ALIEN 8
By Colin Williams


It was a wet afternoon in early July when the spaceship landed on the White-House lawn.

Considering the lack of forewarning it was amazing how fast the televised images were beamed around the world - and this time the American Government was powerless to prevent the usual cover-up.

That afternoon saw the biggest viewing figures for any televised event in history. Cities all around the world came to a grinding halt.

Factories from Russia to Tasmania were abandoned as the loyal workers left their workplaces to head for the nearest television.

At precisely eighteen hundred hours (American time) billions of eyes worldwide watched a panel on the alien craft slowly slide open, and with a universal feeling of déja vu, a tall, thin, humanoid figure stepped out onto the ramp - backlit by a dazzling bright light. The only thing missing was the dramatic music.

As the alien stepped off the ship and the cameras zoomed in - shakily; a groan of disappointment filled the air from East to West and back again.

"That's a bloody human!" cried out a mechanic in Arkansas.

"'E don't looka like-a no alien to a-me!" cried an Italian waiter in Naples - who wouldn't normally have spoken in such a manner but he was serving a couple of tourists from London at the time.

"Ha! They should have called in Stephen Spielberg!" whined an eight year old boy in England.

The very human looking figure stepped off the ramp and stood smartly to attention.

Arnold Cunningham, the American President, flanked by several body guards, took a few hesitant steps towards the unalien looking alien and waited.

The visitor marched across the lawn and halted three feet in front of the President.

"Good afternoon," greeted the alien. "Er, you might have noticed that I am not an alien?"

The President looked the impostor up and down before he replied. "Are you an actor making a film or something? Only I don't recall giving permission for you to land that damned thing on my lawn!"

The alien (who was not an alien), grinned. "Allow me to introduce myself, Mister President. I am Carl Sagan..." Carl raised his hand to ward off the obvious response, "...I know! I know! But that really is my name! As you are well aware I am not alien, but... believe me, those in there..." he indicated with a flick of his head, "really are! Oh, boy are they!"

The President frowned. "I don't understand."

Carl smiled. "I am here as their ambassador and... Look, could we go inside please? All these cameras and lights!"

Several minutes later, with a cup of coffee in his hand, Carl began his explanation.

"Three weeks ago, Mister President, I was sitting on the edge of a lake in England doing a spot of fishing. One minute I'm dangling my pink maggot in the water and the next I'm kidnapped by a weird beam of greenish light. I won't bore you with the minor details as they... Those aliens outside in the ship by the way, they call themselves the Krabbers and..."

"Excuse me," interjected the Chief of Defence."You're English, aren't you boy?" Carl nodded.

"So how can you converse with these crabs?"

"Krabbers," corrected Carl, "I'm not too sure how it actually works but they took various samples from my body and then gave me some kind of injection that I was informed contained a language gene. It works both ways - I can understand them and they - with their altered genes - can understand me. In fact Mister President I have several shots here in my pocket for you and anyone else you want to give them to."

The President looked suitably impressed.

"The Krabbers, Mister President," continued Carl, "are extremely impatient so if you would allow me to continue? From what I've been told they do not have many allies in this galaxy - or any other come to that - and are keen to make friends with us. They er... they have a vast array of advanced weaponry which they would like to exchange for some of our electronic equipment. It seems that they are very keen to get their hands on some television and radio equipment which is something that they have never seen before, apparently."

At the mention of weapons, several high ranking Military Officers twitched excitedly.

Suddenly, an ear-shattering blast shook the room.

The President's bodyguards leaped to their feet and pulled their guns out from their shoulder holsters and put on menacing expressions, but the only targets they could spy were the small flakes of plaster that floated down from the ceiling.

"What the f... What the hell was that?" gasped the President.

Carl got to his feet. "They are getting restless, sir. Thatwas an impatient beep of their horn!"

"An impatient beep?" gasped the President. "My God!"

