I Won A Spaceship

by Harrision Park

  “Hmmm. Might work.” She rummaged around and pulled out a loose, cream shirt in a light fabric. “It’s a woman’s shirt but it might work,”

  I tried it on. It was obviously made for a well-endowed lady for it was far too loose at the chest but that wouldn’t matter as it would be underneath the jacket.

  “Hmm, not bad,” she said.

  The shirt had a big, floppy collar which she arranged on the outside of the jacket. I thought it looked a bit effeminate but she pronounced herself satisfied although she continues to fiddle with it until she was interrupted by a squawk from the intercom. It was time for my press conference.

  I was led to a small, plain room in which were a number of beings. A Capellan woman, dressed in a silvery-blue trouser suit, stepped forward and held out her hand.

  “I believe it is your custom to shake hands,” she said with a smile.

  For once the smile seemed genuine and I shook her hand gladly but briefly.

  “Strange custom,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I am Madam Brightly-Shining Great-Piousness. I’ll be with you during the press conference. Just try and relax and answer the questions as honestly as you can. Coming from a back-water planet, they won’t expect you to be a media professional. If I think the questions are inappropriate or irrelevant, I’ll intercede. Is there any topics you would prefer not to answer questions about?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I must have sounded doubtful for she explained. “Some cultures, especially those from further out, have topics that are not spoken about in polite conversation. If you ask a male from Noorstandic about his family, for example, you are likely to find yourself with a bloody nose.”

  I smiled. “We have no such taboos though being too personal or asking aggressive questions is frowned upon. I can always refuse to answer, can’t I?”

  “Oh, yes. Though I suggest you don’t refuse too many.” She seemed to notice Honesty-in-Trust for the first time. “Who’s this?”

  “My companion.” Her eyebrows went up but she made no comment.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I wouldn’t mind some water. My throat’s rather dry.”

  “Ah, yes, I think we have something suitable.”

  Someone handed me a glass. I sniffed it. It didn’t smell of anything so I took a sip. It was water though with odd undertones. I took a larger swig. Brightly-Shining Great-Piousness was looking at me curiously but made no comment.

  An assistant bustled up and stuck something underneath my ear.

  “What was that?”

  “A microphone.” She appeared to listen to an unseen voice. “Can you say something else, please?”

  “Testing… testing… one… two… three… four… Is that okay?”

  She nodded. “Fine, thank you. Shall we go?”

  Having seen press conferences on the TV, I was prepared for a barrage of flashbulbs as I entered the room. It was almost a disappointment when there were none. The bedlam in the room ceased abruptly as we entered. On a small dais were a couple of stools on which we perched. All around, just above eye level, were rows and rows of small boxes in dozens of colours and covered with squiggles. The room was packed. Seated or sprawled in chairs facing the dais were several hundred beings of every colour, shape and size imaginable. The lights on the dais were bright but not dazzlingly so and I was very aware that, literally, the eyes of the galaxy were upon me. I began to shake and sweat broke out on my forehead. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to compose myself. Brightly-Shining glanced at me. I nodded. It wasn't going to get any better so we might as well get started. Brightly-Shining faced the media.

  “As you all know, all sentient beings make their mark upon the universe. Many centuries ago we discovered, or, rather, stumbled upon, the sub-planar dimensional continuum where these impressions were recorded. You will appreciate this is a necessary loose description and I’m sure you have your own terms for describing something that can only be accurately depicted in symbolic mathematics.

  “Even after centuries of intensive study, our understanding of this process is still in its infancy. We know what it is and we know how to read it and that is about all. What it does, why it exists… these questions continue to puzzle the galaxy’s greatest minds.

  “As I say we know how to read it and interpret it to some extent. What we also know is that it exhibits some very strange behaviours, not the least of which is that, every ten years, one individual seem to rise above the rest and make itself known. Why this should be we don’t know although there are probably as many theories about it as there are sentient beings in the galaxy.”

  She paused for the dutiful ripple of polite laughter.

  “The other mystery is the characteristics of the individual himself… and that’s another oddity… to date all the individuals have been male. One might suppose that the being who rises above the mass would exhibit some outstanding characteristic; a great artist, perhaps… or a philosopher… or a public figure… a statesman or entrepreneur or philanthropist. None of these are true. The individuals are remarkable only in their ordinariness… beings apparently no different from you or me. More than that they can come from any part of the galaxy… from the very heart of our civilisation right out to then ends of the spiral arms… from an advanced, technological culture to a bucolic, agrarian one.

  “And such is the case this time, the thirtieth time an individual being has risen to the top of the pool and been honoured to be nominated as the winner of the Grand Prize in the Galactic Lottery. Our Winner comes from a small planet far out on the Orion Arm. His culture is technological, though primitive by our standards. They are taking their first, tottering steps in spaceflight, automation technology and world government and in these endeavours we wish them well. Until now, no being from Earth had left the confines of his solar system but, such it the nature of the Lottery, that, today we welcome the first representative of the species who call themselves ‘humans’.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I bid you welcome the thirtieth Winner of the Galactic Lottery… Sir Crawford MacAdam of Earth.”

