Menolly sat there, quiet and refined, her posture composed as she patiently waited for Del to gather his thoughts and regain control of himself.

Del had never experienced a panic attack before, and he wasn’t one for hysteria. Drama had always seemed excessive to him, but this?

Taking hold of that idea, he considered what he really knew about such things. A friend he had once had a mutually convenient relationship with used to suffer from panic attacks. She would start hyperventilating and sweating—profusely.

She had told him it felt like her heart was trying to leap out of her throat in those moments, beating faster than an express train. To him, it all seemed a bit, well, melodramatic and, if he was honest, a weak form of attention-seeking when she didn’t want to do something. Over time, it had led to them deciding the relationship wasn’t working. Of course, they had promised to remain friends. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her in over five years.

This though, was entirely new territory. If Del had his way he would wake up again to a normal Tuesday. Surely, given the circumstances, he deserved a bit of leeway. After all, days like this couldn’t exactly be called typical. ‘At least I’m holding on better than most would,’ he thought grimly.

“OK, Del, you’ve got this,” he muttered under his breath as he stood, lifting Misty and placing her unceremoniously on the floor. The cat shot him a withering look before stalking off in indignation. Without sparing Menolly a word, he grabbed his mug and strode into the kitchen. He needed to restore some semblance of normalcy. Switching on the kettle, he tossed a slice of bread into the toaster and leaned on the counter, staring blankly ahead as the kettle boiled.

Minutes later, he returned to his chair with toast in one hand and coffee in the other. Taking a bite, he locked eyes with his uninvited guest.

“Right, Menolly 90210, or whoever you are,” he began through a mouthful of crumbs. “The world is ending, and apparently, I’m some kind of superhero messiah who’s supposed to save humanity.”

She offered a wry smile but remained silent.

“So, how in hell am I supposed to do that?” he pressed.

Menolly inclined her head slightly, as though recognising he’d passed some unspoken milestone. “The universe as you understand it is far more complex than humanity has yet comprehended,” she began. “The Galactic Collective is just one of many overwatch bodies, each responsible for observing and eventually integrating new sapient species into the Overmind.”

Del leaned back, deciding to treat this like a movie—one with a convoluted plot that just so happened to cast him as the protagonist. ‘Just another twist,’ he thought dryly. ‘Might as well roll with it until the reel changes.’

“The Overmind?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that some kind of high-and-mighty being lording over us and deciding our planet’s fate?”

Menolly’s eyes shimmered faintly, an effect that only added to her otherworldly air. “Something like that, but not quite. The Overmind can be thought of as the creator and keeper of the rules that govern every aspect of existence. The laws of physics, the principles of life—these are but shadows of the infinite possibilities it manages.”

Del paused mid-chew, then swallowed audibly. “So, it’s some kind of superbeing? Or a god?”

She shook her head. “No, Del. Gods are something else entirely.”

‘Gods are something else? And she said gods—plural. That’s bound to ruffle a few feathers.’

“Never had much time for religion myself,” he remarked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Think of the Overmind as a consciousness,” Menolly continued, “one that encompasses and interacts with every integrated and evolved sapient race in subtle yet tangible ways. It is both a tool and a repository of knowledge. It provides commonality and a bridge between species while allowing complete freedom of thought and action within the natural laws it governs.”

Del’s focus began to waver under the weight of her words. Setting his plate aside, he watched idly as Misty darted over to lick the butter from the remnants of his toast.

“OK,” he said at last, “so the galaxy’s full of super-advanced people who’ve passed your tests, and if we manage to do the same, we get tossed into this melting pot? Honestly, it sounds like we’d be better off avoiding the whole thing.”

The thought gnawed at him, dragging his mood down further. ‘Damn it, with the state the world’s in and all the crap we’ve done… why would anyone want this planet?’

“Why the hell would the Overmind want to bother with our crap planet anyway?” he asked bluntly.

Menolly tilted her head slightly, her gaze softening in a way that seemed almost human. It left him wondering if there was anything human about her at all. “The Overmind doesn’t judge in terms of good or bad,” she replied. “It evaluates potential—what a species can become, not what it currently is. Earth’s society is complex, yes. Chaotic, often. But Earth’s humanity possesses a remarkable capacity for adaptation, creativity, and endurance. That is what the Overmind values.”

