1 By
Autumn Lee
The small, ferret-like alien smacked the visual receiver, noting with disgust that the picture was far from improved. "It's that transmitter again, Doctor," he complained to his Time Lord visitor: a tall, curly- haired man with a long scarf. "I won't stand for it any longer! Zana, get me the communications committee!"
"Why are you so upset about it now?" Zana asked, offering a plate of native delicacies to their guest. "It's never bothered you before."
"I've never watched Intergalactic sunbathing through a screen of snow before."
"Looks chilly," the Doctor offered, staring at the screen.
"Busy signal," Zana announced.
* * *
Private detective Jim Rockford set his magazine on the coffee table, leaning forward to watch the television. The newsbreak mentioned an unidentified object discovered heading toward Earth, but the report was sketchy. The sensationalized teaser left him intrigued, frustrated, and worried. He reached for the phone.
Busy signal.
* * *
The room full of magazine reporters were frantic. All the government agencies were getting calls from upset and confused members of the public, leaving anyone little time to talk to journalists.
"I knew it was a mistake to tell the public!" Catherine, the editor, complained. "Now there'll be rioting in the streets, people jumping out of windows, mass suicides—"
"At last," Marty, the cynic, said. "Effective population control."
"Now that they know," Hannah said, ignoring him, "I suggest we tell them what we've learned."
"That it's a manned spacecraft?" someone squawked.
"They'll find out soon enough."
"Then I vote Marty be the one to make the announcement," Catherine decreed.
All save Marty voted in favor.
* * *
Donna looked up from her cookie baking to watch the excitement from her kitchen window. The children had unrolled a large tarp someone's indulgent father had provided, and were in the process of painting the words, "Welcome Spacemen" on it in large block letters. The young mother smiled, stepping out on the back porch.
"Where do you plan to put that, MacGyver?" she asked.
"On Jerry's roof," the man said, pointing to one boy. "He lives in a three-story."
"That way it'll be seen," Jerry said proudly.
* * *
"The end is near!" the caller chanted in his highest volume—directly into radio call-in host Jack "The Nighthawk" Killian's ear. "The angel of the Lord shall come down from the heavens and strike down the sinners of the world! Repent! Before it's too late! 'Vengence is mine,' sayeth the Lord!"
"Let's just hope he says it a little softer," Jack said, disconnecting the line.
* * *
Doctor Joel Fleishman shook his head with disbelief. Newcomer to Alaska, Debby Stockwell, had swallowed a bottle of pills and half a bottle of brandy.
"Over a UFO sighting?" he demanded of the cooling body.
Ed, the young Indian man who'd found her and immediately brought in Joel, plucked a note from the nightstand.
"It's just as well," he read. "The alien invaders will destroy everything. Then there'll be no more brandy to drink."
"No more brandy," Joel muttered, staring at the empty pill bottle in his hand.
"I guess she didn't like science fiction," Ed announced.
* * *
Fantastic Visions was empty, except for George, the proprietor, and investigator Jake Styles, who was more interested in some bookworm of a girl that had gone missing, than the devastating economic forecast. George leaned dismally against the counter, holding his head in his hands and cursing his rotten luck.
"Since everyone heard about this alien encounter about to happen," George complained, "selling science fiction is virtually impossible. Who wants to read it when they're living it?"
"Could be worse," the dark-haired man said. "You could be writing the stuff."
* * *
The coming events were discussed with great animation in Judge Harry Stone's chambers.
"It has to be machine manned—so to speak," prosecuting attorney Dan Fielding announced. "No living thing could survive such a long trip."
"Maybe they've learned to use hyperspace, or have faster than light drive," Bull suggested. Everyone stared at the hulking, bald bailiff. "What?" he demanded. "Space Age Action Comics number three-fifteen had this very thing happen!"
"What do you suppose they'll look like?" Harry mused, idly juggling his stuffed armadillo.
"I hope they're not little green men," the other bailiff, Roz, announced.
"Couldn't be humanoid," Harry decided, ignoring the last remark. "That would be too much of a coincidence."