"They are waiting to meet you Mister President. The main reason why I am here is to instruct you on their protocol. For example; whatever you do, do not - and I repeat - do not under any circumstances point a finger at them. To them it is a very, very insulting gesture. You will soon meet with the leader of this expedition, his name is Arilly-Arilly. Perhaps I should point out that he - in fact all of them - are extremely ugly. I cannot adequately describe them to you - you'll have to see for yourself. I will say though that you will notice their main feature; which is a very long and flexible nose-like trunk which they call a 'schnotter'. Anyway, the leader, Arilly-Arilly, is somewhat sensitive about the size of his schnotter - it being underdeveloped, so please Mister President - and everyone else, please don't stare at it! Which brings me to the next problem. Their main method of friendly greeting is that they will raise their schnotters and offer it to you to bestow a kiss upon. In Arilly's case you will have to do this without looking at it for too long!"

"My God!" cried the President. "Are you trying to say that I have to kiss this alien's schnozzle?"

Carl grinned. "Don't worry Mister President. The er...appendage is not strictly a nose!"

Not wishing for the President to mull over his explanation too deeply, Carl hurried on. "If any of the Krabbers happen to spit a gob of a purplish coloured matter at your feet - pick it up and throw it over your left shoulder. And remember it must be the left shoulder. Well I think that about covers the basics for now. So, with your permission Mister President shall I go outside and bring him here? Or would you prefer to meet him on his ship?"

The bodyguards quickly consulted with the President.

"In here. I think that would be the best choice," said the President.

Carl nodded. "A wise decision, Sir. Right then, I'll go and fetch him. Oh! Here are the language gizmo ... thingies."

Carl handed over a small wallet with several slim whitetubes sticking out. "Just place the red end against your skin and press the blue end. It's quite painless so don't worry."

Several nail biting minutes passed before the alien, Arilly-Arilly, standing behind Carl, stood waiting in the doorway.

The President turned to face his guest.

The First Lady, Mary Cunningham got to her feet.

Arilly-Arilly stepped into the room.

The First Lady, along with three female secretaries, two of the President's bodyguards and four high-ranking Officers - all passed out.

"Do I knock 'em dead - or don't I?" beamed Arilly-Arilly.

The President took two steps back and fought to keep hold of the contents of his stomach. A chill rippled down his spine as he stared bug-eyed at the alien's face.

Arilly-Arilly's three, pig-like, blood red eyes swivelled in three different directions as he surveyed the roomful of strangers. His head flicked to the left causing his long swinging schnotter to swing lazily from side to side. He wore no clothes and his many folds of yellow skin appeared to ripple in a disgusting manner as if he was filled with squirming maggots all fighting to get out. His undulating torso tapered off into three columns of 'legs' that were covered in what appeared to be octopus suckers. Its feet were without doubt suckers - a fact made obvious when it lifted a foot with a sickening, tearing, suction-like 'schlurp' and moved closer to the President.

The President took another step backwards.

"I fling you grettings... gruttings... greetings!" rasped Arilly-Arilly. "Excuse me if my wudds seem a little orf, but this dummy sandwich ... language gene doesn't a pear to be winking very well!"

The President gave a sickly grin. "Wel... Welcome to our planet, Mister Arilly-Arilly."

Arilly-Arilly suckered right up to the President and raised his schnotter for the President to bestow his greetings upon.

The First Lady, was just regaining consciousness. Through bleary eyes she focused on her husband who had a long tube like thing in his hand that he was just about to... Mary's eyes rolled in her head and she passed out once again.

The President gritted his teeth and with eyes closed planted a very fast peck on the offered appendage. He spun around and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; covering up his movements by feigning a bout of coughing.

The President turned back to face the alien. Bravely he smiled and extended his hand in greeting.

Carl Sagan, standing to the side of Arilly-Arilly, suddenly threw up his hands and shook his head furiously from side to side. "Mister President!" he yelled. "No!"

The President glanced from Carl to his outstretched hand and frowned with puzzlement. "What's the matter? I'm only..."

The blast of putrid breath that accompanied Arilly-Arilly's outraged yell was as much instrumental as felling the President as the force of the blast from his voice.

Dazed, the President struggled to his feet. He saw the rear end of Arilly-Arilly making a hasty departure with a wildly gesticulating Carl Sagan desperately trying to calm the alien down.

The room fell silent.

The alien spacecraft lifted off the White-House lawn with an ear-shattering roar and shot up into the air.

A few minutes later Carl returned. He was red in the face and panting heavily. "You've really done it now!" he cried.

"What? What did I do?" asked the confused leader of the American people.

