Xenotech First Contact Day: A Story of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 0)

by Dave Schroeder

  The aliens were staring out the windows. The chairman knew they’d been observing Earth for many years, but he sensed that this was the first time any of them had ever seen Manhattan from street level.

  “After the press conference, could we see The Lion King?” asked Murriym.

  “I want to see Wicked,” said Jannosh.

  “And I want to see Les Mis,” said Chuck. “Do you hear the people sing,” he began in a strong tenor voice.

  “I could probably buy out the theater for a private showing of Mamma Mia,” said George, quickly.

  “Yeah,” said all three aliens in unison. “That would be great.”

  “I think we need to wait and see how the world reacts to the announcement,” said the chairman.

  “True,” said the Pyr. All three aliens looked subdued.

  Have any of them ever done this before? thought the chairman.

  After fifteen minutes they’d only traveled two long blocks from Park to Sixth Avenue. Then they sat. The intersection was blocked by a truck from Weasel News that insisted it had the right of way to turn south on Sixth when everyone in greater New York knew that avenue was one way north.

  “George?” said the chairman, looking pointedly at his ninety-five thousand dollar Patek Philippe watch.

  “The grid is well and truly locked,” said George. “We’re going to have to walk the last block and a half.”

  “You’re kidding,” said his boss. “We can’t let our guests be seen in public before the press conference.”

  “This is New York,” said George. “No one will give them a second look.”

  The chairman stroked his chin.

  “You’re probably right,” he said. “Would any of you have any problems walking less than a quarter of a mile from here to the hotel?”

  “How far is that in galmets?” asked Jannosh.

  “Seven and a half,” said Murriym.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem for any of us,” said Chuck. “We’re young and healthy members of our respective species.”

  “Everybody out of the car,” said the chairman.

  George went first and helped escort Chuck, Jannosh and Murriym to the sidewalk on the south side of 47th. He took the rear while the chairman led them through the intersection of Sixth and 47th and headed toward Times Square. Every now and then he had to tug on the robes of one of the aliens when they stopped to rubberneck and play the ultimate visitors from out of town. The chairman figured that two men in business suits with three women in traditional Islamic dress might be considered just a couple of brothers from Qatar seeing the Big Apple with their wives. A small, yappy dog tugged an older woman in a stylish pantsuit toward Murriym as it tried to tell the Tigrammath who was in charge on this planet, but a low growl from the seven-foot alien made the dominance hierarchy explicit. George tried to dissuade Chuck from buying a bag of roasted nuts from a street vendor at the corner of 47th and Seventh, then gave in and bought him a bag of candy-coated almonds to take along to the hotel.

  “How many tentacles do you have?” George asked Chuck after the little alien grabbed the bag of almonds and hid it under his robes.

  “As many as I need,” said Chuck.

  “Right,” said George.

  Jannosh didn’t get into any trouble, but he kept stopping to take in all the smells of Times Square with his beard tentacles. Finally they crossed Broadway and reached the hotel. After overcoming the challenge of the aliens learning how to operate a revolving door, they were met by a pair of armed guards who escorted them to the elevators and followed them up to the suite George had booked for Dr. Yu and her family. Two other guards were on duty waiting for them. Before they could enter, a messenger came running down the hallway carrying a large, bulging FedEx Office bag with a folding closure. The guards reached for their weapons but George stopped them before they could draw.

  “This is for me,” George said, taking the bag and handing the messenger a twenty.

  The chairman saw the look on his secretary’s face and smiled. That look meant a pleasant surprise was in store. He knocked on the door.

  “Dr. Yu?”

  “Call me Janet,” she said, opening the door wide. “Come in and meet my family.”

  “Excellent,” said the chairman. All five of them trooped into the roomy luxury suite. The guards maintained their positions outside. George and the chairman introduced themselves and Janet presented her husband, Dr. Anthony Obi, and their three children, Jeanette, Elizabeth and Anthony, Jr., ages 10, 8 and 6. The chairman shook hands with everyone, including the children. Anthony, Jr. shook with a serious look on his face, but stared at the robed aliens as if he could see right through their chadors.

  Dr. Yu was a slim, somewhat worn down Asian woman in her late thirties. She was about five foot seven with short, straight black hair and dark eyes that suggested hidden depths. Her husband was about the same age and three inches taller with short, curly black hair. His dark eyes seemed full of hidden amusement. From his last name and skin color, the chairman guessed he was first or second generation Nigerian. He’d hired a lot of Nigerians with doctorates in math when he was running the bank’s analytics division and recognized his Igbo last name.

  “How did the two of you meet?” he asked.

  “In grad school at Stanford,” said Janet.

  Anthony, Jr. couldn’t stay silent. The three robed figures had pointedly not been introduced and he needed to know who they were right now.

  “Who are they?” he said.

  “Shush,” said his mother and Chuck simultaneously.

  The not-quite-human voice from under the Pyr’s robes did what his mother’s instruction could not. Anthony, Jr. stepped back and hid behind his sisters. He didn’t seem frightened, just confused.

