local maximum: earth

by Jensen Young

The alien invasion came on March 6th, 3134, when pinball machines still outnumbered humanity two to one.

Doctor Lorna Chambers was leaving for the breakroom. She had put in another six hours straight in the lab, and her feet were aching, and she desperately needed some water and ten minutes with her eyes closed.

The revival of the destructive super-loaded pullback mechanism of the 3100s was in full force. It was a trend that had thankfully fallen out of favor right before Lorna had taken her position as lead designer at Pinstar, and one the company had gladly trashed the designs for. Now, corporate was breathing down her neck wanting to know why they didn’t have moderately priced, safe-yet-powerful retrofits ready for the market. For as much as they paid her, she should be able to pull it from thin air, shouldn’t she?

Lorna exhaled and swiped her badge, the lab’s glass door sliding open. The lights weren’t as harsh and surgical in the hallway, and she smiled dully at exhausted colleagues who passed by.

She reached the breakroom, shut the door behind herself and dimmed the lights until the fridge and table were hardly visible. She grabbed a water bottle and took a seat, resting her head in her hands.

Then, Zazalore walked in and turned the lights back on.

She sat up and blinked, wondering if she was hallucinating or there was really a blue man in a gold robe in front of her. He had broad shoulders and a silver pendant over his chest, and his face had a wise, gentle look to it. He smiled at her as he reached behind himself to close the door.

She threw the water bottle at him to see if he was real.

“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his chest and stooping down to grab it. “I’ll ask you to refrain from hitting me.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I am Zazalore. I’m an ambassador for the Galactic Council, and I have been sent here, to Earth, to you, Lorna, for an intervention.”

“An intervention?” She straightened. “Space aliens care about my drinking?”

“Well, no—I’m here representing the over one thousand species that make up the Council. You see, for a long time we’ve been expecting humans to join us. Don’t think us voyeurs, but we’ve been watching your species for quite a while. The Council has gained an interest in your culture, your art, your knowledge. We’d like to share it. And we thought it would have happened by now.”

“What do you mean?”

“The technology to propel your race into the wider universe has been known for hundreds of years, and you have access to the cutting edge of it. The components for a fully functioning long-distance shuttle are at your disposal.”

“I suppose so.”

“And for all intents and purposes, you are humanity’s leading scientific mind.”

“Thank you,” Lorna said. “I know.”

“So, why do you build nothing but pinball machines?”

“Now what kind of inane question is that?”

Zazalore paused, his thick brow creased. “A perfectly reasonable one. Every species traversing the cosmos reached your race’s level of technology and pushed a step further—they became spacefaring. Humanity has been sitting on the precipice of space exploration for centuries, and instead of making the few simple advancements left, you’ve doubled down and created libraries’ worth of pinball machine specifications.”

Lorna sighed. “Well, have you ever played pinball?”

“There are many variations of the game throughout the galaxy, and I’ve played a few of them, yes,” he ventured, “but I can’t think of one of them I’d prefer over exploring the universe.”

“Have you ever played an Earth pinball machine?”

He hesitated. “During my research for this intervention, I discovered a replica of a human-style pinball machine. I did play it.”

“And?”

“And it was very similar to the other machines I’ve played.”

Lorna scoffed. “Well, were there lights?”

“Of course there were lights. Bright ones. Many of them flashed.”

“And sounds? Were there sounds?”

“Many. There were chimes and bells and the ticking of the score wheels.”

“Was it themed? Every good pinball machine is themed.”

“It was themed after an Earth carnival. There were graphics of clowns and strongmen and acrobats.”

Lorna rubbed her temples. “And the cabinet itself—was it heavy? They all need to feel heavy or else it’s not a real pinball machine.”

“I—I didn’t try to lift it. Does the weight of the machine affect gameplay?”

“It affects experience. You’re describing parts. Think of the whole! Think of the lights, the sounds, and the colors together. Think of the machine pulsing as the ball hits the sides and the bumpers. Think of leaning over the glass, fingers at the flippers, watching as that silver ball sprints across the game field, crashing and striking and you can only control two bits of rubber to stop it from being devoured. Are you even thinking of that!”

Zazalore swallowed. “Yes, Doctor. I’ve played pinball before. I still prefer the experiences I’ve had on my travels.”

Lorna shook her head. Her break was almost up. “Is there anything else I can help you with—uh, Zazalore, was it?”

He seemed bewildered. “No, I suppose not. But I have to ask…Are you certain you’re not willing to consider putting your talents toward space travel?”

“I already have a full-time job. I don’t know where I’d find the time to build rocket ships as well.”

He swallowed. “Okay, then. I wish you and humanity the best of luck.” He left and shut the door behind himself, and when Lorna got up to follow him into the hallway, it was empty in both directions.

She grumbled on her way back to the lab. How could a creature with no desire to play pinball ever understand humanity’s dedication to it, and then have the nerve to come onto mankind’s own turf and complain about it?

Maybe she would build that rocket ship, after all, and use it to travel up and criticize Zazalore’s taste in clothing.

Photo of Jensen Young

BIO: Jensen Young is a writer of speculative and realistic fiction. Jensen's work has been featured in Mulberry Literary, Bloodletter Magazine, and Mania Magazine, among others.