  I had expected a bedlam of questions to break out. Instead a measured voice said, “Welcome, Sir MacAdam. It falls upon me to pose the first question and it has to be the obvious one. You are the first representative of your species to experience interstellar travel so… what is your impression of the galaxy?”

  For a moment I froze. The voice seemed to come out of thin air. I couldn’t tell where the being who asked it was sitting. To stall for time, I looked slowly over the massed media representatives.

  “Before I answer, may I thank Madam Great-Piousness… I hope I have that right… for her introduction and you all for your interest in, as Madam Great-Piousness said, a very ordinary being from Earth. I am very flattered and, I confess, very nervous so I hope you will forgive me if I bumble and ramble a bit. The answer to your question is… I don’t know. Having travelled directly from Earth to here, I can hardly be described as a seasoned traveller. Perhaps in a decade or so I might be able to give you a better answer.”

  “How did you feel when you heard you’d won”? another voice asked.

  I gave a short laugh. “Angry. I nearly slammed the door on the representative’s face.”

  “Angry?”

  “Yes. Bear in mind that I had no knowledge of this vast galactic civilisation so when a being knocks on my door and claims he’s from the Galactic Lottery, my first reaction was that either he was mad or playing a joke on me.”

  “What persuaded you it was for real?”

  “The fact that his translator didn’t work. I reasoned that a madman wouldn’t stand on my doorstep spouting gibberish then bang the side of his head. It took him several goes to get it working.”

  And so it went. Some of the questions were sensible, some personal, some unanswerable, some plain stupid. They were, by and large, fairly friendly and I tried to answer them all as well as I could. Brightly-Shining Great-Piousness only
had to intervene a couple of times when it was clear I didn’t have the faintest idea what the questioner was referring to. As the session progressed, I realised that a dim blue light illuminated the questioner’s chair. Once I’d sussed that out, I could look at him or her and speak directly to them. I found this much easier than talking to thin air. Then came the inevitable…

  “Sir MacAdam, is it true you have illegally imported wild animals?”

  “No.”

  “But it is true you have wild animals with you.”

  “No, it is not.”

  “I have it on good authority you have two wild animals in your hotel suite.”

  I sighed with exaggerated exasperation. “Sir, I was informed of my good fortune late in the evening. Four hours later I was in a spaceship. In that time I had to resign from my job, inform my family I was going away, secure my property and pack. Would you care to tell me how and where, in that time, I could have gone out and captured some wild animals? Would you also care to speculate why, given that I had no idea where I was going, would wish to bring wild animals with me, supposing I had a ready supply in my back garden?”

  The questioner was about to speak again when Madam Great-Piousness intervened.

  “I think Sir MacAdam has answered that question to everyone’s satisfaction. Next question.”

  “Is it true you have refused to fulfil the terms of the Lottery?”

  “In what way?”

  “I have heard that you have refused to meet the President.”

  “Where did you hear that? Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m looking forward to meeting him. I’ve never met a President before so it’ll be a first for both of us as I bet he’s never met an Earthman before.”

  This got a ripple of laughter.

  “But you have refused to be seen in public.” The being was persistent.

  “Again, not true. I’m here, am I not? Actually, this is just a trivee projection and I’m really sitting in a luxury apartment on the other side of the world.”

  More laughter.

  “Then what about the tour of Geretimal?” The voice was triumphant.

  “Oh, that? Yes, I regret I’ll be unable to do that, except dressed in a lead suit. I’m very upset about that as I’ve heard there are many great sights worth seeing here.”

  Someone bought it. “A lead suit?”

  “I’m afraid so. Your sun emits a high degree of x-rays and, unfortunately, humans are allergic to x-rays. The results are inevitable fatal. I will not be doing any sunbathing, I’m afraid.”

  As soon as I’d said it I wondered if I had been wise. Perhaps I was being paranoid but I was convinced my life was in a degree of danger. I hoped I hadn’t just signed my death warrant.

  “It is with great regret that we’ve had to cancel the tour of Geretimal,” Madam Great-Piousness interjected smoothly. “However, I’m sure you’ll agree that the health of our Winner is of paramount importance.”

  There were some more general questions then another lulu.

  “Is it true you have threatened physical violence to a number of Lottery representatives?”

  “A being should never make threats he isn’t prepared to back up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that, as I’m not prepared to commit physical violence on another being unless that being is committing violence on me, I wouldn’t make empty threats.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “And I don’t intend to answer it. It wasn’t a question anyway, it was a slur on my character.” I was getting just a little annoyed.

  “But…” the questioner started again.

  “Look, if you have a genuine question like ‘did I threaten being X on such-an-such a day, I’ll give you an answer. It will be ‘no’, but I’ll give it anyway. Next question.”

  There were no more questions of any substance. Madam Great-Piousness announced the final question.

  “Where will your first trip in your new spaceship be?”

  I grinned. “I’d love to say ‘Earth’. It’d be wonderful to drop from the skies into my back garden and shout ‘hey, everybody, look what I’ve just won’. However, as the galaxy doesn’t exist in the eyes of my fellow men, it’s probably not a good idea. I don’t know. Where do you recommend?”

