Dr. Marvin Esler’s day usually started with an alarm set two minutes too late. Not quite enough time to savor a morning coffee, yet he’d grab it anyway, muttering about how the lab’s automatic timer had yet again made the brew just a bit too bitter. This, he knew, was absurd; the bitterness was his own fault. He’d set up the parameters, after all.
By 6:15 AM, he’d pull into the pharmacy’s employee parking, and by 6:30, he’d clock in with a brisk tap at the entry kiosk. It was a sterile ritual of process and protocol, like every task in his day. In the fluorescent-lit lab, he’d fall into routine: confirming the day’s synthesis orders, checking storage logs, and preparing the requisite materials for the day’s work. Marvin had been a chemist for nearly a decade now, his hands accustomed to latex gloves and his nose to the sterile scent of the lab. He liked it—at least he told himself so. It was routine, and routine made sense.
When Dr. Marvin Esler first felt the odd tingling sensation of being lifted from his lab, his mind jumped to a lab accident. The air around him buzzed, but not the kind of buzz you get from loose wiring. It felt more like being wrapped in static, his skin alive with pinpricks of energy. A flash of blinding light cut through his closed eyes, and he clamped his jaw, imagining some chemical reaction had sparked out of control. Only when he opened his eyes did he realize this was no chemical accident, and no hallucination, either.
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Episode 2: The Chemist and Employment
Dr. Esler found himself standing in a bizarrely pristine room. He blinked, rubbing his eyes in a vain attempt to dismiss the shimmering figures in front of him. Aliens, he thought wildly. His rational mind scrambled for something to latch onto, some logical explanation. But the figures—delicate, iridescent, and infinitely curious—were all too real.
“Welcome, Dr. Marvin Esler,” one of them said in a voice that was at once smooth and slightly robotic, like a synthesized whisper.
Marvin’s heart pounded. He felt his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts, his hand instinctively reaching for a nonexistent test tube, as if that might somehow ground him. He glanced down at his white lab coat, as though to reassure himself that he was still who he thought he was, still tethered to reality.
“What…where am I?” he stammered, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.
The lead alien tilted its head. “You are on our vessel. We seek understanding and knowledge of your species and culture.”
Marvin swallowed hard, feeling the surreal experience settle around him, numbing him. “So, what, you’re conducting… interviews? Abducting people to study them?”
The alien nodded calmly. “A ‘talk show,’ as it is known in your society. We wish to share perspectives for a better understanding.”
Marvin let out a half-disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Aliens with a talk show,” he muttered, wiping a clammy hand down his face. Part of him wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but the other part felt sick. It was as if everything rational, everything grounded, had vanished in an instant.
One of them lifted a long, iridescent limb in what he supposed was meant to be a welcoming gesture. “Greetings, and thank you for joining us Dr. Marvin Esler. We are honored by your presence.”
Dr. Esler adjusted his glasses as he collected himself. “Honored? Don’t think I get that much at work,” he muttered, more to himself than to the aliens. “But… yeah. Greetings to you too.”
The lead alien nodded, almost theatrically, as if it had seen a nod somewhere in a human manual. “Before we discuss your work, might we start with simpler matters? We are most curious about the ways humans spend their waking cycles.”
“Uh, sure,” Marvin said, a little taken aback. “Do you mean… what I do outside of work, or…?”
The alien tilted its head. “Precisely, Dr. Esler. What is a typical day like for you on this world of Earth?”
Marvin chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Not very interesting, if that’s what you’re asking. Most days, I wake up early, make myself a pot of coffee, and head to work. Spend most of the day in the lab, really—working with formulas, running tests, making sure batches are coming out correctly. By the time I leave, it’s usually getting dark.”
The alien’s antennae twitched as if in deep concentration. “And do you find this ‘making coffee’ a rewarding pursuit?”
Marvin paused, caught off guard by the innocence of the question. “Well… sure. I mean, not that I think about it much. I just drink it to wake up, you know?”
“Interesting,” murmured the alien. “In our culture, we have rituals upon waking as well. We breathe in the dawn vapors and consume what is akin to your notion of ‘sustenance.’ It is curious how many humans we have observed follow a practice upon waking. Is this… coffee routine integral to your chemical expertise?”
Marvin laughed. “I’d like to think so. It’s more a habit than anything. Doesn’t change the chemistry work, though—it just keeps me alert.”
