(c) Simon Haynes
Ambassador Richards stared at the alien in disbelief. "Sand?"
"But yes, ooloowoo, or 'sand', is most precious to us," said the alien, via its translator. "We need it most desperately, and your planet has such an abundance."
"Well, this is most irregular," said the ambassador, who was not used to acting as a salesman. "How much, er, oowooloo do you need?"
The alien giggled. "Not oowooloo, ooloowoo," it said. "Oowooloo is what you use on your roses. We have as much of that to spare on our planet as you do on yours."
The ambassador reddened. "How much sand do you require?"
The alien looked around. "Well, first we would have to discuss the removal of your plant and animal species. And, of course, the relocation of you humans. Then we would be able to disintegrate your planet and extract the sand."
"What?" shouted the ambassador. "You expect to buy the whole planet, then cart it away in .. in .. galactic dump-trucks?"
The alien looked surprised "I thought that was how your civilisation works - you pay people to leave their homes so you can dig up the ground they live on and sell it for profit. We're offering you the same arrangement, but on a larger scale."
"You don't understand," spluttered the ambassador "There's nothing you could offer the people on this planet that would entice them to leave their homes."
"What about a cure for every known disease?" asked the alien.
The ambassador stared.
"What about an extra fifty or hundred years on your average lifespan?"
"I- I-" stuttered the ambassador.
"How many years have you got left?" asked the alien "Ten? Five? Two? I can give you another fifty. Now, how long do you need to talk to your people?"
#
The first-ever global referendum took place on October 2nd, 2002. The yes and no votes from every country were to be collected and the result would determine the future of mankind. The choice was simple: vote to stay on Earth, or vote to be transported to an Earth-like planet and be given another 100 years of disease-free life. Whichever way the majority voted, the minority would have to comply.
Results were to be made public by 8am on the 3rd of October. There were delays as the final counts from two Eastern-European countries were uploaded to the wrong site, but after a hurried search the missing figures were unearthed and added to the global tally computer.
After 48 hours of solid media hype the moment arrived. A group of computer programmers parted to allow the President of the World Council access to the work-station that had been set up in the auditorium. He walked up to the desk, and spoke briefly to the head programmer, a confident-looking young man in a white lab coat. The programmer demonstrated with a few swift movements how the mouse moved the pointer around the screen. He pointed to the left mouse button, then to a large, blue box drawn on the screen.
Around the world, viewers saw an inset of the computer screen appear in the lower half of their TV picture. Everyone could read the writing on the box:
"CALCULATE RESULT."
The cameras zoomed in tight as the President guided the mouse pointer towards the button. There was a long-drawn out second before the mouse-click echoed through every loudspeaker on the planet. Eight billion people held their breath for three eternal seconds, then the computer buzzed and a dialog box popped up on the screen. "Runtime Error 11 - Division by zero".
Hundreds of news anchors around the world hurriedly threw to commercial breaks while computer experts analysed the tally computer's error log.
After a moment or two, the cameras zoomed in on an embarrassed-looking head programmer. He cleared his throat, and addressed the planet.
"Uh, sorry about this. Our program halted while attempting to calculate the percentage of yes and no votes. I, er, have to announce that the total of the yes vote is exactly the same as the, er, no vote. It's, er, a draw."
#
"Surely there must be a way of resolving the deadlock?" asked the alien.
"We could hold another vote," said the ambassador.
"No, no, we don't have time. In fact, we've got another planet to look at just 2 parsecs from here. Our survey of '01 showed promising data," said the alien. "Not as good as your planet, though," he added with a sigh.
The ambassador looked at the floor.
The alien cleared his throat. "On my planet, when we have to reach a decision, we commonly use a disc of metal which has a different design on each side. We assign a true value to one side and a false value to the other, then throw it into the air. The face which is uppermost when the disc comes to rest then gives us a true or false result."
The ambassador looked up and stared at the alien. "If you think I'm going to toss a coin to decide the fate of mankind, you've got another thought coming," he said firmly.
The phone on the ambassador's desk purred gently. He reached over and lifted the receiver. After listening for a moment, he hung up.
"What's happening?" asked the alien.
"They've found a deciding vote. Come along," said the ambassador, and he whisked the alien out of the office.
#
At the hospital a cordon of soldiers parted to allow the ambassador and the alien through the main doors, then quickly closed ranks against the throng of press and television people. Once inside, the human and the alien were rushed along deserted corridors by a sergeant-major in combat fatigues.
"Where is everybody?" asked the alien.
"They've all been moved into another ward," said the ambassador, shortly.
The alien raised all three eyebrows, but said nothing.
Still at the same pace, the trio rushed down one corridor after another.
Suddenly the sergeant major stopped in front of a plain door and knocked.
There was a response from inside, and he opened the door then stood aside to let the other two in.
As the pair entered the room two people looked up. The first was a priest, dressed in a black cassock. He frowned at the intruders, and set aside his Bible. The other was a lady of around thirty. She was also dressed in black, and was clasping a damp-looking handkerchief in her hands.
"Is this really necessary?" began the priest.
"You know it is," said the ambassador. He looked at the young lady. "I'm sorry, my dear, but you must realise how important this is. Now that your grandfather is conscious he must be allowed to vote."
The young lady nodded, her eyes bright with tears. There was a wheezing noise from the bed and everyone turned to look. All that was visible of the man in the bed was a pale wrinkled face, most of which was covered with an oxygen mask. The man's eyes were closed, and his blue-veined hands were lying motionless on top of the sheets.
"Grandad," said the woman softly. She leaned forwards and squeezed one of his hands. The old man's eyelids flickered, then opened. His eyes turned slowly until they focussed on the young lady, and the ambassador heard a wheezing croak.
"Grandad, these people want you to vote. You know, I told you earlier. Whether we should stay here or move and live for another hundred years with no sickness or disease," she said.
The old man's eyes moved back slowly to look at the ambassador, then at the alien standing beside him. Then he turned his head slowly so that he was looking out of the window into the hospital garden. All eyes followed. There was nothing much to see through the window, except a bush planted just outside. Everyone turned to look at the old man again. He lifted one shaking hand and pointed a crooked finger at the window. The ambassador looked at the bush again, and was just about to turn away when a movement caught his eye. He saw a tiny bird perched on a frail-looking collection of twigs and scraps of fluff. As he watched, it moved its head again and blinked.
The ambassador heard a noise, and glanced at the bed. There was a smile on the old man's face, just visible under the oxygen mask, and his rheumy eyes were moist. His mouth moved, but all the ambassador heard was a murmer.
Leaning closer, he barely heard the old man's whisper.
"What was the question again?" he wheezed, before his eyes closed for good.