The Intergalactic Peace Council makes Contact

Deep in the bowels of Intergalactic Peace Cruiser One, a warm fleshy alien waited. It had been so very long since intelligent life had been discovered; it caused quite the stir. Only the oldest assembly members, with ages polite society dared not calculate, could remember the last time a new species was brought forward.
Excitement was total. It was one of those rare occasions when you could almost see it in the air. Without being asked, the custodians had readied the rarely used upper seats of the spherical chamber, to accommodate the influx of diplomats, members of the press, historians, and lucky contest winners. Even Zaphod Martindale himself, the most notorious of carbon copy diplomats, was in attendance.
The lights dimmed and conversation stopped. A lone spotlight illuminated the massive entry doors; the chamber was still. The doors opened and their restless attention focused on the small, visibly nervous, biped now stepping into the light. The ambassador of Europa II gasped, audibly: the alien was pinker and softer than she’d imagined. The ambassador of Omicronia laughed at her ignorance, but maintained diplomacy by pointing out how inelegantly the alien moved through their gravity controlled environment.
The alien was moving slowly, cautiously, instinctively shuffling toward the well lit platform above and to its right Several of the newer council species rearranged their faces into sympathetic shapes as it passed.
A fist sized translator droid took its place, four inches above and eight behind the alien’s left shoulder; the alien didn’t appear to notice. When they reached the stage, the droid beamed an animated clip, a stick figure sitting in one of the “L” shaped chairs on stage, into the alien’s brain. There was no response. The droid beamed the suggestion again, and, after a brief consideration, the alien complied.
Another spotlight shinned down and Ambassador Sprax stepped into the chamber. The people seated nearest cheered, and polite appendage waving took over the sphere one section at a time. Sprax made his way to the hallowed “O” chair across from the alien, waving and pointing toward notable members of the crowd on his way. He sat, somewhat dramatically, and, even more dramatically, turned to face the alien. Once he’d established eye contact, he thrust his arms to the ceiling.
The crowd held its breath.
The alien turned from Sprax to the crowd, to the table and then back to Sprax. On cue, the droid sent another clip, requesting that the alien raise his arms. The alien complied and was rewarded with frantic appendage waving from the crowd.
When the excitement died down, somewhat, Sprax lowered his arms, and stood to address the crowd. “Fellow ambassadors, members of the press, and everyone else fortunate enough to be here today… Today, you witness first contact with the,” under his breath, “notorious,” continuing, “beings of the planet designated Marsha. As all of you are aware, establishing contact is often a difficult first step in the process adding a new species to our council, but no amount of effort is too much in the grand scheme of intergalactic peace.” A mournful silence was observed.
“As you’ve just seen, the alien offered his arms when requested to do so. While this is no way signifies a meaningful exchange, and I’m certain the alien has no idea what I’m saying right now, it does, however, show that peaceful negotiations are possible.” The pink alien seemed almost frozen amongst a sea of appendage waving.
“As many of you are aware, it’s been, some time, since we’ve found a new species, suitable, for the council. And while some of the Marshians’ preliminary data is, well, less than encouraging… I think it all the more reason we need them to join.”
The crowd murmured approval loud enough to be heard on the official recording.
“Droid, if you would…”
Sprax’s own droid flew to the center of the stage, and projected a cube with a two dimensional image on each side. From the aliens seat, it all looked like random light flashes, but even if he’d moved to a better seat his eyes still operated at the wrong frequency to see the projection.
The 2-D images in each cube began to move, and a motion picture was played.
The crowd gasped.
“What you are seeing, is a Martian transmission. It is a crude technology, granted, but they’ve managed to send this signal into deep space, and, we’ve managed to decode it.”
Some polite, some mid-range appendage waving took place.
“Yes, it is moderately impressive, I know… Please focus your attention on the transmission… now.”
The staticy, grainy image came momentarily into focus, and
bewilderment registered on every face in the crowd.
“From what we can determine, this is how the Marshians communicate.”
Collectively: “Ooooooooooohhhhhhhhh.”
“As such, we are at a bit of a disadvantage. However, our top scientists have come up with a solution: a device, that should enable communication.” Under his breathe: “After much research.”
Continuing: “Droid, would you kindly…?”
The little robot halted projection and quickly flew into the darkness. It returned at half speed, dragging a floating slab that held an oddly shaped, hot pink object.
Several of the smaller diplomats, and all the historians with crap seats, stood on their chairs see the strange object.
Sprax picked up the smooth pink object, and held it high. “We call it, a, Marshian, communications, probe.”
Puzzlement gave way to self-satisfied appendage waving: what a smart lot we are.
If anyone was looking at the alien, they’d have noticed that he was fidgeting in his seat, nervously glancing around the sphere, desperate to find an exit.
Reading the image in Sprax’s mind, the droid took the MCP from Sprax, and applied the special-electrical-impulse-communications gel.
Sprax turned to the alien’s droid. “If you would…”
The alien’s droid requested that the alien take off his clothes and
lie on the table.
The alien shook his top appendage in a horizontal fashion.
The droid sent the request again.
The alien shook its head more forcefully.
The droid turned to Spark for further instruction.
“Um…” In the corner of his ocular pods, Sprax saw the crowd too was growing restless. He nodded at the droid, and thought, ‘Send it again, as many times as it takes.’
The droid sent the request again. And again. Again. Again. And again. And Again… Each time the request was faster, louder, and altogether more forceful.
It didn’t take long, about ten seconds, but after the 1,337th request was sent, the alien passed out; a drop of viscous red fluid trickled from one of the respiratory holes in its top appendage.
Nervously, Sprax turned to top ambassador Flitchy. Flitchy half raised his appendages, making the universal I don’t know gesture. Sprax turned to the crowd: “I… um..” Before he could find the words, his droid suggested that Sprax help the droids place the alien on the table. Sprax agreed.
“It seems our new friend is shy.”
The crowd: “Ha ha ha ha…”
Sprax and the two droids laid the alien on the conference table. It was heavier, and squishier than it looked. Several embarrassing moments later, they figured out how to remove the alien’s belt and took down his trousers.
Sprax: “Now, for the moment of truth…”
The audience was still.
The visual recorders flipped on the high speed settings.
The ambassador from Sploing nervously squeezed her hat to the point of destruction.
The concession stands and even the emergency workers stopped whatever they were doing and turned to face the live projections.
Traffic in the solar system ground to a halt.
The bureau of labor statistics would later report a 93% drop in universal productivity.
And then.
Stunned, Sprax dropped the probe to the floor.
The crowd gasped again. Had something gone wrong?
Eye’s wide, Sprax turned to head Ambassador Flitchy, once again.
Was it shock, horror, or surprise on his face? After what felt like an eternity, Flitchy’s mouth closed, and formed a tiny smile. As discreetly as he was able, he moved his appendages in the circular, just go with it motion.
The alien continued making noise from the large hole in its top appendage: “Owienal OIEJlnm, OIENK FiKK Fikk Fikk!”
Almost imperceptibly, Sprax nodded. He knew what needed be done. “Lady’s and gentleman…” The official recorder cut away from the shiny communications probe on the floor, and zoomed in tight on Sprax.
“…Success.” He threw his appendages high, in victory.
And then chamber erupted, not an unfrantically waving appendage in the house.


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4 Responses to “The Intergalactic Peace Council makes Contact”

  1. boo Says:

    Wow. that was an amazing blog. you should get awards and stuff. Do they give awards to nerds? Maybe an R2D2 plush toy? 🙂

  2. boo Says:

    fashion disaster, if you ask me. 🙂

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