Defense attorney Christine Sullivan tossed her golden mane and eyed the young judge with amusement. "You're of the tentacles-and-multiple- heads school, then?"
"What about silicon-based life?" Mac, the court clerk, interjected.
"Just so long as they aren't little green men," Roz insisted. At the questioning glances of the others, the black woman added, "I won't date anyone who'll blend with my salad when we go to a restaurant."
* * *
"He won't come down?" demanded Edgar Benedek, schlock journalist and minor talk-show celebrity expert on all things supernatural or just plain weird.
"It's only a flying trip," the communications man said. "He's rather in a hurry and just wants to transmit his message to the people and be on his way."
The man beside Benedek, Doctor Jonathan MacKensie from Georgetown Institute of Science, paranormal research department, jumped up to protest.
"But I've got anxious scientists clamoring for a look at the ship, at the records—at him!"
"That's show biz," the communications man said with a shrug.
* * *
Any network executive alive would have killed to keep the ratings every channel on the band received that night. Everyone awaited the communication from the ship orbiting above.
Housewives, scientists, cab drivers, students in dorms—all waited.
At last, the time came.
Millions and millions of screens flickered as the ships' signal beamed down upon them. Then the alien came into view. He looked surprisingly human, except his eyes were a bit strange, and his mouth a little too wide. He seemed nervous about addressing an entire planet, but since it had never been done before—to the knowledge of anyone on Earth, anyway—that was perfectly all right.
He cleared his throat, smiling a friendly sort of smile. "People of Earth," he began formally. "I come on a mission of peace from the United Sentient Species of the Galaxy, and I…er…"
He seemed to forget his lines. When he next spoke, it was with much less formal inflection.
"Look," he said. "I realize this has all been a great deal of bother, for such a simple mission, but I've been sent here to tell you we've got your message. Now if you don't mind, would you kindly switch it off? It's ruining our video reception!"
Everyone on Earth gaped at their televisions as the visitor signed off and returned home. All except George, and others like him. They were all re-stocking shelves and celebrating the relative boredom of real life throughout the universe.
End
Autumn Lee
The small, ferret-like alien smacked the visual receiver, noting with disgust that the picture was far from improved. "It's that transmitter again, Doctor," he complained to his Time Lord visitor: a tall, curly- haired man with a long scarf. "I won't stand for it any longer! Zana, get me the communications committee!"
"Why are you so upset about it now?" Zana asked, offering a plate of native delicacies to their guest. "It's never bothered you before."
"I've never watched Intergalactic sunbathing through a screen of snow before."
"Looks chilly," the Doctor offered, staring at the screen.
"Busy signal," Zana announced.
* * *
Private detective Jim Rockford set his magazine on the coffee table, leaning forward to watch the television. The newsbreak mentioned an unidentified object discovered heading toward Earth, but the report was sketchy. The sensationalized teaser left him intrigued, frustrated, and worried. He reached for the phone.
Busy signal.
* * *
The room full of magazine reporters were frantic. All the government agencies were getting calls from upset and confused members of the public, leaving anyone little time to talk to journalists.
"I knew it was a mistake to tell the public!" Catherine, the editor, complained. "Now there'll be rioting in the streets, people jumping out of windows, mass suicides—"
"At last," Marty, the cynic, said. "Effective population control."
"Now that they know," Hannah said, ignoring him, "I suggest we tell them what we've learned."
"That it's a manned spacecraft?" someone squawked.
"They'll find out soon enough."
"Then I vote Marty be the one to make the announcement," Catherine decreed.
All save Marty voted in favor.
* * *
Donna looked up from her cookie baking to watch the excitement from her kitchen window. The children had unrolled a large tarp someone's indulgent father had provided, and were in the process of painting the words, "Welcome Spacemen" on it in large block letters. The young mother smiled, stepping out on the back porch.
"Where do you plan to put that, MacGyver?" she asked.
"On Jerry's roof," the man said, pointing to one boy. "He lives in a three-story."
"That way it'll be seen," Jerry said proudly.