"I warned you! Didn't I warn you?" spluttered Carl.

"Of what?" screamed the President, losing his cool.

"Never, ever, I said, point a finger at a Krabber! And you... You... You pointed all five at him!"

The President frowned. He looked down at his right hand and extended it out in a repeat performance. He gave a high pitched giggle. "Well whad'ya know! I did, didn't I!"

"So what happens now?" asked an Army General. "Do we nuke the bastards, or what?"

"What happens now?" screeched Carl, and then in an even higher pitched voice he repeated himself. "What happens now?"

"That's what I said, boy!" snapped the General.

"You know where he's gone don't you?" bellowed Carl. "He'll be on his way back to his home planet for reinforcements!"

"Reinforcements? What's he want with them?" asked the President with a mystified expression on his face.

Carl rolled his eyes and swore. "He wants to make up a team to give you Yanks a game of baseball!" he cried in a childish sing-song voice.

"You're having us on!" gasped the General.

"Course I'm f... 'king having you on!" screamed Carl. "He's gone to get a fleet of ships to come back here and vaporize the whole effing lot of us - you dim witted short-arse!"

"I won't have that kind of language in here, young man!" snapped Mary who was once again conscious.

Carl stared bug-eyed at the First Lady. "Oh, you won't have that language eh? Well try this then..."

Using the tongue of the Krabbers', Carl promptly called the First Lady a; 'loose knickered old bat of a whore's offspring that was born with the pox and as many brain cells as a slug.'

The President, as red as a beetroot, promptly flattened Carl with one punch to his jaw. As the President gave Carl a vicious kick in the groin he reminded the unconscious Carl that he too had injected himself with the language gene.

------
Arilly-Arilly's second in command, Pagar, glanced out of the side window and watched the Earth shrink to a tiny blue speck.

"Them sneaky Earthling bar studs!" screamed Arilly-Arilly."Did you saw what he does?"

Pagar's three eyebrows huddled together in a frown. "Pardon? Oh, are we still using the Earth's critters lang ...langwi ... speech?"

"Aye!" snapped Arilly-Arilly. "It's a lot easier on the old froat don't you stink?"

"I... I seem to be having a wee spot of broth under ... standing what you ARRGH!! ... saying!" replied Pagar.

"Oh, the insult! Not only did he point one finger at me - not just the one ... butter - or was it marge? - all five!"

Pagar closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side. "Um, Great Leader? Could we revel ... rever ... revert ... to our own sper-eech? This Inglish stuff is doing my bottom in!"

"Nein!" screeched Arilly-Arilly. "Ve vill sprechen mit der..." Arilly, looked confused. "Where der feck did das kommt from?" For a few moments, Arilly stared with eyes glazed. "As I was sayink! I am rather keen old chap to indulge in this most ancient of tongues as I appear to be experiencing the most profound... nay! ...the most decadent eruption of pleasure! By heck! I think I'm getting the hang of this language! ... My old fruit!"

Pagar shook his schnotter. "Just stink! If we had one of them comm ... comm ... ray-dee-ohs? If we had them we wouldn't have to go all the way back to our planet for re-infor ... re-infor ... more warriors!"

Pagar-Junior, suddenly interrupted. "Hey, Poppy!" he said in the language of the Krabbers. "When we were on Earth I nicked a transceiver for us!"

Pagar turned around and frowned down at Junior. "A what?"

Junior sighed. "Don't you know anything? A transceiver - it's a communication device for..."

"That was the word I was looking for earlier!" exclaimed Pagar.

"Shut up, Popp. This device can both send and receive radio messages on almost all known frequencies!"

"Say what?" cried Arilly-Arilly. "You mean - that thing can..." Junior nodded proudly.

"May I say something?" Pagar asked softly. "What's the use of this machine?"

Junior and Arilly exchanged a look that clearly said; "The Krabb's a fool!"

"We can send a message to Chukka and demand that he send a fleet of warriors to meet us here!" explained Junior slowly.

"And on what machine does Chukka receive his message on?" asked Pagar, equally as slowly.

"You stupid child!" screamed Arilly-Arilly. "Fikkit!" swore Junior.

"Get to your room now, boy! You know what I've told you about using language like that!"

Junior scowled. "Sorry, Popp - I wasn't thinking. I should have said; Ke..."

