Three women with torn-up clothes are in separate glass cages. In the middle, there is a strong-spirited, good-looking, middle-aged woman. She is outraged and is constantly shouting. On the right, there is a sweet, wizened, weather-beaten, 75-year-old woman. She, sitting on the ground, turns her face up once in a while, says a few words, and then goes back to something that looks like a micro-nap. On the left, there is a teenage girl in her torn-up underwear. Despite the torn-up dress, she seems to be having a good time and quite OK with being put on display in the glass cage. Not only that, she actually seems excited to be there, and constantly amazed by the ones who’ve put her in the cage. Once in a while, she tidies up her hair with her fingers, turns her back to the glass, holds a sexy pose, and takes a selfie with the ones who are watching her.
The green aliens are bored of watching them. They only hear the middle-aged woman saying ‘Blah Blah’ in a high-pitch voice, but they understand nothing. The lord, who is much shorter than other aliens, looks like a tree stump and has a distinguished, woven crown of thorns placed on his head. He, irritated, looks at the humanologist, whose expertise is studying the behavior of humans. He looks like a banana tree. The humanologist raises his eyebrow, indicating that he has no idea what the captured humans are saying. The lord is disappointed.
“If you pardon me saying, my lord,” the military chief calls the lord from the behind. He looks like a giant sequoia tree but with branches that are sharp like swords. The lord turns to the military chief. “There is not much time left,” the military chief continues. “If we act late, there might be no green planet left for us to return to. We should evaporate the humans right now, before it is too late.”
“You do have a point,” the lord says hesitantly, “but human life is life too. We cannot terminate it just because we are superior to them. This is not what we are. This is not what Greens do. I don’t want the name of Greenovia to be tainted with genocide in the galaxy history.”
“What if,” the scientist gains the courage to interject. She resembles a Greek olive tree wearing an olive leaf crown. Everybody turns away from the military chief back to the scientist. “What if we commission Enjels to live as human beings.”
“Oh, good, another experiment from Ms. Scientist,” the military chief interrupts. “Just what we need at this crucial time.” The lord doesn’t turn to the military chief. There are a few seconds of silence. The aliens realize that the lord is in favor of hearing out the scientist.
“Our problem is that,” the scientist continues, “we cannot figure what the humans’ plan for the green planet is, and we cannot understand them since we cannot understand their language. Language is formed through life experience, and Mr. Humanologist can back me up on this.” The scientist looks at the humanologist and watches him nods. “We cannot understand their language since we don’t live the way they do. What if we mix an Enjel with a human spirit, and implant it back to a newborn on the green planet. The Enjel will be passive and only records. In this way, the same thing the human experiences, the Enjel does. When the human dies, we get the Enjel back, and knowing both worlds, the Enjel could translate the human language for us and gives us clear insights on what the humans are up to.”
The lord is scratching his head. “What do you think Mr. Humanologist?”
“It might just work, my lord. I don’t see why not. Of course, we need to make sure that the Enjel receives a life experience close to what an average human being does, but other than that, it should work.”
“Hang on a second,” the military chief desperately interjects. “I mean, my lord, do we have time for such a risky experiment? Average human life is about a week in our time. By then the green planet’s temperature might reach the point of no return. It would be too late then. We should act now before it is too late. Let’s evaporate them, evaporate them all.”
“The chief is right,” the lord says while turns to the scientist, “let’s give it two days. That should be 20-25 years in human life. Call back the Enjel afterward.”
“But that will also terminate the subject’s life prematurely!” the scientist objects slightly.
“Either the subject’s life or that of the entire human race, your call,” the lord gives a firm response.
“But—”
“— No more buts, the order is final. Where are you planning to extract some human spirit now?”
“That, I don’t know.” The scientist turns her head down, making an overly-dramatic I-am-thinking gesture.
Mr. humanologist steps in to say the obvious. He points forward with his hand. The lord follows the hand and realizes that he is pointing to the three female captives in the glass cages. “Is the noise-canceling system fixed yet?” the lord asks.
“Not yet my lord. Perhaps in a few days,” the scientist responds while confused by the question.
“OK then, take the middle one. If I have to listen to anymore ‘Blah Blah’ I am going to have to have their entire galaxy evaporated.”
The scientist takes a hesitant step towards the glass cages. She then stops. Her legs are shaking, and she cannot take any more steps. Her eyes are ashamed, and her face is all sweat. The military chief sighs. The lord notices her hesitance, puts his hand on her right shoulder, and says with a parental tone: “Sometimes to save many lives you gotta take a few.”