Del snorted. “Endurance? Sure. Just look at us—barely surviving, polluting the planet, teetering on the edge of disaster every other day. If we’re so great, why do we keep screwing everything up?”

For a moment, it seemed as though Menolly might agree with him. But when she spoke, her tone was as calm and patient as ever. “It’s not about perfection, Del. It’s about growth. Struggle is part of growth. The Galactic Collective is no utopia. Every civilisation within it has faced its own trials and self-destructive tendencies. Those who evolve beyond those struggles bring something invaluable to the Collective.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what’s Earth’s contribution? Reality TV and social media addiction?”

Menolly’s faint smile was the first sign of amusement he’d seen from her. “Earth’s creativity, resourcefulness, and resilience. Your culture is vibrant, even if it appears chaotic at times. The Overmind recognises that growth often stems from conflict. Your world may seem broken now, but it is on the cusp of transformation. It just needs a catalyst.”

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“And that’s me? A catalyst?” Del’s mind flicked back to school science experiments and the chaos they’d often entailed.

“In a way,” she replied, “but more than that. You are a representative. Your actions, not only during the online tests but also in how you’ve handled today’s events, have shown adaptability and resilience. Those traits will be vital if the Collective is to intervene.”

“There are always these ifs, buts, and maybes hanging over everything,” Del retorted. “You’re shoving a whole lot of pressure onto my shoulders, and I still don’t think you’ve got the right person.”

“We are confident,” Menolly replied, her voice calm. “And we do think you are the right choice.”

“Why, though? I’m a beaten-up man with buggered legs. I saw fifty pass me by some years back, while away my days wasting time and wallowing in nostalgia. What do I bring to the table that some fit, athletic, intelligent youngster couldn’t do better?”

She regarded him steadily, her expression composed. “You are adaptable, free from any unbending dogma, with an open mind showing flexibility and a remarkable strength of will. You also have the willingness to take on board totally alien and new concepts and have shown you can handle pressure.”

Del stared at her, the weight of her words settling uncomfortably on his shoulders. ‘Me, flexible? Adaptable?’ he thought, a flicker of self-deprecation surfacing. ‘If she’d seen how long it took me to switch from VHS to DVD, she might reconsider.’

“Well,” he said finally, feeling the sarcasm rise within him, “I guess it’s good to know I’m humanity’s best shot, based on my ability to… what? Wing it?”

Menolly didn’t miss a beat. “Winging it has worked remarkably well for humans so far.”

Del chuckled despite himself. ‘She got you there, Del,’ he mused.

“So what happens now? I have to sit some sort of cosmic test? An entrance exam?”

“Not quite, but it is a test,” she answered. “It won’t be easy; I’ll be honest with you about that. But as part of the Galactic Collective, I can do a few things to aid you where I can.”

“So, not left completely high and dry, then,” he shot back with a sardonic edge.

Her gaze was unreadable as she replied, “No. That was never the plan. Any test is only valid if the one taking it is provided with at least rudimentary tools to ensure they start on an even playing field.”

“Not quite thrown to the wolves, then—just almost,” Del muttered, shaking his head. “Do I have a chance? Does humanity? Does Earth?” A wave of dread rose in his chest, heavy and nauseating. He lowered his head into his hand, closing his eyes briefly. ‘Make this go away, please,’ he pleaded silently. When he looked back up, Menolly’s gaze pierced his, steady and unyielding, as though she could see straight into his soul.

“That’s up to you, Del,” she said. “If you didn’t have a chance, I wouldn’t be here. Today would never have happened, and in five years… you would have been consigned to the same fate as the rest of your species as your planet played host to the approaching mountain.”

She sighed, and for a moment, Del thought she might actually be human. The illusion was unsettling in its persistence. ‘If this all turns out to be some twisted nightmare after all… Quit it, Del. This is too damn real for that.’

“If there was another way, or more candidates had met the criteria, then we would have taken a different path,” she continued. “There is also still the chance that others may pass, and you could be joined at a later point. This is by no means impossible.”

“There might be others who pass, then?” Del asked hopefully. “How likely is that in reality?”

