Posted by AlOmega on December 16, 2003 at 12:59:43:
Major Morgan hated Arizona - especially in the when the sun of summer beat all the sweat out of you. Better to be at the fort rather than on patrol. Better to be in charge also. But this was something he had to see to personally. A dust devil, marking the sixty-three troupers’ blue uniforms with more dirt, evaporated as if it never had existed. He never had grown used to the heat of the place - possibly because he had been born in Canada in 1855.
The major called a halt to the column and gestured for the civilian who had brought them the original message.
“How much farther, Kyle. I wasn’t intending to travel more than a few miles and now we’re over a day out.”
“They’re up in the mountains yonder, Major. And you’re lucky I showed up and seed him - me and my old burro that is. We was prospecting when we saw that thar flying thing land. And… Well, you’ll seed what I seed when ya gets there. Nuttin’ left of the flying thing. Only got that funny looking’ guy. Figure its gotta be a guy. Not sure. You’ll be a-telling’ me when ya meets him in ’bout half n hour.”
Major Morgan took that into account when he looked back at his men. They were mostly dirty rather than tired. And if what he suspected had actually occurred, they - and he - might be seeing Washington before long. Better here than in Big Dry Wash, Arizona. As the column moved south, he began musing on the last few years and what the old codger had said before.
Major Morgan had graduated from West Point in 1876. If it hadn’t been for the wounds received from actions against the Apaches resulting in his winning the Congressional Medal of Honor, he would have retired to Washington, D. C. long ago to finish up his military career. This event might actually serve to beat that pathway to that destiny.
The old prospector had wondered into the Fort in August of 1899. He didn’t seem all that excited - probably because he was old and things didn’t seem to change all that much and probably to his mind, things didn’t. However, what the old man had brought was something the Major never expected to see in his lifetime.
It hadn’t been that long since he had read some of the works of Jules Verne as well as that of a new British author, H. G. Wells. It was ironic that he had just finished Wells’ latest, War of the World. Now he was taking column to where some being from another world may have landed. His concern naturally was with the impact such an event would have on the Union but regardless of that, he knew that his life - as well as the lives of everyone in the world - would be changed.
It was nearing dusk when the column came to a halt before a camp with fire and a strange, blue being next to it. The old man removed his saddle and bridle from his burro before introducing the major and other officers to the alien.
“Young gents, might I make them intros to Alstro Zambolt O‘Kort? I started callin’ him Blueboy but he insisted on his whole name. Anyways, I calls him ‘Al‘. Suppose ya can calls him ‘Al’, too.”
The Major, who had already turned his horse over to a trooper, saluted. smartly. “Major Morgan at your service.”
The alien struggled to gain his footing but in frustration, reclined once again. It was evident that just attempting to rise had cost him considerable effort. The Major could also see that this ‘thing’ was downright ugly. It was as if his skin had been turned inside out with the veins on the outside rather than inside. No telling where his arteries were either. He had no neck for his head which had a crest wherefrom grew white and scarlet in irregular patches. The feathery patches extended to his back and arms. It had no teeth nor nostrils. There were purple horn where ears should have been. Morgan wasn’t even sure if it breathed through the hole in its head - the hole that lay just above where the brows of a human would normally be. It seemed that the alien must have originated on a harsh world with less gravity and possibly less light and oxygen. The creature’s chest looked as if it had spent time in high altitudes - say at the top of some mountains.
Again the alien tried to rise before giving up entirely.
“I say ’Greetings’ from my world to yours, Earthman. Majormorgan.”
“Sorry, but the ’Major’ is a title rather than my name. You can call me George. May I call you Al?”
The blue alien’s skin - which seemed to contain scales - changed to puce as he nodded. Apparently the gestures of an alien race was not that dissimilar to a human of Earth.
“By my power as the leading army representative in this area of Arizona, we welcome you. Where do you come from?”
The alien appeared to search the darkening skies and nodded toward a faint star. “There nearly seventy light years away is a planet called Tarel. It is my home world although I have not been there in many a year. We have been waiting for humans to arise for nearly ten years. We are unclear how far you have advanced but we would like to welcome you into the Council of Worlds - that is if you do not object.”
“I’m sorry, sir, that I do not have the authorization to commit my country - let alone my world - to an alliance with yours. However, I can take you to Washington where our Great Father, the President, lives. He can accept for the United States.”
The alien looked disappointed - although how such a facial characteristic could be shown on a face that seemed to be made of leather was impossible to determine.
“Could you tell us of your worlds and what its like where you come from?”
“Of course. There are over a hundred worlds that are members of the Council. There are many kinds of people as well. Different people with differing looks. For example you look positively abhorrent to me. I probably look the same to you.”
A smile played at the corners of Major Morgan’s mouth. “You do indeed. However my men and I have seen worse on campaign. There will be prejudicial people I’m sure but most humans won’t regard you as less than they.”
“Amazing,” said the alien. Then he shook himself and fell over.
Major Morgan was astonished wondering what he had said that had caused the alien to have apparently died.
“Interesting concept, young man,” said the old prospector sitting down next to the blue alien body.
“Oh, indeed we have a race that is part of the Counsel that this simulation mimicked. I find it odd, however, that humans do not have ANY prejudices.”
“YOU!? You’re the alien then?”
“Indeed. And you at least survived the first test. I should suspect your leaders will also.”
“A test?”
“Yes. Long ago we found that many otherwise intelligent people cannot handle the idea that intelligent people exist that doesn’t look like them. As I said, there are many strange and unusual people in the Counsel that a new, emerging race would never tolerate. That we in the Counsel cannot abide. Thus, you have passed the first test and I suspect you’ll pass the next.”
“Are there many people that look like us in this Counsel of Worlds?”
“Indeed there are,” answered the old codger.
“Well that’s a relief. We could of course handle the fact that there are blue creatures of intelligence about the galaxy. But it’s better if people made in the image of God actually rule…”
Just as he said this, the old prospector fell down next to the blue alien.
The major again was astounded.
“Interesting,” said another voice. “I was so sure you would pass the second test,” the voice said again. Looking around, the major realized the ’voice’ was coming from the old prospector’s burro - specifically his jackass.
“I have only one question. What is this ’image of God’ thing?”
AlOmega