* * *
"The end is near!" the caller chanted in his highest volume—directly into radio call-in host Jack "The Nighthawk" Killian's ear. "The angel of the Lord shall come down from the heavens and strike down the sinners of the world! Repent! Before it's too late! 'Vengence is mine,' sayeth the Lord!"
"Let's just hope he says it a little softer," Jack said, disconnecting the line.
* * *
Doctor Joel Fleishman shook his head with disbelief. Newcomer to Alaska, Debby Stockwell, had swallowed a bottle of pills and half a bottle of brandy.
"Over a UFO sighting?" he demanded of the cooling body.
Ed, the young Indian man who'd found her and immediately brought in Joel, plucked a note from the nightstand.
"It's just as well," he read. "The alien invaders will destroy everything. Then there'll be no more brandy to drink."
"No more brandy," Joel muttered, staring at the empty pill bottle in his hand.
"I guess she didn't like science fiction," Ed announced.
* * *
Fantastic Visions was empty, except for George, the proprietor, and investigator Jake Styles, who was more interested in some bookworm of a girl that had gone missing, than the devastating economic forecast. George leaned dismally against the counter, holding his head in his hands and cursing his rotten luck.
"Since everyone heard about this alien encounter about to happen," George complained, "selling science fiction is virtually impossible. Who wants to read it when they're living it?"
"Could be worse," the dark-haired man said. "You could be writing the stuff."
* * *
The coming events were discussed with great animation in Judge Harry Stone's chambers.
"It has to be machine manned—so to speak," prosecuting attorney Dan Fielding announced. "No living thing could survive such a long trip."
"Maybe they've learned to use hyperspace, or have faster than light drive," Bull suggested. Everyone stared at the hulking, bald bailiff. "What?" he demanded. "Space Age Action Comics number three-fifteen had this very thing happen!"
"What do you suppose they'll look like?" Harry mused, idly juggling his stuffed armadillo.
"I hope they're not little green men," the other bailiff, Roz, announced.
"Couldn't be humanoid," Harry decided, ignoring the last remark. "That would be too much of a coincidence."
Defense attorney Christine Sullivan tossed her golden mane and eyed the young judge with amusement. "You're of the tentacles-and-multiple- heads school, then?"
"What about silicon-based life?" Mac, the court clerk, interjected.
"Just so long as they aren't little green men," Roz insisted. At the questioning glances of the others, the black woman added, "I won't date anyone who'll blend with my salad when we go to a restaurant."
* * *
"He won't come down?" demanded Edgar Benedek, schlock journalist and minor talk-show celebrity expert on all things supernatural or just plain weird.
"It's only a flying trip," the communications man said. "He's rather in a hurry and just wants to transmit his message to the people and be on his way."
The man beside Benedek, Doctor Jonathan MacKensie from Georgetown Institute of Science, paranormal research department, jumped up to protest.
"But I've got anxious scientists clamoring for a look at the ship, at the records—at him!"
"That's show biz," the communications man said with a shrug.
* * *
Any network executive alive would have killed to keep the ratings every channel on the band received that night. Everyone awaited the communication from the ship orbiting above.
Housewives, scientists, cab drivers, students in dorms—all waited.
At last, the time came.
Millions and millions of screens flickered as the ships' signal beamed down upon them. Then the alien came into view. He looked surprisingly human, except his eyes were a bit strange, and his mouth a little too wide. He seemed nervous about addressing an entire planet, but since it had never been done before—to the knowledge of anyone on Earth, anyway—that was perfectly all right.
He cleared his throat, smiling a friendly sort of smile. "People of Earth," he began formally. "I come on a mission of peace from the United Sentient Species of the Galaxy, and I…er…"
He seemed to forget his lines. When he next spoke, it was with much less formal inflection.
"Look," he said. "I realize this has all been a great deal of bother, for such a simple mission, but I've been sent here to tell you we've got your message. Now if you don't mind, would you kindly switch it off? It's ruining our video reception!"
Everyone on Earth gaped at their televisions as the visitor signed off and returned home. All except George, and others like him. They were all re-stocking shelves and celebrating the relative boredom of real life throughout the universe.
End