Dev hesitated, smiled afresh, then frowned. Straightening in the chair, he entered his initial security clearance for the day. Another screen appeared, featuring a fresh request. Upon receiving the second requisite security code, the monitor flashed to life. Most of it was currently occupied by a very famous female news anchor. She was speaking rapidly and sweating profusely. Muting the sound automatically brought up the equivalent text at the bottom of the screen. Occupying much of the tropical sky behind her was either a superimposed special effect from a big budget fantasy film or something the approximate length and width of New York’s Central Park. A glistening charcoal gray that resembled rough cut marcasite, it hung suspended among the clouds, looking like a gigantic conglomeration of recently mined druzy that somehow was richly illuminated from within.

Dev stared at it, unaware that several billion other inhabitants of the planet were at that moment doing exactly the same thing. Among the several billion, those who were not panicking were mostly silent. He did not know that for certain, of course, but on remembrance it struck him that the fourth-floor complex where he worked had been unusually quiet when he had exited the elevator. He hadn’t thought about it at the time because a little uncommon quietude did not galvanize the senses in the same way as, say, an exploding terrorist bomb accompanied by panicked shrieking. Now that he looked back on it, he realized that the usual stir of activity, the background susurration of idle chatter, had been entirely absent.

Rising, Dev moved to stand behind his friend. If it was an office gag, a clever prank, then it was also playing full time on Charlie’s monitor. He looked around. Everyone else was similarly glued to their respective desk screens. No one was glancing in his direction and giggling. He was forced to concede the possibility, perhaps even the likelihood, that it was not a joke. That he, and everyone else in his immediate vicinity, was presently witness to Something Momentous.

“Have they made contact?” He found himself whispering without knowing why.