"Welcome to the Darkhouse!" The cheerful sign on the shuttle door was painted in a child's style, with a smiling sun and a stick figure waving ... something.

I asked the attendant, Myrtle, whose daughter apparently drew the picture. She smiled sheepishly. "It's a flashlight, miss."

"And are those bubbles in the background?" I'm stalling and Myrtle knows it. She could point to the countdown clock on her watch, kick me inside, and lock the shuttle door.

Instead her big brown eyes are full of sympathy. "No, miss, those are all the people of Earth. Even though we'll be gone, we'll be with you in spirit, grateful for your sacrifice."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty deep for a six-year-old."

The attendant hesitated and glanced around us. We were standing on the launchstrip for the shuttle Darkhouse. Concrete stretched away in all directions, with heaps of smoking wreckage at the horizon. Most of humanity had already left for the new homeworld in the Borealis system. The last would leave today.

The attendant lowered her voice anyway. "Actually, the bubbles aren't people. They're dumplings. She had me write the flavors underneath, see?"

I squinted. Yes, there they were: cheese, pork, mushroom, apple, potato, and weirdly, Martian marmalade marshmallow.

"Julie thought you would need a snack in space." She gave me a lopsided, about-to-cry smile.

I patted her shoulder. "Now that is the kind of mind that will save the human race."

Then I stepped back and looked up. This was my last sight on earth: a shuttle like a black windowless lighthouse. A darkhouse, in other words. While the rest of humanity escaped the wreck that was our planet, I would stay behind in orbit for a last solo mission.

It was as hopeful and doomed as a drawing taped to the door of a shuttle. But Iike Julie, I couldn't help but try. Would my flashlight be enough to save what we'd destroyed?                          

                                                            * * *

Eight letters. That was all I had for an SOS message.

I didn't actually know of any aliens, let alone ones that could help us. By using the sun as a signaling device, though, I could broadcast an SOS as far as I could.

It could take many, many light years to reach anything that understood. Maybe those aliens of the future would know Morse code because they'd met humans. Maybe they could travel back in time to save our planet from its death spiral.

It all sounded as likely as a Martian marmalade marshmallow dumpling.

And using a remote plasmic hyperconnector to make the sun "flash" a message in Morse code was beyond dangerous. It could only be done within our solar system, so one person would need to stay behind. The sun would grow less stable each time it flashed. By the time the eighth letter was sent--well, no one was completely sure. Would it pulse spasmodically? Break out in storms and winds? Explode?

Whatever happened, I'd witness it for what little time I had left.

The problem was, what could I say to bring help? Still strapped into my shuttle seat, I frowned at the magnetic board I'd brought for the trip. Then I slid the letter magnets around with one finger.

SAVE MEN. If we had a very literally minded alien, the ladies were in for it.

COME HELP. If aliens were anything like my brothers, COME HELP meant "sneak off wearing headphones the size of an air traffic controller's."

FREE FOOD. This would bring every living thing in range ... to turn us into free food.

As the shuttle moved smoothly into orbit, my console controller pinged. Myrtle and the rest of the last party had left the galaxy. I had thirty seconds to deploy my message.

I took a last look around me. The shuttle was as smooth and silver as the inside of a bullet. No windows, no children's pictures, no dumplings.

People thought I volunteered for this mission because I was ill, depressed, or maybe religious about "God's Earth."

But the truth was that it felt wrong to destroy a planet and leave it behind like litter on the side of the space highway. I could take what responsibility I could and show that one human, at least, had not just cut and run.

You want to know what humans were, aliens? The only species on earth that would give its life for something as vague and inedible as honor.

My fingers rapidly composed more possibilities. OUR EARTH. GOODBYE. NOT ALONE.

Then the perfect words hit me. Hands shaking, I entered them into the console.

                                                            * * *

Twenty-five thousand years later, Blerp observed an odd signal from a watchstation on Cereus 3.

"Weeble!" it yodeled. "Come observe this discrepancy with me!"

"Speak not. I have nearly destroyed the enemy." Weeble's six appendages were comfortably wrapped around a portable gaming device.

Blerp sighed. You could not, in fact, destroy all the aliens in Space Invaders. The Earth game kept getting faster and harder until the aliens reached earth or the player died. The end.

Perhaps humans always knew that they were doomed.

But Weeble, bless their internal organs, kept desperately playing that stupid game. They even designed a gaming device that allowed them to use their six appendages.

Now Blerp extended his tentacle and waved the message plate in front of Weeble.

"My friend, this is a signal from a REAL LIVING HUMAN!" he yodeled with force. "You will not believe what it says."

Weeble cried out and clutched at his gaming device. "I've lost." Humming sadly, it extended an appendage and moved it across Blerp's message plate.

"HEY BABY," Weeble read aloud.

"It is most peculiar," Blerp yodeled. "Per our database, this phrase was used as a familiar and flirty greeting. 'Baby' refers to the young of the species, but it is also a term of affection."

Weeble's appendages flushed blue-green. "Affection? They are looking for mates?"

Blerp felt an electrical current sing through its cranial pod. Shaking itself, it arranged its tentacles in dignified arches. "We cannot assume. It is our duty to investigate properly and see to their well-being."

"I would be pleased if they could beat Space Invaders," Weeble hummed.

Blerp and Weeble had bonded over their shared obsession with old Earth games. Eager to explore the mystery of humans' demise, they majored in Interspecies Comms. They jumped to take jobs at the watchstation after graduating-- only to find they involved long, dull hours of sorting through streams of data.

Now Blerp tasted the message plate again. Was it just reading the message it wanted to receive? To think that humans in their last moments were friendly, reckless, and funny--it was just what they'd expected from space operas!

The message gave them the location coordinates for a rescue operation, if they could convince anyone to launch one. Blerp could also send a message through the wormhole adapter back in time.

Blerp returned to the message plate and opened the new message screen. However, no message came to mind.

"What do we tell them?" it yodeled to Weeble.

"I like traveling and long hexipedal walks by methane seas," hummed Weeble.

Blerp extended a tentacle and zapped him. "Eight characters, Weeble! And this is not a personal ad. I suggest FEAR NOT."

Weeble bleated, annoyed. "If I saw you, I WOULD BE afraid."

In the watchstation on Cereus 3, their humming and yodeling continued long into the lunar night.

                                                             * * *

I had just keyed in HEY BAB-- when a voice echoed through the Darkhouse.

I didn't believe my ears, but the word had been perfectly clear.

WASSUP?

Somewhere in the loneliness of space, someone knew humans had existed. They knew our language. And--dare I believe it?--they were cool.

Laughing, I settled back in my seat and awaited their arrival.