A New Religion for Planet Earth
Chapter One. First Contact
First Contact with the Ambassador of Vega-Prime occurred at 8:42am on May 10th, 2058, on the wide lawn near the Capitol Building of the United States of America. A 100-foot long oval transport vessel landed, the lower doors opened, and the seven-foot tall, attractively humanoid ambassador came down the stairs. He waved to the crowd of bristling military men which were quickly surrounding the park.
The transport vessel had entered our atmosphere so quickly, and landed before military and civilian decision-makers had an opportunity to make any plans at all. Though the Air Force had reported to the President, two weeks before, a large alien space craft was in residence halfway to the Moon. All eyes were on the craft. But, no one in government moved quickly, even as the transport vessel exited the starship, and zipped down to Washington D.C.
Thankfully, a few people had the good sense to remain calm, and wondered if the visitor spoke English, and hoped to engage in conversation. With all those guns pointed at Ambassador Zoltsyn, any number of bad things might have occurred.
As it happened, a junior senator from Montana, Senator Nordholm, was out for a morning jog. He was sitting on a park bench when the craft landed, and being an adventurous young man, walked right up to the vehicle, once the leaves and dust had settled. In this position, he was the closest human as Ambassador Zoltsyn walked down the stairs and waved to the military.
Zoltsyn looked Nordholm in the eyes and smiled, and said, in clear English, with a slight Southern accent, “Good morning, sir. I am Ambassador Zoltsyn from Vega-Prime.” And he extended his right hand, covered in a white cotton glove. Nordholm, without hesitation, shook the hand of the alien, and replied, “Welcome to Earth, sir.”
Zoltsyn continued, “Sir, if it is not inconvenient, I would like to speak to your local authority, so I might make my intentions clear. Also, I wish to abide by any rules you have in regard to parking extraterrestrial vehicles.” He smiled, again, and chuckled, “I really don’t want a parking ticket.”
Nordholm had no idea how to respond to this, as he had never been briefed on intergalactic protocol. Being a quick young man, he also chuckled, and said, “Oh, dear sir, I am certain you have diplomatic immunity in regard to parking violations. Please, let me contact my superiors, and make an early appointment for you.”
In over one hundred years of science fiction writing and in Hollywood movies, no First Contact exchange ever went so well, in with such courtesy and humor.
Sleepy Senators and Congress-persons, arriving at work in limousines, saw all of this on the Morning News. A mad scramble ensued, every politician wanting to be on-camera with the tall, attractive alien. Senator Nordholm walked over to the nearest military officer, and asked to use his phone. Within an hour Ambassador Zoltsyn was sitting in the Oval Office with the President of the United States. Under tight security. No media allowed. Some Presidents might have greeted this visitor with politeness and humor, and said, “My dear sir, I wish you would have told us you were coming. I would have baked a cake, and hired a brass band!”
Unfortunately, President Cotsworth had no sense of humor, and took himself far too seriously, as if he was the Leader of the Free World, or some such nonsense. Scowling across his big desk, the President said sternly, “We really don’t like this kind of intrusion into our air-space, uninvited, with no prior contact at all. Since you know our language, you probably also know our habits, and some diplomatic courtesy, some communication should have preceded your dramatic entrance.”
Zoltsyn smiled, and folded his hands in his lap. “Pardon me, sir, “ he said, “Our radios operate on entirely different wavelengths than yours, and having never been here before, we have none of your devices available to us. I do not own a cell-phone, or any other Earth-style transmitter.”
The President was too self-important accept this reasonable explanation as a valid excuse. But, he moved on to the matters at hand. “So, Zoltsyn, what is it you want with us? What are you doing here? What are your plans?”
Zoltsyn’s face was now, calm, with no humor, and with no aggression. “I am hear to inform you, the governments of Vega-Prime and several other star systems wish to initiate formal diplomatic relations with Earth, and all countries on Earth. I speak to you as the appointed representative of fifty-five governments on forty-six planets, as the diplomatic voice for twenty-five billion free citizens of those planets.”
As if this meant nothing, the President continued, “So, Zoltsyn, you actually have no plan at all. You just came all this way to say ‘hello’ and shake hands? Ha! I don’t believe that for one minute.”
He paused, as if to strengthen the meaning of his words, then added, “Come now, tell me the truth. Are you here to conquer, colonize, establish trade, raid our natural resources? What is it you’re after?”
Zoltsyn replied, calmly and smiling, “Please, sir, do not consider me impatient or uncooperative, but I believe your mother never taught you any manners. When meeting a stranger, and getting to know them, one does not start off with negative assumptions and accusations. That is common courtesy through-out the Known Universe. And I am certain most mothers on Earth transmit this information accurately to their children. I do not wish to fault your mother, but clearly your education has been incomplete.”
The President of the United States lost his temper.
If fact, he attempted to yell a few choice words in the ambassador’s direction, but found his vocal cords no longer functioned properly. He sat back in his chair, gasping for breath, unable to say a word. Concerned bodyguards moved toward him, but the President waved them away. Still, unable to talk, he scribbled a note on the Presidential Notepad:“I need a break. Get this asshole out of here.” And he handed the note the the Secretary of State.
Ambassador Zoltsyn was escorted back to his craft, and encouraged to go back inside, and await further instructions. Senator Nordholm was still in the park. He decided to skip work today, and see how the meeting with the President played-out. Before going back into his vehicle, Zoltsyn took Nordholm to one side and whispered, “I’m glad I met you first. That President of yours needs potty-training. How, in a nation as large as yours, can intelligent people can elect such leaders? Spoiled brats with bad tempers and snotty noses? By watching your Evening News for only one month, I notice a large percentage of your leadership remain in pre-school, having little fits and peeing their pants.”
Senator Nordholm smiled, “I can only say, you are not the first person to notice this problem.”
Zoltsyn shook Nordholm’s hand, and said, “Thank you, my friend. We will speak again soon. I am sure the video of my conversation with the President will be studied in detail. And some confusion will arise regarding his sudden loss of voice. I will confide in you, and trust the information will go no further: I have what you call telekinetic abilities. I was not going to hear another word from that moron. I simply numbed his tissues for a moment. His normal irritating voice will return in a few hours.”
[Chapter 2. Down to Business ]
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