The Burden of Knowledge

At exactly 2:00 AM, Bobby's eyes snapped open.

His heart was already pounding before his mind understood why. There was a sound, not loud, but impossible to ignore. A musical humming, like crystal wind chimes, but the tone kept shifting, pulsing with an urgency that made his skin prickle. It was coming from his closet.

The communication device sat on the upper shelf where he'd hidden it behind old board games and camping gear, glowing with urgent blue-white light. The moment Bobby's eyes fell on it, Mark's mental voice crashed into his mind.

Bobby! We need you. Now. Emergency at the installation. Transport immediately.

He glanced down at himself. Flannel pajama pants, an old t-shirt, bare feet. Not exactly prepared for an emergency mission. But Mark had said now.

Bobby grabbed his Boonie hat from the bedpost and pulled it on. The familiar weight steadied him, made him feel more like himself. He closed his eyes, focused on the installation's white chamber, and transported.

The chamber should have been peaceful, bathed in soft white light. Instead, it was chaos. Alarms filled the air, not harsh and mechanical like Earth alarms, but complex patterns of harmonic tones. The walls pulsed amber and red.

Mark appeared from a side passage. "Something has breached the outer tunnels. Our sensors detected movement in the service passages. They're maintenance corridors, too narrow for our kind to navigate."

"You need me because I'm smaller," Bobby said.

"Precisely."

Bobby crawled into the tunnel in his pajamas and bare feet, the penetration beam lighting the way. Four hundred meters ahead, in a chamber called the Echo Vault, something flew in desperate, erratic circles near the ceiling.

A bat. Just a regular Colorado bat, completely disoriented by alien technology.

Bobby sat down on the floor, making himself smaller. "Hey there, little guy," he said softly. "You're pretty lost, aren't you?"