  “Please take off your robes,” said the chairman.

  The alien trio complied. Dr. Yu’s family just stood there, eyes wide, but the first person on Earth to create a congruency didn’t hesitate.

  “Hi! I’m Janet. Pleased to meet you,” she said to the smallest alien.

  “Chuck,” said the little Pyr, extending a flattened tentacle. “I’m honored to meet such a distinguished Terran scientist.”

  “Please tell that to my tenure committee,” said Janet.

  “You’re the reason they’re here, Dr. Yu,” said the chairman. “They say that your wormhole discovery is what made Earth eligible for membership in the Galactic Free Trade Association.”

  “Now I’m the one who’s honored,” said Janet. She looked shaken. “That’s why you’ve hired the armed guards?”

  “You’re going to be a very important person,” said the chairman. “You and your family need to be protected. There are a lot of nuts out there.”

  “Thank you,” said Janet.

  “Excuse me,” said a small voice.

  Anthony, Jr. had found his courage and stepped around his sisters.

  “I’m Anthony,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Chuck.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” said the Pyr, who wasn’t that much taller than the six year old.

  “Are you an E.T.?” asked the boy.

  “An extraterrestrial,” prompted George.

  “I guess I am,” said Chuck. “I’m from a planet a long way from Earth.”

  “Then you should have these,” said Anthony, pulling a handful of Reese’s Pieces of dubious provenance from the pocket of his jeans. “E.T.s like them.”

  “I will treasure them always as a gift between our two species,” said the Pyr, trying out his best flowery diplomatic language.

  “You’re supposed to eat them,” said the boy.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” said his older sister Jeanette.

  “He got them off the floor,” said his other sist
er Elizabeth.

  “It’s the thought that counts,” said Dr. Obi, finding his voice and his manners. “You can keep those as an intercultural exchange artifact, but if you’re going to eat any of them, I’d go with these.” He handed Chuck a small unopened orange bag of the candies that he’d found in a pocket of his jacket. They were his son’s favorite.

  “Thanks,” said Chuck, stowing the loose pieces somewhere on his person. He opened the package and passed out a few of the more sanitary candies to his compatriots.

  “They’re good,” said Murriym.

  “Not as good as chocolate,” said Jannosh.

  “Your gift is also appreciated, Dr. Obi,” cut in Chuck. “Let me introduce my companions.”

  Introductions and species designations were made all around. Elizabeth wanted to touch Jannosh’s beard tentacles and marveled at his bright red skin. Eight was a good age to be fascinated by an alien who looked like Santa Claus, even in April. Jeanette gravitated to Murriym and asked permission to pet the Tigrammath’s fur.

  “Oooo, it’s soft, like a kitten’s,” she said.

  “I use a full body cream rinse every day,” said Murriym.

  Anthony, Jr., pleased to have someone closer to his size to talk to, told Chuck a joke.

  “Why is six afraid of seven?” he said.

  “I have no idea,” said the Pyr, who had the outstanding mathematical talent common to all members of his species. “Is afraid some new algebraic operator?”

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘I don’t know. Why?’” said the boy.

  Chuck played along.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because seven ate nine.”

  The Pyr started to shake and emit high-pitched meeps that frightened the boy at first until he realized the alien was laughing. In fact, Chuck was laughing so hard that moisture began to leak from all three of his eyes and he needed to wipe drool from his mouths with his tentacles.

  “What’s the big deal?” asked the chairman.

  “It’s a numeric pun,” said the Pyr. “Unique in my experience. Number sense is innate to Pyrs, so we just don’t think that way. But once I heard it I thought it was hilarious.”

  “If you say so,” said the chairman.

  “Anthony,” said the Pyr, “if you give me permission to turn the video transcript of your joke into something to sell, I promise that it will go viral on my home world and you will be a very rich little boy.”

  Anthony, Sr. and Janet looked at Chuck.

  “If your parents approve, of course,” said the Pyr, contritely.

  “College fund?” said Dr. Obi to his wife.

  “Works for me,” she said. “But I’ll want to review the contract.”

  “I’ll see to it,” said Chuck.

  “Video transcript?” said George.

  “Have a candy-coated almond,” said Chuck to Anthony, Jr.

  “Can we get down to business,” said the chairman. “We’re running out of time.”

  There was a chorus of assents from the humans and noises that could be interpreted as such from the aliens. Everyone sat down on chairs arranged in a semicircle around the suite’s functional, but not currently functioning fire place, except for the chairman, who stood, and Chuck, who did whatever Pyrs did.

  “George, could you walk us through the schedule, please?” said the chairman.

  George consulted his tablet where he’d been typing at high speed.

  “Certainly, sir. It’s 3:15 now. At 3:40 we will all leave the hotel and head to Times Square, with a discreet security escort.”

  “How are we going to avoid being seen by the media ahead of time?” asked the chairman.

