15 - Sam
T HE PHONE SCREEN SHOWED a video of white clouds in a cornflower-blue sky, puffed together in the unmistakable No Humans shape. The caption read, E ARLIER T ODAY IN M ADAGASCAR .
Sam swiped and the screen showed a nighttime aerial view of the grove of sixteen-story-high supertrees in Singapore. They all had lights on, but the camera zoomed in on one circular metal canopy—lit up in that same foreboding No Humans pattern.
Another swipe brought up a news report. A reporter stood in front of a large group of people in a town square, many looking and waving up to the sky. They all had similar signs, bold green letters on white, with messages like W ELCOME TO E ARTH and T HIS P LANET IS B IG E NOUGH FOR B OTH OF U S .
The reporter faced the camera. “Here in Roswell, New Mexico, hundreds of people have turned up to send a message to the visitors from outer space, who ostensibly are only two days away.”
A Black man with a headband of two green antennas that bobbed about was at the reporter’s side. “We want them to know they’re welcome. That if they come in peace, we welcome them in peace.”
That must have been the cue, because the group behind him started singing, “ This land is your land… ”
Sam made a face. Not his favorite song—every time he heard it, he imagined what people from Native nations must be thinking, since colonists pretty much stole the land before their descendants decided they would sing about how now they wanted to share this stolen land with others.
“Are we friends with these aliens, or foe?” the reporter asked. “The answer, for these people gathering in Roswell, is clear: they’re fans.”
Sam swiped again. The vast concrete curve of a dam showed the human stick figure crossed out, in what looked like a circle of rust the size of a basketball court. Words on the screen read, H OOVER D AM .
Swipe. A video of people panic-shopping, clearing out store shelves.
Swipe. A reporter standing with an umbrella in the rain was saying, “…with the power back on, we’re getting reports of looting…”
Swipe. A cartoon with bouncy music showed a cutaway view of a family heading down into their underground shelter while a mushroom cloud exploded above them. They were weirdly happy. The voice-over: “Nuclear fallout shelters from the 1950s are finding new use…”
Frida called, and Sam picked up. All he was doing was doom-scrolling anyway. “What’s going on?”
“Just had our first student government meeting.”
“They still had that with the alien thing going on?” he asked.
“If they don’t acknowledge it, then it isn’t happening, right?
” Frida was sarcastic, in full pissed-off mode, and Sam knew the best thing he could do was listen.
“We have zero power, Sam. It’s all a front, like to let us students think we have some control.
I brought up divestment from fossil fuels, and they wanted to talk about homecoming dance themes.
I brought up paying staff a living wage, but they redirected to talk about which colors we’d decorate the gym with.
Colors! We students don’t get to decide anything important—it’s all controlled by the board of directors. ”
“Well then how are you going to get on the board of directors?”
“That, my friend, is an excellent question.” Sam could practically hear Frida’s gears spinning. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Stay safe.”
“You too,” Sam said, glad she’d called. It was good to know she was okay.
Frida ended the call and the video started up again.
An influencer green-screened over some indoor conference-like location was saying, “Greenbrier Bunker was built for Congress and top government officials and decommissioned in 1992 after the Washington Post revealed its existence… but maybe that was premature?”
Sam was sure they’d found somewhere else for all the people in power to be safe in an emergency. Probably inappropriately enjoying themselves like that cartoon family heading into their nuclear fallout shelter.
He swiped. The modern glass pyramid surrounded by the Renaissance palace made the L OUVRE M USEUM , P ARIS label unnecessary, since Sam had been there twice with his parents. Sparkling silver against the rest of the courtyard gravel was the same No Humans symbol.
Swiped again: G IZA , E GYPT . A swarm of scarab beetles flew and landed on the side of an Egyptian pyramid, in a perfect No Humans pattern. Sam gasped. The beetles burst into flames, smoke and ash searing the pattern into the side of the pyramid and Sam’s brain at the same time.
That was the same pyramid he’d seen in Donuts’ office, on the thirteenth floor. The same angle. The same framing.
It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.