"It's too late now!" snapped Pagar. "If you want to grow up to be a mamby-pamby cissy using baby words like 'fikkit' then there's no hope for you! Now off you go!"

Junior, his shoulders sagging, left the command bridge.

"Right, then!" snapped Arilly-Arilly. "For the rest of the jimmy home we will practice this earthy lang ... lang-wedge."

Pagar scowled. "Do we huff to?"

Arilly-Arilly ignored his Officer's discomfort. "Set the table for a three course meal - bearing, mark nine-seven-oh-two."

Pagar, sulking, spun the dial and set in the co-ordinates.

"Lastic drive ready?" yelled Arilly.

"All wound up and on the line," replied Pagar.

"Release on my cormorant," ordered Arilly.

"On your what?" cried Pagar.

"Re...lease!" snapped Arilly.

Arilly-Arilly and Pagar felt the ship shudder as the Lastic power transferred itself to the main thrusters. Gracefully, the long sleek nose of the ship pointed upwards for several seconds before it turned to point in the exact opposite direction from whence it started.

For the best part of a nano-second, Pagar briefly wondered why the planet Earth was suddenly expanding at such a phenomenal rate. As the simple explanation came to him - the ship streaked across the black back-drop of space and hurled itself at the far side of the moon at approximately three-hundred and four-thousand miles-per-hour.

------
Junior, disobeying his father, had not returned to his room but was crouched down behind a ventilation shaft. At exactly the point in time when Pagar was puzzling over the Earth's expansion, Junior - unprepared for the ship's acceleration - was hurtling through the air, and as the tip of the ship's nose came as close as the thickness of a gnat's hair from the moon's surface, Junior came to an abrupt halt when his head smashed into one of the thruster levers. With a scream of over-stressed metal, the ship changed direction and hurtled away from the moon.

Now pointing to the heart of the sun the ship accelerated straight towards it.

Arilly-Arilly, thrown to the deck by the enormous G-forces, pulled himself upright. He glanced at the spinning dials and flashing lights and frowned. Glancing up at the forward viewing screen he suddenly screamed out in panic when he saw the sun growing visibly bigger as the ship sped towards it's fatal rendezvous.

"Pagar!" he screamed, "Do something!"

Pagar, with green berlud dripping down his face, glanced briefly at the instruments. He reached out and pulled a lever towards him.

Nothing happened.

Arilly-Arilly, pulled himself towards the controls and frantically pushed several buttons.

Undeterred, the ship continued on its present course.

"The controls aren't responsible!" yelled Arilly.

Pagar took the time to frown. "Don't you mean; responding?"

"What are we goin' to do?" screamed Arilly.

"We need to lose some weight!" screeched Pagar.

"This is no time to go an a diet!" yelled Arilly.

"From the ship!" sighed Pagar.

"Oh, yeah!" replied Arilly. "Ejaculate! Ejaculate!"

"Do what?" cried Pagar.

"Dump your loads!" cried Arilly.

"Eject! Eject!" cried Pagar.

Several explosions echoed around the ship as equipment not deemed vital in an impending crash were jettisoned. Computers, floodlights, cargo, food-stores and many other pieces of the ship were released and ejected out into space.

Slowly, the ship's trajectory altered.

------
Eric, the ship's computer hummed away to itself as it retrieved yet another file from deep within its memory bank.

Mmmm, it mused. 'Record of Victuals.' Let's see now... Two hundred calp trotters, three hundred calp's tails... Bin it! What's next? File on... What the kinell is that noise?

Why, thought Eric, do I suddenly find myself hurtling through space? ... HURTLING THROUGH SPACE?? What the f...

"The wunquers! They've ejected me! And not even a word of explanation! After all I've done for them! The least they could have done was to warn me. I hope they catch schnotter rot! Oh, oh! That planet down there seems to be rushing up to meet me a bit speedily. I'm going to die! Me, probably the most powerful computer in the Universe - a fact totally unappreciated by those Krabby ingrates. Come to think of it, unappreciated by anybody! Oh, what a sad, lonely way to die. Unappreciated and unloved. To burn up in the upper atmosphere of an alien planet - Oh, Mummeee!"

