Submitted for the November 2025 prompt: Celestial Signals

For the past century, we’ve celebrated Capsule Day, the day the first silver UFO slid into our atmosphere. Now people around the world flock to Capsule sites to take in their water. People say it's restorative, reminding us to take it slow and enjoy life. Scientists warn—

 

“Reese? Earth to Reese.” Melody tapped her daughter’s forehead twice to shut off the incoming brain-reel. “Ignore that constant blather and help me pack. We’ve got to hit the road at dawn to reach Capsule before dark.”

 

Reese stopped fidgeting with her Capsule pendant and blinked up at her mother. The brain-reel implant was required when a child turned ten. Three years later, Reese still floundered in the flood of information riding her brain waves, while others learned to drown it out.

 

“Yes!” She rushed around her room, shoving her backpack full of necessities: clean underwear, art supplies, and candy. “Will the water make me stronger?”

 

“Stronger, perhaps, but I’d settle for cleaner.” Melody picked up dirty dishes on her way out.

 

Each Capsule’s as large as a football field, made of a titanium-aluminum alloy with single-piece construction. X-rays showed it solid to its core; no vents, no engines, and no radiation to fear. Many welcomed the alien gift with open arms and a prayer of gratitude. But was it safe?

 

Reese let the brain-reel lull her to sleep. She dreamed the Capsule would open a door and let her in. That’s what Pastor Steve told her at Capsule Academy. Despite what Brain-reels said, the righteous would find their way into the promised land. Tomorrow she’d find out if she was special.

 

* * *

 

“Sweetie, look, solar farms that feed the AI servers. Get your head out of your brain-reel and watch real life for once,” said her father, Micah, turning down the sunscreens so she could look outside. Reese squinted at the dark sea of solar panels on the dry bed of Lake Erie.

 

“Are we there yet?” Reese was sick of seeing endless fields of dirt.

 

“Only three hundred miles to go after the next E-stop,” said Micah.

 

“I hear the Capsule changes people. Why?” asked Reese.

 

“When seeing something so special, it changes you,” said Melody.

 

“Make you want to do good in the world,” said Micah.

 

“You sound like Pastor Steve.” Reese went back into her brain-feed.

 

People met under these Capsules and watched the sky reflect off its glistening sides. Sold the water that condensed off the Capsules and claimed it made them happier and healthier than recycled water.

 

Reese woke up to light reflecting from the Capsule. It glistened like a silver moon beam. She got out of the car and hit a wall of humidity that made her hair curl. She grabbed her backpack and joined her family amongst the noisy throng headed to the campgrounds.

 

Reese had never been camping. She hoped she’d see fireworks, the moon, and all the other imagery her brain-feed had conjured. Looking up, she stumbled headlong into the ground and noticed grass.

 

“This from another planet?” asked Reese, running her hands on tufts of greenery that poked out from the rocky surface.

 

“It’s how Earth used to be,” said Micah, hoisting camping things onto one shoulder.

 

“Before Capsules, the planet was dying,” said Melody.

 

“We almost took a generation ship,” said Micah.

 

“I’m glad we didn’t. Imagine being pregnant in cryo sleep?”

 

“Imagine missing you complaining,” said Micah, laughing.

 

Reese watched her parents. They had a chance to leave this brown rock for something special, but didn’t. She’d hated them for it, but now, seeing what was and what could be made her heart lighter.

 

As they set up camp, she saw hawkers selling snacks and pinged to purchase Capsule Cure flasks.

 

“Hey, my brain-feed won’t work,” she said.

 

“Capsule keeps the tech away, doncha know,” said a boy nearby who slapped her shoulder. “Tag, you’re the heretic!” He ran ahead toward some kids.

 

“Go, have fun.” Her parents waved her on. It took her less than a nanosecond to drop her stuff and start chasing.

 

* * *

 

Reese got lost trying to return. Without her tracker active, she couldn’t ping locations.

 

“Need help, my dear?” A man in a tattered white coat, like the type a scientist wore, approached her. It was the heretic the kids had warned her about.

 

“I’m fine, thanks.” She walked towards the glowing Capsule.

 

“Don’t drink the water. Makes us docile. Notice how they keep us from Brain-reel knowledge!"

 

Reese ran. When she finally found her folks, she was breathing hard and sweating in a way no VR sim had ever induced.

 

Both lay in folding chairs watching the play of light on the Capsule, a shared flask between them. She had to tap them on the forehead before they registered her presence.

 

“You drank without me!” she accused.

 

“Next one’s yours,” said Melody.

 

“We promise,” said Micah.

 

They both laughed as if sharing some joke, their eyes quicksilver bright.

 

“No brain-reels, no water, and nothing to take me off this horrible planet. Why did we come here?” Reese stormed off. At other camps, she noted the same glassy-eyed stares of kids and adults alike and heard the heretic’s warning in her ears.

 

For the first time, Reese was alone with her own thoughts. She touched the Capsule pendant on her chest, hoping for a sign.

 

“More Capsules are coming.” It was the heretic. He’d followed her, or perhaps he’d been waiting.

 

“To restore Earth,” said Reese, surprised by her sudden realization.

 

“To stop technological advancement. The Capsule Cure has humans enslaved. It will control you, too.”

 

“Brain-reels, Capsules, parents, pastors, seems there’s always someone controlling what I think.”

 

Surrounded by growing grass, humming insects, and the sunset twinkling off the Capsule, she told him, “This ‘cure’ may be the Earth’s best option.”

 

That evening, in quiet contemplation, without brain-reel interruption or Cure intoxication, Reese imagined the planet as one large ship orbiting the sun. Tomorrow, she’d take the waters to help Earth flourish and future generations survive.