The eviction notice showed up on Tuesday, stuck between a late medical bill and a credit card thing Mark didn't even open anymore. He stood in the hall of his parents' place—well, *his* place now, since they couldn't do stairs anymore. The paper felt heavy, like it was pressing down on him.
Sixty days. They had sixty days.
He could hear his dad's ventilator through the walls, that wheeze-click sound that was now just normal. The doctors called it idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. Basically, his lungs were failing for no clear reason. It had no cure and had already drained their savings, their pride, and any plans Mark had for his life.
He folded the notice back up, like hiding it would make it go away, when his phone rang. Number he didn't know. He almost didn't pick up. Bill collectors were always calling when he wasn't at work. But something made him answer.
Dr. Chen? A woman's voice, sharp and official.
Just Mark. I don't have a doctorate. He was close to finishing his degree in computer language stuff when his dad got sick. That was two years ago.
Our records say you did everything but defend your paper. That makes you good enough. A pause. This is Director Sarah Okonkwo from the United Nations Interspecies Relations Committee. We need you in Geneva. Now.
Mark thought it was a scam. Then he thought, the UN doesn't usually do scams. That made him freeze.
Interspecies Relations? he asked slowly.
You haven't been watching the news.
He hadn't. Couldn't pay for TV, and his parents didn't like it. He'd been living stuck dealing with doctors and working for peanuts.
Mr. Chen, four days ago, aliens showed up. Made contact. Made demands. She sounded like she'd said this a million times. They're having some kind of trial. They're charging humanity with killing off other intelligent species. They're giving us thirty days to defend ourselves. If we don't... they'll 'fix' the problem.
Mark sat on the floor. Fix the problem.
They didn't say what that means. But the alien psychology people—yeah, we have those now—think it could be anything from blocking our tech to wiping us out. We're playing it safe and assuming the worst.
And you're calling me because...?
Your paper. 'How Languages Die: What We Lose When They Do.' You said that when a language dies, we lose ways of seeing the world. You said Neanderthals could've had complex language but we never understood it before we— She stopped. Before they went extinct.
Mark's paper. The thing he left behind. Our biggest mistake wasn't just killing other species—it was killing them without even knowing what we were destroying. Without ever asking what they might have been trying to tell us.
The aliens have proof, Okonkwo said. DNA, old stuff they dug up, how we act. They're saying we killed off three intelligent species: Neanderthals, dolphins and octopuses-
Octopuses aren't gone, Mark cut in.
No. But there are way fewer of them. The aliens have found that octopuses have crazy intelligence we never saw. Nine brains, Mr. Chen. One in the middle and one in each arm, that can all solve problems on their own. We've been killing them without noticing. We boil them in restaurants while they solve puzzles, and we didn't see the between them.
Mark remembered a paper he'd read years ago. An octopus that messed with the lights in its tank because it didn't like them. Learned, adapted, acted. The researchers thought it was a funny trick. No one thought it meant the octopus was super smart.
Why me? he asked again. There are actual lawyers, diplomats...
The aliens don't want lawyers. They want someone who gets the language of thought. Someone who can say we didn't kill them, we just didn't know what we were doing. That we couldn't even see their intelligence. Someone who can show we can learn. She paused. They want someone who can prove we're capable of learning. Of changing.
And if I can't?
Then it's game over.
His dad's ventilator wheezed. Each gasp cost money they didn't have.
There's money, Okonkwo said, like she knew what he was thinking. Two hundred thousand now, if you take the job. Another three hundred thousand it goes well. And full medical stuff for your family.
Mark closed his eyes. He saw his dad's face before he got sick. He saw his mom's hands, messed up by arthritis. He saw the notice, the bills.
The price of a life, right there on paper.
I need to know something, he said. The proof they have about Neanderthals and dolphins. Is it... is it real?
Okonkwo was quiet. Yes, she said. Scientists have been looking at it for days. The Neanderthal stuff is bad. We didn't just beat them. We hunted them. Stole their kids. Ruined their food. They even tried to talk to us. The aliens have recordings of Neanderthal speech. It's a language, Mr. Chen. And we have cave paintings that show they tried to make friends. Sharing stuff.
And we killed them anyway.
We killed them anyway.
Mark opened his eyes. The hallway was dark. His mom was sitting, staring at nothing. His dad was dying, each breath harder than the last.
I'll do it, he said. But I need the money now. My dad needs...
A medical team is on its way. Your parents will be in a hospital in Geneva in six hours. Treatment starts right away. Okonkwo sounded a little nicer. I'm sorry it's like this. I'm sorry we're asking you to save the world to save your family.
Will I be lying? Mark asked. When I defend us?
Another pause. I don't know, Okonkwo said. That's what we need you for. Is there any truth that can save us? Do we even deserve to be saved?
She told him where to go, when to be there. Mark wrote it all on the back of the notice. When he hung up, he sat there, listening to his dad breathe.
The sound of a life kept going by machines, by money, by deals you make when you have no choice.
In thirty days, Mark Chen would stand in front of aliens and fight for humanity. He would show proof, make arguments, use everything he knew about words and language. He would fight for seven billion people.
But first, he would fight for two. The two that mattered most.
If that made him guilty of whatever crimes humanity had done... well. He already knew what his paper had tried to say: We kill what we can't understand. We learn too late.
The question wasn't if we were guilty.
The question was if guilt mattered more than staying alive.
Mark stood up, folded the notice, and went to tell his parents they were going to Switzerland. He didn't tell them why. He didn't tell them about the trial.
He told them the doctors had a new treatment. He told them everything would be okay.
It was the first lie he would tell.
It wouldn't be the last.