David Larson - The Myth of the Anal Probe

“We don’t have weapons on this planet Mike,” Bob said. “We have tools that you clowns would use for weapons… but we don’t have weapons.”

“So what, we just walk in her office and say hey?”

“Pretty much,” Bob said as he politely smiled and waved to a neatly dressed woman walking past.

“That was the head of our news department,” Bob said off-handedly.

“Wait, the government controls all your news?” Mike asked. “I guess you people really are communists.”

Bob stopped walking and turned to Mike. “You really need to rethink your idea of ‘government’ buddy,” he said. “We don’t necessarily ‘govern’ here. We deal more on the logistical end of things. This is a big planet here and somethings need to be coordinated. I’ll let Serilda explain most of that, but remember we are talking about the planet here. It might be easy for you to assume we’re talking about this ‘country’ or this ‘province’ but this is the way the whole shittin’ shootin’ match works.”

“Good point,” Mike said, “you’re telling me that this simple two-story building contains the government, or ‘controlling authority’ or whatever for the entire planet?”

“Like I said,” Bob answered, “that, in a very tiny uniformed nutshell is about it. But seriously partner you need to get your head out of the ‘government,’ ‘rule,’ ‘control,’ and ‘law’ areas. We really don’t have… or want I might add, anything the even comes close to translating to that here.”

“I’m getting that,” Mike said, “while at the same time I’m not getting that at all.”

“So do we have to make an appointment,” Mike said, “or has that already been done?”

“Appointment for what?” Bob asked.

“To see the queen, or prime minister, or president, or whatever title she has that is going to be pretty much meaningless to me.”

“Look,” Bob said making sure he was looking directly into Mike’s eyes, “we don’t have titles here, and we don’t have ornate monuments to our countries virility from which we control the population. Like I said, I’ll let Serilda explain all of that to you. As for an appointment, Serilda pretty much has an open-door policy. We simply walk into her office and say hello.”

“And she’s the one in charge of ALL this.” Mike said blankly.

“This is going to take some time isn’t it,” Bob said. Then he added in a high screechy voice, as he rubbed his hands together, “These things need to be handled delicately.” Then he turned and made a sweeping motion at the doors, “now fly, FLY!”

“You’re a dick,” Mike said.

Bob and Mike walked through the open door, and into a moderate-sized office. On one wall was a floor to ceiling bookshelf that surprisingly was only about half full of books. The rest of it contained various forms of plant life growing in beautifully crafted clay pots. Opposite to that wall was a floor to ceiling window with, what on Earth would be an amazing view, but here just more of the same thing. Mike noted with fleeting sadness that he was already viewing the sight of a large, bright red tree interspersed with yellow flowers, that were in turn being visited by bright flamboyantly-feathered hummingbirds the size of beagles as an everyday occurrence.

At the desk sat a woman, possibly in her late thirties or early forties. Her red hair was pulled back into an all business ponytail that curled back from behind her head and rested gently over her right shoulder. She was wearing what appeared to be a raw silk shirt, although Mike was pretty sure it was something entirely different. She absently tapped the end of a pen on a sheet of paper she was examining. The Stones ‘Gimmie Shelter’ was softly playing in the background.

“Hey Serilda,” Bob said as he stepped into the office,

She stopped the tapping and looked up from the paper, “Hey Bob,” she said.

“Awesome tunes,” Bob said pointing to the ceiling.

“Thanks,” Serilda said, “I put it up to make our guest feel more at home.”

She stood up from behind the desk and Mike could see she was wearing what looked like black Viet Cong pajama pants.

She smiled at Mike. “Welcome Mike,” she said, “why don’t we move into the conference room, so we can be more comfortable.”

Serilda motioned both men into an adjoining room. As she walked out from behind the desk Mike noticed that she was wearing sandals. He also noted that he hadn’t seen one single piece of jewelry or a watch on anyone since he had been ‘abducted’.

“I guess it’s all about comfort here,” he thought absently.

The Stones melted into ‘Baba O’Riley’ by The Who.

Serilda passed her hand toward a pair of comfortable looking chairs inviting them to sit, and she sat in an identical one across from them.

“How are you finding your stay here so far Mike?” she asked. “Comfortable I hope.”

“Very much so,” Mike said smiling. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” he added.

Serilda smiled broadly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“I had an entire presentation ready to give you when I first learned that you were on your way here,” She said pleasantly, “but I think it would be better to just start right off answering whatever questions you might have.”

“Hey,” Mike said, “thanks. Let’s start off with your title. What is it that you actually are… or for that matter… do.”

The music melted into CCR and ‘Suzie-Q.’

Serilda looked at the ceiling. “Would you mind terribly if we were to cancel the music? I find it a little distracting,” she said.

“Sure,” Mike said.

Fogerty fell silent.

“I, for the lack of a better word, am a facilitator,” She said.

“Yeah,” Mike said “I got that from Bob over here. I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that when I asked him who was in charge, he tells me it’s the planet’s ‘facilitator’.”

“The explanation of that is pretty complex Mike,” Serilda said. “On your planet there is not one segment of society that doesn’t have some type of law and accompanying leader. No matter if it’s a block captain, or tribal elder or national president, king, or despot. We have an elder group here, but their entire reason for being is to provide guidance to our research teams operating the region you identify as Earth.”

“Teams?” Mike said. There’s more than one?

“Well, yes,” she said, “We have quite a mess that seems to just be getting messier by the day out there.”

“At any rate,” Serilda went on, “Here, for all practical purposes, we have no laws. Hence we have no real need for a dedicated group to enforce/enact these laws.”

“No laws at all?” Mike asked wide eyed.

“No,” Serilda said, “but I’ll get more into that in a minute.”

“You see, when you have a species that realizes its own intellect, but has no natural intellectual boundaries you have a real mess on your hands. Then add a serious dose of greed, jealousy, and unfortunately rage, and that problem is almost uncontrollable.

“Let’s say you were locked up in an institution that houses people that slam their heads into things for no apparent reason, knocking themselves unconscious every day at noon. How do you think you would perceive the one person in that group that simply sits in reverent silence as the midday head smashing begins and hums to themselves?”

Serilda cocked her head in an obvious gesture beckoning Mike to answer.

“I get your point,” he finally said “But not everyone on Earth is affected the same way. We’re not all head smashers. In fact, we do hospitalize people that have serious afflictions.”