​​they talk about the aliens abducting them, Arts told Copy. The out-of-body experience. It’s just creatures of pure light making you the way they are, then putting you back when they’re done. The testimonies of survivors are so garbled because how do you explain the process of having your molecules rearranged?

“But they must have physical bodies of some kind,” Copy interrupted. “People always describe aliens in the same way.”

“And what is that way, huh?”

“You know, long faces, pale, glowy.”

“I don’t know, maybe that’s just what they want us to think,” Arts said. “Maybe they think it for us, right into our brains.”

“Why though? What’s their motivation?” Copy asked. When she was feeling especially skeptical, Copy was in the habit of wrinkling her nose, a habit Arts found adorable.

“Because they can. Because we interest them. Because they think we’re quaint. Because why not do anything, if you could do everything? They made mastodons and brontosauri.”

“Brontosauruses, actually, but they’re called Apatosauruses now.”

“The point,” Arts said, “is our world is sort of like a computer game for them, or like a simulation. They’re not mean exactly, but they are playing with us.”

Copy paused for a moment, then she handed Arts his movie review. “Thank Christ you don’t write that nonsense in your articles anymore,” she said. And then — because why not, she could do anything — Copy asked him to come get a coffee with her that afternoon.

“Yes!” he said. “Yeah, sure, just let me know when you’re heading out. And I understand about last night, you know, this place is exciting. We all need to let off steam sometimes.” He reached out and touched her shoulder, something between a tap and a caress, and she leaned into his hand. “I just hope next time, it’s with me.” 

Those of who know Arts at all know he’d never been so bold in his life, but, he tells us, Copy was so glorious, the corners of her mouth turned up at him, that it made him brave. Was that smile of hers real, and if so, did she mean it? We like to think so, yes.

“I’ll be over at my desk,” Arts said, and he went there to wait for her.