[Recording begins – BBC Radio 4, “The Inquiry,” 10:05 a.m.]
PRESENTER: Good morning. The viral crop circle near Upton Scudamore — first hailed as a possible message from deep space, later revealed to be an elaborate prank by three Oxford graduates — continues to divide opinion. Joining us this morning is Arlo Pennington, one of the trio behind the so-called “Rationalist Circles.” Arlo, thanks for being with us.
ARLO: Morning. Thanks for having me.
PRESENTER: Now, first off — this has been quite a week for you. You’ve been accused of everything from satire to sacrilege. Why did you do it?
ARLO: Well, I suppose we wanted to test something — not people’s intelligence, exactly, but their appetite for meaning. You know, there’s this huge appetite for the unexplained these days. Crop circles, alien visitations, ancient prophecies, you name it. Conspiracy has become a kind of comfort. It’s the new religion — you don’t need faith, you just need a good Wi-Fi signal.
PRESENTER: Right. And the comet connection — 3I/Atlas — that wasn’t accidental, was it?
ARLO: No, not at all. We were quite deliberate. We designed the four circles to mirror the relative sizes of Mars, Venus, Jupiter, and Earth. The ratios are exact, within a few decimal points. We knew someone would take the bait, because people want patterns. We just supplied the lines for them to colour in.
PRESENTER: And that “someone” turned out to be Simon Holdsworth — the man who first proposed the theory. We did reach out to Mr. Holdsworth for comment, but he hasn’t replied to our emails or phone calls.
ARLO: Yeah, that’s a shame. I mean, genuinely. I’ve got respect for people like Simon — they’re imaginative, curious. They make the world more interesting. We weren’t trying to pick on him personally. It could’ve been anyone.
PRESENTER: Still, some would say it’s a little cruel. Millions of people believed him for a few days.
ARLO: Well, all it took was three Oxford grads, some rope, and a bit of wood to convince millions that aliens were about to attack Earth. I think that says something important about the culture, don’t you?
PRESENTER: You’re clearly proud of what you pulled off — do you see this as art, as social commentary, or just a prank?
ARLO: (laughs) A bit of all three, I think. Art because it took planning and precision. Social commentary because it says more about the audience than the artist. And yes, a prank — in the sense that it exposes something about belief. But we’re not vandals or hoaxers. We’re more like — anthropologists.
PRESENTER: Do you think you’ve crossed a line, though? The people who believed — some of them were sincere.
ARLO: Well, I’d say sincerity isn’t a substitute for truth. People can be sincerely wrong. What matters is whether you’re willing to be corrected. We just provided the correction a bit sooner than usual.
PRESENTER: You talk about belief as a kind of sickness. Isn’t there a risk of condescension in that?
ARLO: Maybe. But I think there’s a worse risk in leaving it unchallenged. We live in a world of algorithms — the most shared idea wins, not the most accurate one. The only antidote is to shock people into scepticism.
PRESENTER: Would you say you feel sorry for Mr. Holdsworth?
ARLO: Honestly? I feel sorry that the world made him so hungry for meaning. It’s not really his fault. We’ve all become dependent on wonder. It’s just... some of us prefer to manufacture it.
PRESENTER: (laughs) That’s quite a line. Do you mind if we use that for the headline?
ARLO: Go for it.
PRESENTER: Arlo Pennington, thank you very much for joining us.
[End of recording.]
Arlo switched off the car stereo in the drive and sat there for a second, smiling at his own voice. It had come out smooth, unflappable — the tone of a man who’d made his point neatly and without malice. The message was serious, even noble, he thought: people should think harder.
Inside the kitchen, his mother was slicing an apple, Radio 4 still playing faintly in the background.
“Sounded very good, darling,” she said, not looking up. “You’ve got a nice clear voice for radio.”
“Cheers, Mum.”
His father looked up from the paper. “I thought you were too soft on them, frankly.”
“Dad—”
“Well, I did! You could’ve gone harder. They make up nonsense and everyone applauds them. You should’ve said as much.”
Arlo smiled, half-indulgent, half-defensive. “It’s not about that, Dad. We’re not trying to humiliate anyone.”
His father shrugged. “Well, I’d say mission accomplished, anyway.”
Arlo escaped into the garden. It was a mild afternoon — light cloud, the smell of cut grass. But something felt off: a small subtraction he couldn’t name at first. Then he realised — his drone should’ve been on the patio table, battery charging in its case.
It was gone.
He frowned, checked the lawn, then the shed. Nothing.
Back in the kitchen: “Dad, where did you put my drone?”
His father looked over the top of his glasses. “Haven’t touched it.”
“I left it out on the patio.”
“I’ve been here all day. Ask your mother.”
Mum shook her head, knife still working at the apple. “Haven’t seen it, love.”
Arlo went upstairs, checked his room, the boot of his car. The case, the charger, the spare propellers — all there. Just not the drone.
He stood on the back step for a long minute, scanning the sky, as though expecting to see it hover back into view.
Then, quietly:
“Dad,” he called. “I think my drone’s been stolen.”