  “I’m getting there, sir,” said George. “At 3:42, five B-list reality television stars will enter Times Square from the south, at 46th and Seventh. They will be pretending to be drunk—at least I hope they will be pretending—and will provide a distraction for the cameras. While the media’s attention is focused elsewhere, we will walk backstage at the north end of Times Square to be in place for the press conference.”

  “Excellent,” said the chairman.

  “That’s what you pay me the big bucks for, sir.” George paused to take a breath, then continued. “At four o’clock, plus thirty seconds for the commentators’ lead ins, you will step up to the podium and deliver your opening words.”

  “Hard copy?”

  “Delivered shortly, sir.”

  “Carry on.”

  “Then you will introduce Dr. Yu and her family. Dr. Obi, if you and your children could stand to the right and let Dr. Yu stand to your left, next to the chairman, that would be great.”

  “No problem,” said Janet and Anthony, Sr.

  “We’d like you to say a few words about your discovery, Janet,” said George. “Please keep them at a level Anthony, Jr. can understand.”

  “Anthony, Jr. can do elementary trigonometry problems and knows how to pronounce the names of more than seventy species of dinosaur,” said Janet.

  “Please keep your remarks at a level that I can understand. And don’t mention anything about our three, uh, guests.”

  “Got it,” said Janet.

  “I took the liberty of preparing some talking points for you,” said George. “Hard copies are being delivered.”

  “Thanks,” said Janet. Then she looked down and realized she was wearing an old pair of jeans and a blue Berkeley sweatshirt. “Wait a second. I can’t go on television dressed like this.”

  “It does make you look like an authentic academic,” said George, “but I’ve got it taken care of.”

  “I trust you,” said Janet. She looked over at her husband and kids who were also dressed rather far toward the casual side of the fashion bell curve. The girls were presentable in complementary Anna and Elsa t-shirts from Frozen, and Anthony, Jr. was wearing a clean t-shirt with dinosaur skeletons on it that they’d bought for him at the American Museum of Natural History yesterday. Her husband might need a wardrobe upgrade, though. He was wearing a black xkcd t-shirt that read “Stand back: I’m going to try Science” and a light jacket. On second thought, she considered, he was just fine.

  “After Janet finishes—you should take five minutes or less—please step back and stand next to your husband.”

  George turned to the chairman.

  “Then it’s time for the big reveal. Make the announcement about our invitation to join the Galactic Free Trade Association, then I’ll send Chuck, Jannosh and Murriym out on stage to your left. Introduce each of them in turn and then let Chuck have the podium. Be sure to pull the steps out so that Chuck will be tall enough to reach the microphone and be seen.”

  George shifted to address the Pyr.

  “You’re up next. Keep it short and sweet. Talk about all the benefits of membership—unlimited energy, the cure for cancer, warp drives—but don’t answer any questions. The chairman is going to introduce you as ‘Chuck,’ not Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, so don’t let that throw you. We’re an informal species.”

  “Does that work for you?” said the chairman.

  “Up to a point,” said Chuck. “I have a slide show.”

  The chairman cringed, but didn’t let it show on his face.

  “That might be better at a later date,” said George.

  The chairman nodded enthusiastically.

  George heard a soft tapping at the door to the suite and stepped into the hall to take a Bloomingdale’s bag from one of the guards and accept a thin manila envelope. He reentered and handed two sheets of paper from the envelope to Chuck and two sheets to Janet. Then he handed the envelope to the chairman, who retreated to one of the suite’s four bathrooms to review his hard copies. Janet pointed at the Bloomingdale’s bag.

&
nbsp; “Is that for me?” she said.

  “I said I’d take care of you,” said George. “I hope I got your sizes right. Go get changed.”

  Janet looked in the bag and smiled, then headed for the adult bedroom and waved for her husband to follow her.

  “I may need some help getting dressed,” she said. Anthony, Sr. followed her and looked at George in a way that said, “You’ve got the kids.”

  George sighed, but rolled with it. He carefully pulled two items out of the FedEx Office bag the messenger had brought earlier and gave one to Murriym and one to Jannosh. He was careful to close and reseal the bag.

  “Time to get dressed for the press conference,” he said.

  “Don’t I get anything?” asked Chuck.

  “You’re the wrong shape,” said George, who noticed the little alien looked hurt. “But I have something special for you.”

  George partially opened the FedEx bag and gave Chuck a quick look inside. The little alien appeared delighted.

  “That’s perfect,” said the Pyr, who was starting to look nervous now that his speech to the people of Earth was getting closer. At least that’s how George interpreted the Pyr shifting a few inches to the left, then to the right, then forward and back again. Either that or he needed to use the bathroom.

  “Do you need an excretion facility?” asked George.

  “No, I’m just nervous,” said Chuck.

  “I’d been meaning to ask you,” said George, “does GaFTA have a flag?”

  “Nothing official,” said Chuck, “we’re too individualistic for that. But we sometimes use a black fabric hanging covered in white stars to celebrate milestones in the history of the Association.”

  “Sounds pretty,” said George. “What do you call it?”

  “The Star Spangled Banner,” said Chuck.

  “Something to think about later,” said George. “You’d better get dressed.”