  “Altair’s nice at this time of year,” some wag called out.

  “Thank you, Sirs and Madams,” Madam Great-Piousness said. “We must end it there as Sir Crawford has a luncheon appointment with the President.”

  They flapped their hands and went ‘hub, hub, hub’. I slipped from the stool and bowed. At a nod from Madam Great-Piousness, I started for the door, pausing to wave before I left. Safely away from the media, I heaved a great sigh.

  “I’m bushed. I could sleep for a week,” I said.

  “No such luck. You did fine out there.”

  “It was a bit daunting.”

  “I can imagine. You really didn’t sound like you came from a backward planet.”

  I gave a shark’s grin. “Backward we may be but our paparazzi could give your guys a run for their money. By the way, I expected them all to start babbling questions at once. That's what would have happened at a press conference at home.”

  “Translators,” she grinned.

  “Huh?”

  “The translators can’t cope with too many languages at once. If they’d all started together, our translators would have ceased functioning. They had to build an automatic cut-out into them. The early models didn’t have one. The first time there was an overload, an argument after a traffic accident I believe, the victims had their heads blown off when their translators blew up. Very messy. The Government immediately passed legislation making it compulsory for all translators to have a safety cut-out. Now I have a question for you. What was with these questions about wild animals and threats?”

  I glanced at Honesty-in-Trust who nodded briefly.

  “I’m afraid I upset somebody on the Commission.”

  “You mean it was a set-up?”

  “I suspect so.”

  “But… but that's unthinkable. You’re the Lottery Winner.”

  “I’m also an uncivilised barbarian,” I grinned.

  “That you are not. However, I’m detaining you from your next appointment.”

  “Lunch with the President? Whoopee-doo.”

  She laughed. “He’s not too bad once you get to know him. Ask him about druunsbak racing and look interested for half-an-hour and he’ll be your friend for life. It’s his passion.”

  “Druunsbak racing?”

  “I’ll explain,” Honesty-in-Trust said. He indicated a minion who was desperately trying to catch our attention.

  “Oh, right. I suppose I’d better go. It’s been a pleasure to meet you Madam Great-Piousness.”

  “It’s been an honour to meet you, Sir MacAdam. May the gods favour you.”

  Chapter 6

  More corridors, more lifts. I was glad we had a guide. On the way Honesty-in-Trust explained about druunsbak racing. The druunsbak was a… well, I pictured one of the smaller carnivorous dinosaurs, something like a velociraptor only bigger. It was a native of Mraaskiint, one of the Capellan Theocracy’s satellite systems and the President’s home world. Druunsbaks were fast and dangerous but, if reared in captivity could be trained to race and accept a rider on their backs. They were expensive to breed, train and maintain so druunsbak racing was a rich man’s sport. It was very popular on Mraaskiint with huge crowds flocking to the regular race meetings and large sums of money exchanging hands in the form of wagers; the natives of Mraaskiint being even more addicted to gambling than the Chinese. There was fierce competition between the various owners to breed ever faster and stronger animals and a regular winner could command vast fees for stud duties. Unfortunately, the breeding habits of the druunsbak were not conducive to controlled breeding, the female’s eggs being fertilised outside the womb by any male who happened along so success was as much a
matter of luck as planning. Despite this, detailed records of the supposed ancestry of every racing druunsbak were maintained. I found it all somewhat amusing for it reminded me of the snobbery evident in the breeders of race horses or pedigree cats and dogs.

  If this was an informal lunch, I hated to think what a formal one must be like. We were ushered into an ante-room in which were gathered about fifty resplendently-dressed beings. They didn’t sport tiaras or evening dress but they exuded wealth and class. They stood around in small groups making polite small-talk clutching glasses, flagons and goblets. Interspersed among them were another group of, mostly, Capellans. They were all dressed in bright green and had funny-looking hats on their heads. I gathered they were the servers. In one corner were five Capellans who stood out dramatically from the crowd for they were dressed in maroon robes with loose blue tabards on top. Their hair was long and elaborately curled and interwoven with gold and green filigree.

  “The clergy,” Honesty-in-Trust whispered.

  “How do I address them?”

  “’Holiness’ is fine.”

  “And the rest?”

  He glanced quickly around. “Sir and Madam should do fine. You’re a barbarian, after all, and won’t be expected to understand the nuances of fine society.”

  “Ugh. Ugh,” I muttered.

  A fussy little man bustled up. He was dressed in the same green as the servers but to a much higher standard and minus the hat. The green did little for his straw-coloured hair and yellow complexion.

  “You are Sir MacAdam, yes, yes?” he said.

  “I am he.”

  “Good. Good. You are late but just in time. Who is this, please?”

  “This is my companion.”

  He stared at Honesty-in-Trust’s pass and nodded reluctantly.

  “Your name, please, Sir? Your attendance was not anticipated not. I must make arrangements, yes, yes.”

  He signalled one of the servers with a delicate flick of his wrist and gave the necessary instructions.

  “Seating will be in about five minutes about.”

  He bustled off. A server presented us with one of the ubiquitous pads and asked us to present our ID cards. “To ensure we don’t poison you,” he said.