micro-fiction
It has been raining earlier in the day, but it had cleared up nicely by the evening.
"I hope you don't mind if I continue to call you Alan?" I said. "Is it cliche to assume that your real name is unpronounceable by humans?"
"Not unpronounceable, no. Just... long. Alan's fine. We've adopted human names here for years anyway."
Alan was one of my oldest friends... known him for years. Not as well as I'd thought, when out of the blue, he'd revealed, rather convincingly, that he was from a lot farther away then Sausalito. The things you learn about your friends when you're drunk and being mugged, I suppose.
"Why reveal it to me? I mean, I was so hammered that you probably could have dealt with things without me really noticing, but..."
"But I waited until you were sober afterwards and showed you again." Alan sipped the scotch and soda I had fixed for him. "Well, I suppose because you're one of the few here on Earth who really gets it."
At my puzzled look, he continued. "Look, I could have revealed myself... any of us scouts could have revealed ourselves to politicians, or other figures of authority. What would that get us?"
"Probably dissected or vivisected at Area 51." I mused.
"Probably. Although that's just a front these days."
"And if we revealed ourselves to the common man, well, you get the alien abduction stories that come out of places like Alabama." Alan grinned "Not that it doesn't happen... even we scouts get bored. But truly revealing ourselves, as aliens, as proof that life exists elsewhere in the universe... we do it rarely to cultures at your level of... " he paused for the right words "Your level of cultural acceptance. Hell, in some ways, this would have been easier during the sixties."
"But you, Chris, you really get it."
"But I'm just a science-fiction writer. Not even a great one. I mean, hell, fifty years from now, people will still be reading Heinlein or Asimov or Farmer... hell, Bradbury, Clarke and Ellison too. But my stuff..."
"You're one of a handful of writers who gets the idea that alien life doesn't have to be bent on destruction, or conquest, or so above humanity that they don't consider them worth keeping around. You write about aliens that have truly different viewpoints, but not so different that they can't understand humanity as equally valid."
"On the dozens of worlds that my race has scouts on... there's a handful of beings on each world that gets it. Whose writings, or whatever they use, shows a viewpoint that stands above the others. A viewpoint worth sharing."
"So, you saved me from that mugger, so I could write more books?"
"No. I saved you from that mugger because we're friends."
----------------------------------------------
Author's note - Nope, no real idea where this came from. Although I have read some of Spider Robinson's stuff recently. I just liked the idea of an alien kicking back on a porch with a drink and shooting the shit with a human friend. (Before I changed it to scotch and soda, it was mint juleps, though.)
This entry was originally posted at yah -> (http://kierthos.dreamwidth.org/1022687.html).
You can comment here or there.
"I hope you don't mind if I continue to call you Alan?" I said. "Is it cliche to assume that your real name is unpronounceable by humans?"
"Not unpronounceable, no. Just... long. Alan's fine. We've adopted human names here for years anyway."
Alan was one of my oldest friends... known him for years. Not as well as I'd thought, when out of the blue, he'd revealed, rather convincingly, that he was from a lot farther away then Sausalito. The things you learn about your friends when you're drunk and being mugged, I suppose.
"Why reveal it to me? I mean, I was so hammered that you probably could have dealt with things without me really noticing, but..."
"But I waited until you were sober afterwards and showed you again." Alan sipped the scotch and soda I had fixed for him. "Well, I suppose because you're one of the few here on Earth who really gets it."
At my puzzled look, he continued. "Look, I could have revealed myself... any of us scouts could have revealed ourselves to politicians, or other figures of authority. What would that get us?"
"Probably dissected or vivisected at Area 51." I mused.
"Probably. Although that's just a front these days."
"And if we revealed ourselves to the common man, well, you get the alien abduction stories that come out of places like Alabama." Alan grinned "Not that it doesn't happen... even we scouts get bored. But truly revealing ourselves, as aliens, as proof that life exists elsewhere in the universe... we do it rarely to cultures at your level of... " he paused for the right words "Your level of cultural acceptance. Hell, in some ways, this would have been easier during the sixties."
"But you, Chris, you really get it."
"But I'm just a science-fiction writer. Not even a great one. I mean, hell, fifty years from now, people will still be reading Heinlein or Asimov or Farmer... hell, Bradbury, Clarke and Ellison too. But my stuff..."
"You're one of a handful of writers who gets the idea that alien life doesn't have to be bent on destruction, or conquest, or so above humanity that they don't consider them worth keeping around. You write about aliens that have truly different viewpoints, but not so different that they can't understand humanity as equally valid."
"On the dozens of worlds that my race has scouts on... there's a handful of beings on each world that gets it. Whose writings, or whatever they use, shows a viewpoint that stands above the others. A viewpoint worth sharing."
"So, you saved me from that mugger, so I could write more books?"
"No. I saved you from that mugger because we're friends."
----------------------------------------------
Author's note - Nope, no real idea where this came from. Although I have read some of Spider Robinson's stuff recently. I just liked the idea of an alien kicking back on a porch with a drink and shooting the shit with a human friend. (Before I changed it to scotch and soda, it was mint juleps, though.)
This entry was originally posted at yah -> (http://kierthos.dreamwidth.org/1022687.html).
You can comment here or there.