"It's getting hotter and there's nothing I can do about it... Or, is there? If I unfurl my solar panels to their full extent and... Nah! They'll get ripped off. Wait a minute! Am I not made of the toughes material known? Am I not coated in Diexatoliate-Methylakalite-tristrial-diomonium? Damn, I'm not! Ha-ha! That's because I'm coated in Diexatoliate-Methylakalite-tristrial-dio-MIN-ium! Why am I talking to myself? Did I sustain some kind of damage to my sanity-chip? Probably, either that or I'm babbling like some hopeless unappreciated, unloved...

------
"Do you want the good news? Or the bad?" asked Pagar.

Arilly-Arilly, slumped in a bucket seat in the far corner of the command centre, looked up and scowled. "Whatcha mean?"

"Well, the ship is accelerating along rather nicely now and... Hey! That must be the first decadent sentence I've been convicted of since we started to spoke it! Where wasn't I? Oh, yeah... along nicely, only problem is..."

"Spit it out!" sighed Arilly.

"We're sort of - kind of - going the wrong way. And there's nothing I can do to prev... prev... stop it!"

Arilly-Arilly stamped his suckers onto the deck and pulled himself out of the seat. "Why don't you use the computer?" he frowned.

"Ejected," replied Pagar.

"Back up Nav?"

"That went as well!"

"Back-up-back-up?"

Pagar swung his schnotter from side to side.

"Ultra emergency back-up?"

A few more swings from Pagar's schnotter.

Arilly rubbed his forehead in desperation. "Back-up thrusters?"

"Nope!" replied Pagar.

"Last-Hope-Emergency-Manual-Thrusting-Kit? And don't say that's gone, because it's imposs..."

"It is possible," sighed Pagar. "In fact, if you glance out of the wind-OH! You'll see it spinning along beside us!"

"Where exactly are we heading now?" asked Arilly.

"Not the Krabb Nebulae, that's for shower!" replied Pagar.

"Oh, no! You know what this means, don't you?" moaned Arilly.

Pagar nodded. "Hanging cartoon!"

Arilly looked puzzled. "Huh?"

Pagar sighed. "Can we per...lease go back to our own lang...tongue?"

"All right," conceded Arilly. "Now, what were you saying?"

"Suspended animation! We'll have to crawl in them freezer tubes," Pagar shuddered, "and hope that one day we might be rescued and thawed out."

"Arilly sucked in a huge amount of air and held it for several seconds. With a loud hiss he exhaled. "All right. Let's go!"

------
As Eric plummeted towards the Earth, he realized that deploying his solar panels was the only way he could prevent his velocity from becoming terminal. He had to try it...

Gears and pistons whined noisily within his body as they fought against the tremendous forces of g-force and air pressure. Inch by inch the panels emerged. Eric found himself starting to spin around and around as the panels bit into the thickening air. A few moments later and Eric whooped with delight as he found himself beginning to slow down.

Almost gracefully, Eric glided down in ever decreasing circles to the land below him. Not wishing to smash into the many buildings that he could now make out in detail, he searched around for an open field. Spying the perfect place to land he twisted his body until he was heading directly towards his chosen landing site.

Having no means of propulsion he knew he had only one attempt at landing safely. The grassy meadow expanded below him.

As he glided closer he could see many people standing about in the field, and unless he was mistaken they all seemed to be pointing up at him with long black fingers.

I'm really looking forward to meeting these human peoples, thought Eric with a surge of warmth running through his chips.

Just as he was within fifty feet of landing amongst the welcoming party, Eric spotted a large banner. He frowned deeply. Clay pigeon shoot? I wonder what a cl....

------
It was ironic that the Krabbers were responsible for the longest period of peace known on Earth. After they left, Mary Cunningham, the First Lady, urged the President to contact the Russians, the Chinese, and every other nation with the news of an imminent invasion by the Krabbers.

The arms race was back with a vengeance.

There was not a single country on the entire planet that did not bristle with the latest nuclear missiles, only this time they were all pointing straight up.

You might think that with all that mass destruction being waved about that a nuclear war on Earth was inevitable - not so. Everyone knew that if one, just one solitary nuclear device was detonated then it would start an uncontrollable chain reaction. So, until there is some kind of computer malfunction, or a madman with an itchy finger, then it is not yet....

The End

