you understand that fast-breaking news events get priority.”
“I’ll tell you what,” she continued. “Why don’t we offer you time with Patmos, our parrot-prognosticator? Her record is almost as good as Tarsus’ and we can give you a substantial discount.”
Hamish nodded.
“Very well. Lead on.”
As he followed the keeper of animal auguries, Hamish considered the question he might pose-a very different one than Tenskwatawa had sent him to ask.
He would have to simplify the query further, of course, and couch it as a yes-no, either-or choice for the feathered fortuneteller to pick between, opening one labeled box or the other for a tasty treat. In truth, Hamish wasn’t sure he believed in these supposed seers. Most reputable scientists scoffed at the whole idea, attributing their “track record” to statistical flukes. But as long as he was already here…
His subconscious was already ahead of him. Hamish realized this when he found his left hand absently fondling a small case in his pocket, containing a single contaict lens.
Hamish heard a squawking sound ahead, as Dr. Nolan entered a chamber whose walls were covered with drip-veg hangings, lending the place a jungle ambiance.
“Awr. Hi Jill! Hi Jill! Hello-o-o stranger! Awk! Tall! Awk!”
Shifting her weight on a wooden perch, a gray parrot rocked eagerly, ready to get to work, building her moderate, but above-average, score in the Worldwide Predictions Market. Of course she didn’t know about any of that, nor did she care whether her tally of successful forecasts qualified as prophecy, coincidence, or statistical fluke. Perhaps (according to some)
Hamish spent a few minutes refining his paired, yes-no questions, writing them on two slips of paper, then inserting them behind clear labels, covering separate hatches in a wooden cabinet. Then he stood back, still clutching the little container in his pocket, breathing shallowly as his heart raced.
Minutes later, he had his answer, Patmos chuttered happily, fussing her way through devouring a nut. The door she had chosen lay open behind her.
Wordlessly, with barely a nod of thanks, Hamish turned to go.
First order of business? A quiet place to slip on the contaict lens and commune with the people behind it, seeking their help to carry out a desperate, impromptu plan. A plan to rescue the world from diabolic alien invaders.
Hello. My name is Hamish Brookeman, and with this statement I admit and avow to having committed a crime.
First, though, I’m told that I am the 246th most famous person on the planet. But for those of you who still don’t know who I am, here’s my
– that I now confess to be monstrous and wrong.
In my defense, let me say the plot didn’t seem bad, at first. Those behind it appeared sincere, claiming we’d save the world! A world riven by political, military, and ethnic feuds that threatened Armageddon in dozens of ways. A world that’s withered and worn out from ecological neglect and overuse by ten billion ravenous consumers. A world where venerable traditions hang in tatters and every day brings more news of insolent technological “wonders” that might end us all.
Was it still possible to divert lemming-humanity from its doom?
The concept we came up with was simple, having been portrayed in science fiction dramas going all the way back to a classic
How to get all peoples and nations to put down their petty squabbles and unite in common cause? Why, by offering them a
A credible external threat would provoke the goodwill and fellowship that humans always show to other members of their tribe, when confronted by dangerous outsiders. Across history, leaders used this method to rally their subjects.
But how to accomplish it? A lot of ideas that seem elegant, say in a movie, prove impossible to implement, especially by a small and secret cabal. By the time they came to me, the group had already considered the problem, long and hard. They knew better than to try anything too ornate, like forging a complete “alien spaceship,” or even the partial wreckage of one. The world’s scientists and sages would quickly discover telltale signs of Earthly origin, in every alloy and part, down to the distribution of isotopes.
As for the invaders themselves? Well, not even great nations like China, America, or Brazil are so scientifically advanced that they could fake an extraterrestrial being, down to organs, metabolism, and a foreign genome.
But the Group did have one area of advantage.
And that’s where I came in. Who was better qualified to write the back story? The scenario. The characters. Their behaviors and motives. The things they’d say… in order to fool the world with
Of course, by now you all know I’m referring to the Havana Artifact and its collection of “extraterrestrial emissaries.”
And yes, I am hereby claiming, confessing, avowing, and admitting