“Alertness—yes. It is a valued state in many societies.” The alien seemed almost contemplative, as though it had never truly considered something as ordinary as morning routines before. “What follows this… coffee?”
“Well, after that, it’s work,” Marvin said. “I check over the day’s assignments, take notes, go through formulas. We have safety checks every couple of hours. The lab is where I spend most of my time, making sure everything’s running smoothly. We’ve got to follow strict processes for every compound we make, and if anything goes wrong, I’m the one who has to fix it.”
“Fascinating.” The alien seemed to drink in his words. “And is there joy in these processes?”
Marvin rubbed his chin, thinking. “Joy? It’s… satisfying, I guess. It’s not exactly what you’d call thrilling, but there’s something to be said about the order of it all. Chemistry is precise, predictable if you follow the right steps. You can’t say that for a lot of things in life.”
After regaining a shred of composure, Marvin waited as the aliens proceeded with introductory questions, allowing his nerves to settle just enough to realize he was actually having a conversation—albeit an unnerving one.
“We understand that humans often have diverse activities once their… employment obligations have concluded for the day. What do you, Dr. Esler, engage in once you return from your laboratory?”
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Marvin’s face twisted into an embarrassed grin. “Well… not much, honestly. I don’t really do much after work. I just go home, maybe read a book, maybe watch some TV if I feel like it. Most of the time, I’m just too tired.”
The aliens exchanged a look, their antennae quivering in mild confusion. “You do not pursue… fulfilling recreational activities?”
Marvin hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I don’t. I mean, sure, I read articles, catch up on research, sometimes play a round of golf on my phone.” He shrugged, and his gaze dropped to his hands. “It’s not like there’s much time left in the day anyway. By the time I get home, there’s only so many hours, and I’d rather just relax.”
The lead alien tilted its head, observing him intently. “Do you not seek companionship, shared enjoyment?”
“Companionship?” Marvin laughed awkwardly. “I mean, I have friends, but everyone’s busy. People my age have families, kids. You get to a point where social stuff just… well, it just fades out. I guess that’s how it goes.”
The alien didn’t respond immediately, giving Marvin a moment of self-reflection he wasn’t prepared for. He never really questioned it, but hearing it said out loud, his evening routine sounded bleak, even to him. He remembered how, in his twenties, he’d imagined himself living a life brimming with purpose, energy. Somewhere along the line, that faded. Now his after-work hours were little more than a countdown to sleep and another day.
The alien’s eyes softened, and it inclined its head. “Perhaps, Dr. Esler, you are not alone in this sentiment. It is said by others we have interviewed that many species feel constrained by time. Does this sound correct to you?”
Marvin nodded, feeling a pang of something uncomfortably close to sadness. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”
The aliens glanced at each other, antennae quivering in silent agreement, before the lead alien leaned forward with something like a smile. “It appears humans hold much satisfaction in activities which are ordered and predictable. Is this a universal sentiment, Dr. Esler?”
Marvin shrugged. “Maybe. Some folks need it more than others. I like knowing what’s going to happen next, yeah. That’s part of why I like chemistry—it’s methodical, predictable. If I do X, I get Y. If I don’t, I figure out what went wrong.”
The lead alien nodded, seeming to make a mental note. “A profound notion—yet we understand that your occupation does not allow you ultimate control. You follow a series of orders, dictated by… superiors?”
“Yes, exactly.” Marvin’s face soured slightly. “It’s a chain of command, like most jobs. I don’t make all the calls. I follow the protocols set by the higher-ups, and they rarely understand the chemistry itself. They just want results.”
The alien cocked its head. “So they give instructions without knowledge?”
Marvin laughed, a quick, bitter sound. “Yeah, that’s about right. They set the targets and deadlines, and I do my best to hit them. Sometimes they make decisions that don’t make sense to us down in the lab, but we’re not the ones in charge.”
“Do you desire this… control, Dr. Esler? To be the one who ‘calls the shots’?”
Marvin hesitated. It wasn’t something he allowed himself to dwell on too much. “Sometimes, maybe,” he admitted. “It’d be nice if the people making decisions had a little more understanding of the work they’re asking us to do. But I’m a scientist, not a manager. I just focus on getting things right on my end.”
The alien’s gaze sharpened. “And when you ‘get things right,’ what is your reward?”
