Contact

The spaceship came screaming down with the thunderclap roar of displaced atmosphere yet landed whisper soft on the grass at the end of town.

The craft glittered sleekly in the mid-morning sunlight as it lay on it’s side - a broad shaft topped by a bulbous nose from which a door opened.

The blond haired man that stepped out was tall, bronzed and athletic. He wore the shining, golden uniform of Earth’s Bureau of Exploration, his proudly displayed badges of rank declared him to be a Senior Contact Manager (ConMan) Alien Division.

He flicked aside the long ponytail that was a fashion among his colleagues and walked down the ramp that had silently extended itself from his scout craft breathing the fresh, untainted (thoroughly examined and tested) air.

There was a short, thickset native strolling towards the spaceman, looking mildly curious. Switching on his Universal Translator the ConMan greeted the native.

“Greetings from Earth”. The time delay between speaking and computerized translation was almost unnoticeable.

“Hello”, replied the native. “I’m from Lower Great Wopping. Did you know that you aren’t allowed to park there?”

“Eh? What?” said the Earthman. “Sorry, no I didn’t.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” relied the native cheerfully. “Just remember next time otherwise the grass tends to get worn out. Okay?”

“Sure, I … Wait a minute,”the Conman interrupted himself. “I’m from another planet.”

“Oh goodness,” exclaimed the native. “No wonder I didn’t recognise you. That also explains why you parked on the grass. Well, enjoy your stay here,” and he turned to leave.

“Hold on. Wait,” called out the man from Earth. “I am from another planet and I want to see your leader.”

“Well …” the other man thought for a moment then puffed his chest out a bit. “I suppose that’s me. I am the Mayor of Lower Great Wopping.”

“No,” said the ConMan with a cendeceding smile. “I meant your overall leader. National Government.”

“Nashnul Guvmint?” said the mayor quizzically. “Is that anything like a public convenience?”

“No it isn’t,” snapped the Earthman. “Do you have a king then? Or a dictator?”

“I’m sorry, no I haven’t,” apologised the Mayor. “Perhaps we can get one at the general store?”

“No, no, no,” raged the thoroughly confused ConMan. “Please let us start again. Do you have a ruler of any kind?”

“Yes, of course,” the Mayor’s face brightened rapidly. “I’ve only got a six inch one with me but I can get a longer one from home.”

“What? No, not that sort of ruler!” The ConMan tried very hard and managed to bring himself under control. Barely.

“A slide rule,” suggested the Mayor diffidently.

“No dammit!” screamed the man from Earth.

For several minutes he simply stared at the Mayor, apparently trying to wish him out of existence. When the native failed to disappear in a puff of smoke the ConMan decided to try another route.

“Who makes your laws?” he asked with reasonable calm.

“Laws?” the Mayor laughed. “We tried making some laws a few years back but nobody liked ‘em much so we junked ‘em.”

“Junked ‘em?” the man from BuEx was shocked into spluttering for a few moments. “You can’t simply junk all laws just because nobody liked them.”

“Why not?”

“Well … er …” The ConMan was unsure but pressed on. “Well … er … who made them?”

“Let’s see now,” the Mayor counted names off on his fingers. “There me and Jane, Fred and Mary, the two Jones girls - very good at it they were - and just about anyone who was interested chipped in some ideas.” The Mayor looked sheepish, “I suppose you think we were stupid, making up laws. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean I don’t know.” The ConMan was floundering and took a few moments to collect his thoughts. There seemed to be some missing.

“Let’s start again. Again.” He said eventually. “Who makes the rul … er regulations for this country?”

“What’s Country?” asked the Mayor warily.

The ConMan’s reply started off reasonably, if somewhat incoherent but quickly became an ear shattering screem.

“Well it’s … I mean it’s got … that is … Goddamit you stupid sonofabitch you must know what a country is!”

“Nope,” said the Mayor lightly.

“Oh dear God,” said the exasperated Earthman. “Look, you are a Mayor, right?”

The Mayor nodded.

“So you have a council?”

Again a nod.

“What does the council govern?” asked the ConMan in a whisper, as if he were afraid of the answer.

“The borough,” came the simple answer.

“And what,” the ConMan was becoming exited again, “Do you call a collection of boroughs.”

“A collection of boroughs,” replied the Mayor without even blinking but he did take a step backwards. Just in case.

“I … you …but … aarrgghh” screamed the Earthman who seemed to have developed a twitch just under his left eye and stuttered slightly as he spat out his next question.

“What do you get if you put all the boroughs together?”

“The World,” replied the Mayor, stepping back another pace as the ConMan seemed about to throw a fit.

He was silent for several minutes, breathing deeply as his face went through several colour changes while blood vessels at his neck and temples began throbbing visibly.

“Let’s go back to the beginning,” the ConMan almost pleaded. “How many councils are there?”

“Nobody knows for sure,” the Mayor thought for a while, “But I think it’s around two hundred and fifty thousand now.”

The Contact Manager was obviously shaken by the answer but ploughed grimly on.

“And who,” he asked, “Is above them?”

The Mayor thought long and hard, brows furrowed, face towards the sky. Eventually he said - “All right, I give up. Who is above them?”

The Universal Translator was unable to translate the reply other than to give out an ear splitting shriek.

When the ConMan was able to speak intelligibly again there was a glint of madness shining in his eyes.

“Listen you fool,” he started ranting at the native. “I am a Senior ConMan, an expert at understanding and communicating with aliens …”

“I’m no alien,” the Mayor interrupted indignantly. “I was born and raised right here.”

“No, I’m the alien,” said the Earthman. “I mean … that’s not what I mean … no it’s …”

Suddenly he turned and marched quickly back to his ship, muttering to himself.

“I’ll quit, that’s it, I’ll resign. It was a stupid job anyway. Maybe I never even found the bloody planet, they’ll never know.”

As the spaceship took off, disappearing rapidly into the clear blue sky another native, this one riding a bike, drew alongside the Mayor and stopped.

“Hello Fred,” the Mayor greeted the newcomer.

“Hello Mayor,” replied Fred. “Who was that?”

“A bloke from Earth.”

“What did he want?”

“Buggered if I know,” said the Mayor.