Which meant… the people on the thirteenth floor knew about these aliens in advance. Or were helping the aliens. Or… Sam’s mind spun through possibilities. What if it meant there were no aliens, and all these messages were staged by the thirteenth floor?
Whatever it was, the whole world was being manipulated by Noble One and Keahilani, and whoever they all worked for: the Director. And Sam had been helping them!
Goosebumps broke out all along Sam’s arms and back. He’d been played. He’d been so excited to be an actual spy that it hadn’t occurred to him that he might not be working for the good guys.
He couldn’t trust any of them.
He couldn’t trust anyone.
No, that wasn’t true.
The whole thing about being a spy and keeping things secret from the people you loved was to keep them safe. But Sam keeping this secret was putting everyone he cared about in more danger. It was putting Nico in danger.
Screw the rules.
Sam had to tell Nico what he knew. What he didn’t know. What he suspected.
He had to meet him.
Sam grabbed his burner phone.
Where are you? I need to see you. Right away.
He could see the three dots of Nico typing. Finally the message came through:
Meet me where Tiffany won her stuffed animal.
Tiffany? It was code! Sam couldn’t help the grin on his face. Bond code.
I love you Sam typed, but then deleted the message, letter by letter. It would be too awful to text it and not have Nico say it back.
He’d just tell him in person.
One Good Thing
On the plane to Las Vegas. No idea why Nico wouldn’t just say it.
And why would he be in Vegas for a barista job?
But in Diamonds Are Forever Tiffany Case “won” a rigged balloon game in the carnival lobby of Circus Circus casino—that’s how they did the handoff of all those diamonds, inside the stuffed animal prize.
There have been so many of those No Humans signs, all over the world. Maybe it would help me figure it out if I divided them up into “Easy for Humans to Fake” and “Hard for Humans to Fake.” I’ll scour the news footage now.
Easy
Tar in Central Park
Gravel outside the Louvre
Cells in microscope in China
Crystal structure inside moon rock
Moss on hand holding up bridge in Vietnam
Lava flow on Hawaii’s Big Island
Stones on Stonehenge
Rust stain on Hoover Dam
Coral in the Maldives
Crop circle in Italy
Streetlights in Chicago
Ferris wheel in Santa Monica
Geoglyphs in Peru
Supertree lights in Singapore
Hard
Dolphins swimming off Tasmania
Imapala running in South Africa
Clouds in Madagascar
Glowworms in New Zealand
Beetles flying onto the Egyptian pyramid and bursting into flame!
So there’s a pattern. All the physical stuff seems easily done by humans—hack a computer, get chemicals to react, move some rocks. But the nature stuff—how do you get the animals, insects, even clouds to make the pattern?
I know Donuts and her team were involved somehow in the pyramid sign, but maybe they were just telling the aliens where to make their marks? Maybe that’s what everyone on the 13th floor was doing—collaborating with the aliens.
Or maybe all these “hard for humans to fake” signs are AI? What if none of them really happened? It’s all just news footage.
But what about the witnesses, all over the world?
Well, those are people again. They could be lying, because they’re being paid. Or they could be working for the 13th floor too. Just like me!
Shit. Did I help the enemy?
Bottom line: if there are aliens or aren’t aliens, Keahilani and Noble One want everyone to think it’s aliens—which is reason enough to doubt it.
But why create an end-of-the-world frenzy?
Passing Omaha, Nebraska. Just over 3 hours till I see Nico.
I can tell him everything I’ve figured out. And the stuff I haven’t.
We can get on the same page.
And I’m going to make him admit he loves me.
1621 Circus Circus Hotel & Casino LasVegas NV
Sam fanned out four hundred-dollar bills on the registration desk counter.
The guy behind the desk looked more like a performer than a reception desk guy, with his white mesh tank top, popping muscles, and glistening brown skin. The glistening, Sam realized, was gold glitter.
“The Armageddon package. Very well, sir.”
Sam had the tapped cell phone with him, and with the 13th floor probably listening, he couldn’t say anything about everyone being manipulated to think it was the end of the world.
Then again, it might actually be the end of the world, just with some humans who sold out to save their own skin.
