most important thing to me is that our little family is together again.” She cocked an eyebrow at Azzie. “Now, while you’re staying here at Elsie’s, young lady, you make sure you mind her and do as she says. She’s got some strict rules in her house. No running away from home, no being abducted by aliens, no wandering in strange jungles at all hours of the night and getting mixed up with the wrong sort of folk...”

“Can she save the Earth once in a while?” said Srini. “Just to stay in practice?”

“Certainly not!” snapped Grandma. “Not without permission.”

Azzie looked over and saw Mama laughing with everyone else. Azzie was certainly glad that the Warriors were defeated and everyone was home safe, but that wasn’t what was most important to her. Azzie was just glad to see that smile on Mama’s face.