hurried to the town hall just as fast as I could swim. I volunteered to lead the exopological contact team — and I was selected. Stopping only long enough to pack my Easilearner Machine Translator, often abbreviated to EMT, I grabbed the first spacer going in the right direction.
I had a good team, highly skilled and eager Chingers. No contact had been made with the space travelers. The locals were awaiting our arrival, but they were being kept under close scrutiny. We joined the observation team in their jungle camp. It was then that I had my first intimation that these aliens were different from all other life forms ever contacted before.
“Bgr,” the head observer said, “these aliens are something else again.” He called me Bgr because that is my name, or why I adapted the nom de guerre Eager Beager that you know me by. But I digress. I was warned to be very careful with my first contact since the aliens had, up to that moment, killed eighty-one thousand creatures from forty different species. Most interesting, since exopologists only work with live specimens and save dissection for those which die of natural causes. This was death on a massive scale and I was thrilled at the novelty of this new species to study.
Having been warned, I approached the alien encampment with extreme caution, swimming underwater through the swamp with my EMT sealed in a plastic bag. When I was close enough to hear voices I planted the EMT, turned it on and split. I retrieved the recordings the following night and discovered that the machine had worked perfectly. Much conversation had been recorded. There was a growing vocabulary list and a preliminary linguistic analysis. I memorized everything, chuckling at witticisms like “blow it out your barracks bag” and “your mother wears GI shoes.” Within a fortnight the EMT had done its job and I felt prepared to carry on a coherent conversation with the space travelers. The next morning I eagerly awaited sunrise outside the electric barrier that ringed the encampment. When they emerged I addressed them.
“Greetings, O strangers who have crossed the trackless wastes of space, greetings.”
I then ducked back behind the trunk of a large tree as the expected bullets, shells and blaster blasts blasted all around me. When the firing had died down I tried again.
“I come in peace. I am unarmed. I am the representative of an intelligent race who anticipates friendly contact with another intelligent race.”
There was less firing this time. When I repeated the aims of my friendly mission in greater detail, a few more times, the firing finally stopped and a voice called out to me.
“Come out with your hands in the air — and don't try anything funny.”
“I cannot raise my hands into the air, since I have none, but I will raise my paws instead. All four of them since I have four arms. Hold your fire, dear friends from space, for here I come.”
As you can imagine it was a traumatic moment, for me if not for them, for there could have been a trigger-happy microcephalic who might blast me. But science is not without risks! But opposed to my personal safety was this opportunity to be part of the first contact between intelligent races. I stepped out proudly — and dropped flat as a bullet whistled by.
“Take that trigger-happy microcephalic's gun away!” a voice shouted. “Okay, lizzy, you're safe now.”
Arms high I stepped forward proudly and, as they say, the rest is history. When they saw how small I was curiosity replaced fear, for give mankind that, yours is a curious and intelligent race. They all got their cameras out and took pictures, then the leader wanted pictures of him and me shaking hands. Which we did, though unhappily I squeezed too hard and broke three of his fingers. I was most apologetic, explained about being from a 10G planet and all, and he forgave me as they bandaged him up.
After that it was clear sailing for quite a while. We invited them to our
I had a good team, highly skilled and eager Chingers. No contact had been made with the space travelers. The locals were awaiting our arrival, but they were being kept under close scrutiny. We joined the observation team in their jungle camp. It was then that I had my first intimation that these aliens were different from all other life forms ever contacted before.
“Bgr,” the head observer said, “these aliens are something else again.” He called me Bgr because that is my name, or why I adapted the nom de guerre Eager Beager that you know me by. But I digress. I was warned to be very careful with my first contact since the aliens had, up to that moment, killed eighty-one thousand creatures from forty different species. Most interesting, since exopologists only work with live specimens and save dissection for those which die of natural causes. This was death on a massive scale and I was thrilled at the novelty of this new species to study.
Having been warned, I approached the alien encampment with extreme caution, swimming underwater through the swamp with my EMT sealed in a plastic bag. When I was close enough to hear voices I planted the EMT, turned it on and split. I retrieved the recordings the following night and discovered that the machine had worked perfectly. Much conversation had been recorded. There was a growing vocabulary list and a preliminary linguistic analysis. I memorized everything, chuckling at witticisms like “blow it out your barracks bag” and “your mother wears GI shoes.” Within a fortnight the EMT had done its job and I felt prepared to carry on a coherent conversation with the space travelers. The next morning I eagerly awaited sunrise outside the electric barrier that ringed the encampment. When they emerged I addressed them.
“Greetings, O strangers who have crossed the trackless wastes of space, greetings.”
I then ducked back behind the trunk of a large tree as the expected bullets, shells and blaster blasts blasted all around me. When the firing had died down I tried again.
“I come in peace. I am unarmed. I am the representative of an intelligent race who anticipates friendly contact with another intelligent race.”
There was less firing this time. When I repeated the aims of my friendly mission in greater detail, a few more times, the firing finally stopped and a voice called out to me.
“Come out with your hands in the air — and don't try anything funny.”
“I cannot raise my hands into the air, since I have none, but I will raise my paws instead. All four of them since I have four arms. Hold your fire, dear friends from space, for here I come.”
As you can imagine it was a traumatic moment, for me if not for them, for there could have been a trigger-happy microcephalic who might blast me. But science is not without risks! But opposed to my personal safety was this opportunity to be part of the first contact between intelligent races. I stepped out proudly — and dropped flat as a bullet whistled by.
“Take that trigger-happy microcephalic's gun away!” a voice shouted. “Okay, lizzy, you're safe now.”
Arms high I stepped forward proudly and, as they say, the rest is history. When they saw how small I was curiosity replaced fear, for give mankind that, yours is a curious and intelligent race. They all got their cameras out and took pictures, then the leader wanted pictures of him and me shaking hands. Which we did, though unhappily I squeezed too hard and broke three of his fingers. I was most apologetic, explained about being from a 10G planet and all, and he forgave me as they bandaged him up.
After that it was clear sailing for quite a while. We invited them to our
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