She was always watching him, studying his every reaction. It was unnerving and strangely comforting at the same time. “Without getting too deep into probability calculations the Collective has undertaken… You are the one person to pass in just over a million who have found the site. Most just passed the page by. Some didn’t. With Earth’s present internet usage, we expect another seven to eight million to find the page over the next three years. After that, the page will be closed, as that will be the point where the final decision will be made. So, there is a slim possibility other representatives will be found.”

Del’s eyes narrowed. “But why? Why three years? Why didn’t you just make your decision already and either save us or let the cards land where they fall? This still doesn’t really make sense.”

They were the questions he couldn’t let go of. Why interfere? What made it worth doing and why him? Not in a self-pitying way, but in sheer bewilderment at what made him the right choice out of billions.

“While it’s true,” Menolly said, “the Collective monitoring party could well have packed up and left in place automatic systems to record for the archives the end of another potential addition to the universal whole… Most times that would have been the case, as only a small number make it to integration.”

“So why not us?” he asked.

“The majority thought that should be the case,” she responded bluntly. “But there was a significant enough minority who felt the potential should not be wasted out of hand, but instead, a slender lifeline offered.”

“Which brings you to me, I suppose.” Del shook his head, almost laughing at the absurdity of it all. Earth’s slim lifeline was a broken up grumpy old man.

“Which brings us to you,” she agreed.

For a while, neither spoke. Menolly’s eyes flickered between blue and grey, the transition so fast it was nearly imperceptible. Del watched the changes with a growing sense of fascination mixed with confusion, the kind that crept up on him when he knew he was out of his depth. He found himself wondering how her mind worked, unable to shake the notion that it was far different from anything he could even conceive.

The thought brought back memories of his younger years—when computers were hulking machines locked away in glass-walled rooms, tended by technicians in white coats. Back then, the idea of a machine that could think, let alone mimic a person, belonged firmly in the realm of science fiction.

He remembered watching 2001: A Space Odyssey as a boy, the unsettling calm of HAL 9000’s voice as it made life-and-death decisions with chilling indifference. He couldn’t help thinking of Data, he loved Star Trek and that man's struggle to find his place among a crew of humans stuck in his memory. These stories had once seemed so far removed from reality, yet here he was, in a conversation that felt like the next chapter in their evolution.

What had started as speculative entertainment had, in his lifetime, edged closer to truth. The laptop on his desk, though a marvel compared to those early mainframes, couldn’t hold a candle to what Menolly might be. Her gaze seemed to pierce through him as though she were analysing more than his words—processing his doubts, his fears, even the questions he didn’t dare ask.

“Are you an android?” he asked abruptly, the words escaping before he could stop them. “Are you an android?” he asked abruptly.

She tilted her head, her expression faintly amused by the unexpected question. “I suppose I am close to what you might expect an android to be, but no. I am a construct of the Systarni. We are a race that developed from a civilisation that gradually adapted more and more to mechanical enhancements until, after many millennia, we became what we are now. So, while not an android—that is to say, an unliving machine—I am more of a cyborg. A melding of the biological and mechanical.”

Del shrugged, his thoughts wandering. ‘I guess the universe is full of all sorts.’

“Indeed it is,” Menolly replied as if reading his mind. “Although it is surprising how many times striking similarities arise on disparate evolutionary paths.” She gestured towards him. “Humans have developed multiple varieties across the universe. I, for example, am part of an offshoot branch of human evolution. This means that the base human form is one of the most widespread.”

Del raised an eyebrow.

“So why bother with all this? Trying to save one more human species?” Del asked, then quickly took a mental step back. “Not that I don’t want that, of course,” he added with a half-smile.

“Because no matter how many differing types of human or other species are inducted into the realm of the Overmind, each brings something unique that adds to the whole. But”—she raised a hand— “we are getting distracted. I need to give you what information I can about your task and integrate you into the Overmind so you can do what you must.”

Although her tone was even, her words carried a sense of finality that settled heavily on Del. There was no mistaking it now. The stakes were high—far beyond anything he could truly grasp—and yet it was him who had to carry the weight of it all.

“OK,” he said, resignation clear in his voice. “What do I do?”

“For now,” she instructed, “sit comfortably and pass me your hand.”