Which made Sam like Noble One and Keahilani even less…
So he just said, “I didn’t order a package. ”
“Last days and time for a bit of secular rapture. We figure if you pay cash, your room should come with a fantasy fulfilled.” His Australian accent made him even hotter, if that was possible, and Sam couldn’t help but think of Bond Girls and how this guy would be perfect casting for a Bond Boy—if they were ever going to do a gay 007.
Hot Australian Tank Top Guy was all slick as he pocketed the hundreds and came around the counter to stand close to Sam. Very close. “Anyone in the cast tickle your fancy?” He motioned with his eyes to the casino floor just beyond them.
Sam looked over. Eight performers spun and did acrobatics on red silks and ropes, suspended just feet above the chiming rows of slot machines and noisy crowds at the packed gambling tables. Some phenomenal bodies, for sure.
Something about the moment made Sam feel great. He had all this energy. It was kind of weird. He’d been tired on the flight but now his body was all ready to party. “Why do I feel so good?”
“Well, you look good, and they’re hot.” Hot Australian Tank Top Guy’s breath was sweet, like he’d been eating a grape lollipop.
“You’re hot too,” Sam said before he could stop himself.
Hot Australian Tank Top Guy chuckled winningly. “There’s also the extra oxygen we pump in.”
“What?”
“All the casinos do it.” He raised his arm to sweep the casino space, but Sam found himself staring at the muscles dancing under the guy’s skin. What a body!
“No windows. No clocks. Free drinks. And yeah, extra oxygen, to brighten everything up. Keep them here and happy.”
“Wow.” Sam inhaled, trying to figure out if he could tell it was more oxygen than normal. “Quite the racket.”
Hot Australian Tank Top Guy looked Sam up and down and stayed down. It made Sam blush. He was standing so close.
“It’s all good adult fun.” He jutted his chin out the slightest bit. Nice lips. Sam noticed. He was noticing everything.
“Choose someone, I can send them up to your room. Or…” Hot Australian Tank Top Guy made a point of adjusting himself in harlequin leggings that left nothing to the imagination. Sam noticed he had a lot to offer.
He gave Sam an apologetic look that had no apology in it at all. “Maybe I can tickle it. Your fancy, that is.”
It was so blatant and raunchy, and Sam had to admit it was also really sexy.
Hot Australian Tank Top Guy moistened his lower lip with his tongue and Sam fought the urge to lean in the few inches and kiss him.
It would be so easy to take this guy up on a fantasy night of fun.
No. Sam shook his head to clear it. He was about to see Nico, who he loved!
Just because things were weird between them didn’t mean he was going to trash it all for some horny guy in Vegas, no matter how hot he was.
“I did ask for a honeymoon suite. My husband’s on his way.
” He said it as much to remind himself as Hot Australian Tank Top Guy.
Hot Australian Tank Top Guy shrugged in a way that made his arms, shoulders, and chest muscles even more prominent. “Unfortunate timing.”
Sam wondered if the unfortunate part was Sam getting married so close to what might be the end of the world, or that Nico was on his way, or that this guy was hitting on Sam when Sam wasn’t available.
Hot Australian Tank Top Guy pushed a lock of Sam’s hair back behind his right ear, trailing the pad of his finger along Sam’s temple. It made Sam shiver. “It’s just there’s no guarantee how much time we have left.”
Sam flashed on what his dad always said: “Every day’s a gift, right?”
“Wise and quite sexy,” Hot Australian Tank Top Guy said. “See, those of us who’ve stayed to keep this place running figure if these are end times, why not unwrap all the gifts right now?”
Sam put his hands on Hot Australian Tank Top Guy’s shoulders and the hot guy’s eyes flashed with delight. But then Sam pivoted him to face the performers gyrating above the casino floor and the hundreds of partying gamblers. “Lots of other available gifts for you. I’ll take my key, please.”
Hot Australian Tank Top Guy gave Sam a sideways glance. “Can’t blame a bloke for trying.” He handed over Sam’s keycard. “The Waterfall Suite.”