It was a warm, autumn day when I received the letter that would change my life. A simple letter, delivered the old fashioned way, written on paper and delivered in an envelope. I remembered when everything had happened, a few days before…
Like all those in the little town of Bolivar, Missouri, I had attended the mental power testing at the local hospital. And like most of those in this small, college town, I didn't believe anything would happen.
Sitting in the waiting room, I watched as men and women, young and old, entered the testing room, only to leave a short while later. Psychics couldn't predict the futures, telepaths couldn't read minds, and telekinesists couldn't move objects. Finally, last to be called for the day, a nurse called me into the testing room. It was stark white, with shining silver counters and bed. I was handed an open-backed gown to put on and told to sit on the bed, and that a tester would be with me in a moment.
Doing as I told, I took the time to look around the room. One wall was covered in a single-view window, dark on my side, but able to be seen through the other way. Self-conscious in a thin gown, I sat on the table with my back to the window. I couldn't help but wonder what the people on the other side of the window were thinking. I mean, I was a 25 year old man, born and raised on a local farm. I was fit, sure, but that came with working on a farm, and had nothing to do with the ability to mind-talk or whatever.
As the wait lengthened, my irritation grew. I had been sitting on a cold table, in a cool room, in less than a night-gown, and nobody had come in to talk to me, look at me, test me, or even acknowledge me. Standing, I began to pace around the room. I felt as if my anger was radiating off of me in waves as I my steps crossed from one side of the room to the other. As I began to talk to myself, about my aggravation, my boredom, my thirst and hunger; everything that I could think to complain about. I hadn't finished 3 sentences when the door suddenly opened to admit a petite women dressed in scrubs and a doctor's robe.
"What took so long?" I demanded, glaring at the woman. "I was the only person left! Surely there wasn't something to prevent a bit more timely appearance?!" I huffed, my brow furrowing and fists clenching to my sides.
The woman lifted her face, brow furrowed and eyes watering. "I'm ... I'm sorry, sir. I just found out that my 20 year old dog died. I can't have kids, so he was my only baby." Tears fell down the woman's face and her body began to shake as sobs wracked her body.
Instantly I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. "Oh. I'm so sorry." I said, slowly sitting down in the stool next to my knee. "Can I do anything? Get you a drink? Come back tomorrow?" It was as if the pain in this woman, who I'd never seen before – even in our small town – was my dearest friend who, instead of losing a dog, had just lost their only child.
The woman nodded slowly and sniffed, wiping her eyes. "Someone will contact you to reschedule. I'm sorry about the inconvenience." Sobs wracked her again as she left the room at a rush. I stood there, looking at the half open door for a few moments before closing it so that I could re-dress.
In the following three days, I had waited for a notification or call to return to the hospital for another screening session, but all was silent in that field. Then the envelope appeared. I reread the document three times to make sure that I was really reading it correctly and it wasn't a hoax. AT the bottom of the letter was the embossed symbol for the newly formed World Council's Mental Abilities Committee (WCMAC). A quick search on the internet showed that the return address was, indeed, the address for WCMAC's headquarters in Switzerland. Running my hand through my hair, I shook my head, reading the letter once more.
Within, the letter said that of all of the abilities that I was tested for (when?!) that the only test that I had passed was the Empathy test, and that I was to report to the shuttle launchpad in southern Florida, in order to be shipped to Shola for training. Shola, the land of the new aliens that we kept hearing about on the news. I'd never seen one in person, and what I saw on the news made me think of movies that I'd seen, not of a new species. Granted, I wasn't sure how they made their legs bend that way, but I'm sure it was just CGI, anyway. So the question I had, was: Why would I leave everything I own, leave my farm and dog in the hands of my parents and sister, and travel hundreds of miles to some planet, to be drafted into their special military, and have to live in some large estate with people I'd never met, let alone whether or not I liked them.
Flipping through the pages, a notice caught my attention. Due to the current political standings, if I didn't make the designated shuttle launch, I would be imprisoned for the rest of my days. "Gotta love good 'ol earth." I mumbled to myself, dialing my sister's number so I could get that ball rolling.
A week later, I was strapped into a shuttle with other who were 'lucky' enough to be sent to Shola. As I was looking out over the tarmac, figuratively kissing everything I'd ever known goodbye, my eyes fell upon 3 figures, all dressed in dark colored robes, approaching the shuttle. A few words that I couldn't hear or read, a strange handshake, and a salute later, the three were headed onto the shuttle.
"Great!" I thought, turning to face the front of the shuttle, "Just what we need: three more cats on the journey."
However my opinion drastically changed as the three came even with me and took their seats. The two male Sholans sat on the other side of the isle, but the female sat across from me, facing me. She wasn't a Sholan either, she was a human. She spoke to the Sholans in a weird, almost singsong language full of purrs and meows, like you'd hear a housecat speak, if they actually had conversations. All the while, though, she kept her bright green eyes focused on me. During this time I was able to look over her. She was fit, from what I could tell under the folds of her robe. It was a dark grey, with a decorative edging of purple; an odd mixture, to me, but to each their own. As she lowered her hood, tendrils of long, curly locks fell around her shoulders, catching the sun and shining in a brilliant orangey-red.
I heard what could have only been a laugh from the Sholans and more sing-song talk, meaning there was something that I didn't know, and likely about me. Moving my eyes back to the window, I avoided all contact with the three for the trip up to the Space Station.