“Sometimes you gotta take a billion,” the military chief opportunistically jumps in. Both the lord and the scientist quickly turn and give an angry look to the military chief. “Sometimes,” the chief says cutely to calm them down.
Empowered by the lord’s assurance, the scientist takes fragile steps towards the middle cage. The middle-aged woman, who was angrily shouting, notices that all the aliens’ eyes are on her. She freaks out and screams. In the middle of the scream, she collapses on the ground like a corpse. A capsule in front of the scientist shines in blue. “I’m sorry,” the scientist murmurs.
“Good job!” the military chief says while touching the scientist on her left shoulder.
“Don’t touch me with those hands,” the scientist objects strongly with a grossed-out face while trying to stop the contact by turning her shoulder.
“Not what you said last time, Ms. Scientist,” the chief didn’t expect this reaction and is a bit offended by that.
“Anymore,” the scientist reaffirms her wish and takes a step towards the Enjel board to take some distance from the military chief.
The scientist makes a gesture with her hand, and an Enjel gets injected into the capsule. It is now shining in a darker blue and flies towards the lord.
“What green-spirited Greenovian hero volunteers for this mission of utmost importance?” the lord says as he turns to his crew. A couple of wise-looking aliens step forward and raise their hands. The lord is looking at each, evaluating them to see which he should pick. He notices a kid alien jumping up and down, with her hand raised. He looks down and finds that it is his own baby daughter. She looks like a watermelon.
“Me, me, me. Let me play.”
“This is no game,” the lord says dismissively, while turns his look back to the volunteers.
The military chief is stroking his chin. “Perhaps, my lord, it is time to let the younger generation participate in intergalactic affairs. The young princess has to start from somewhere.”
“Young!” the scientist strongly objects, “She is just a kid. Are you out of your mind?”
“You were a kid at some point too. Weren’t you?”
“Well—”
“— If you are not going to help the young princess grow, I will.” The military chief turns to the lord. “My lord, she is a capable princess, and one day she is going to be a great lord. I believe that with all my heart, and I personally take full responsibility for her mission.”
While scratching his head, the lord turns his look on the enthusiastic face of his baby daughter.
“Vroom, Vroom, Vroom.”
The little princess is on her spaceship. She is making sounds like when kids play with their toy cars. The scientist hopelessly walks her through the steps again. The military chief, behind him, is listening while having an evil smile on his face.
“Remember, for implantation you should find an unborn female baby—”
“— Why female?” the humanologist interrupts.
“Well, because we extracted the spirit from a female human?”
“Yeah, but you see, the human spirit is genderless. Only the body defines gender.”
“Alright then,” the scientist turns back again to the little princess. “You should find an unborn baby, male or female, that hasn’t experienced life yet, or otherwise the Enjel will miss the most critical parts of human experience. And find a family that values life, so that the born child will be exposed to all positive aspects of human life. Do you understand?”
The kid stares at the scientist for a few seconds. “Vroom, Vroom, Vroom,” she resumes her car-playing sound effects.
The military chief sneers in the back.
“Go and make daddy proud, little soldier,” the lord says.
The kid princess looks at the open space ahead of the spaceship and waves her hand. “Bye Bye.”
All the aliens wave their hands too while saying together: “Bye Bye.”
The kid princess presses a button, and the spaceship moves with the maximum speed, but backward, right into the terminal’s back. It breaks the terminal’s wall behind it and sinks into the black hole.
All the aliens are shocked. They turn back and look at the broken wall. After a few beats, everybody, still speechless, turns back again towards the military chief.
The military chief is covering his mouth, trying to swallow his laughter. He quickly regains his control, makes a serious face, and delivers his well-rehearsed lines in an overly dramatic fashion. “My lord, there is nobody to blame but me. I took the responsibility, and I will fix it myself.” He turns to the scientist. “Prepare another capsule, I am going down to Earth myself.”
The scientist knows the chief is on to something but doesn’t know what that is. “I’m not sure—”
“— Don’t say a word,” the chief interrupts the scientist. “I deserve it.” He turns to the lord. “My lord, let your faithful servant redeems himself from this embarrassment.”
The lord is thinking hard. He has removed the woven crown of thorns and is rubbing his head. Finally, he places the crown back on his head and turns to the scientist. “Prepare another Enjel capsule.”
A sinister smile grows on the chief’s face.
The scientist reluctantly turns and approaches the teenage girl’s cage. She seems excited and goes to take a selfie with the scientist. The camera flashes, and she collapses on the ground. The capsule in front of the scientist is now shining light green. She makes a gesture with her hand to inject an Enjel to the capsule. The capsule’s color turns to dark green, glowing like a sun.