Marvin opened his mouth to respond and then stopped. “I mean… there’s the paycheck, of course,” he said slowly. “But mostly, I guess the satisfaction comes from knowing I did my job well. Knowing that what I worked on is going to be safe, that it’ll help people in some way.”
The alien regarded him for a long moment, its glossy eyes unblinking. “Tell us, Dr. Esler, do you ever feel… constrained by this hierarchy?”
The question seemed to echo in the sterile, alien air, tapping into something he rarely admitted even to himself. Constrained? He knew that feeling well, but it wasn’t something he allowed himself to focus on.
“I… suppose I do,” he said at last, his voice quiet. “I mean, it’s part of the job, right? But yeah, there are times when I feel like my hands are tied. Like I know what needs to be done, but I can’t act on it without permission. It’s… frustrating.”
The alien nodded solemnly, its antennae flickering. “Frustration. A fascinating concept. On our world, frustration is seen as a catalyst for change—an emotion that drives individuals to seek new paths. Have you not felt compelled to alter your circumstances, Dr. Esler?”
Marvin sighed. “It’s not that simple. Change doesn’t come easy, especially when there’s a system in place. We all have our roles to play, and breaking out of them… well, it doesn’t often work out. Sometimes, the best you can do is make peace with it.”
The alien looked almost mournful. “Then, Dr. Esler, you accept these limitations? You surrender your potential for greater autonomy?”
Marvin’s mouth twisted into a faint, self-deprecating smile. “Sounds a little dramatic when you put it like that. But yeah, I guess I do. We all have to make compromises. It’s just part of life.”
The lead alien exchanged a glance with its colleagues, their antennae buzzing in silent communication. “A curious sentiment. Perhaps there is wisdom in your acceptance, though it strikes us as… sorrowful.”
Marvin shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe. But I think a lot of people feel the same way. We’re all just trying to get by, following the systems we were born into. It’s not ideal, but it’s what we have.”
The lead alien looked at him, a mixture of curiosity and something that might have been pity in its iridescent gaze. “You describe a life of adherence to duty and time, Dr. Esler, yet we observe that humans often yearn for freedom. Is this, then, a shared experience—a balance you maintain out of necessity?”
Marvin’s expression tightened. He thought about the choices he’d made, or rather, the choices he’d not made. He’d chosen chemistry because he wanted structure, a sense of control, and yet, standing here in front of these otherworldly beings, he felt painfully aware of the irony.
“It’s not that simple,” he said finally, his voice low. “It’s a trade-off. We give up some freedom, sure, but there’s security in it. You get the paychecks, the routines… there’s comfort in knowing what tomorrow brings, even if it’s more of the same.”
The alien cocked its head, antennae twitching thoughtfully. “So, comfort and security are paramount?”
Marvin paused. “Yes… but it’s more than that. Humans want to matter, to feel useful. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Maybe the routine is a shield, a way to avoid those bigger questions. If you’re always busy, you don’t have to think about why.”
The alien absorbed this, nodding slowly. “It is indeed a profound reflection, Dr. Esler. Perhaps it is not merely duty but a coping mechanism for the limits of your reality.”
The words echoed in the silent chamber, resonating with something deep within Marvin he hadn’t realized was there. Maybe the alien was right. Maybe he’d chosen the comfort of predictability over the fear of confronting the unknown.
The alien seemed to consider this for a long time before speaking again. “We appreciate your insights, Dr. Esler. Your journey through a world of protocol and hierarchy reveals much about humanity’s systems of labor and compliance. May we ask one final question?”
Marvin nodded, bracing himself. “Go ahead.”
The alien leaned closer, its tone almost reverent. “Given all that you’ve shared, do you still hold hope? Do you believe there is something beyond the limitations of your role?”
Marvin’s gaze grew distant. Hope. It was a word that felt oddly foreign to him these days. But he wasn’t sure he could deny it entirely.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess I do. It’s a small hope, maybe, but it’s there. I think… there’s always a chance things could be better. Even if it doesn’t seem that way.”
The alien’s eyes softened, and it inclined its head. “Thank you, Dr. Esler. Your honesty honors us. Please, accept our gift.”
As he left the chamber the same way he entered, Marvin found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, that small hope he’d clung to was enough to make a difference after all.
When he checked his bank account the next morning, Dr. Marvin Esler retired.