David Larson - The Myth of the Anal Probe

“Just how,” Gary said, uncoupling Bob’s train of thought, “is bringing a lunatic back to a peaceful and happy planet going to fix this? Do we just turn him loose and hope that he doesn’t hurt anyone? Do we parade him around like one of earth’s monkeys in a zoo for people to gape at?”

“Not at all,” Bob started.

“Not at all is the perfect answer,” Gary said, cutting Bob off again. “Have you been paying the least bit of attention to what’s going on down there?” Gary nearly leapt out of the commander’s chair as he thrust his finger at the floor for emphasis. “Those people are, at best, clinically insane. Every single day they kill each other in the most heinous ways you can imagine. They fight, and claw, and cheat to gain some kind of unattainable foot hold over everyone and anyone.

“They have – from the beginning of time I might add – started wars that killed, maimed, and displaced fellow humans, not to mention destroying everything they built. Those self-inflicted atrocities set back progress hundreds if not thousands of years every time they did it. Then they sit around wringing their hands like the wars and the killings were completely out of their control.

“Hell Bob,” Gary went on in his unstoppable rant, “these clowns are so certain that war, and the death and the pestilence it gives birth to are so out of their hands that they wrote page after page in their holiest of books explaining that there will ALWAYS be war!

“These people,” Gary continued, jabbing his index finger at the floor again, “ these people legislate – let that sink in – they actually legislate morality. Who you can marry, and who you can’t. Hell, the simple fact that a union between two people has to be sanctioned by the state to be recognized should tell you everything you need to know about how backwards these, these things are.

“They actually have to have laws Bob – actual written down laws that carry a punishment, to tell them they shouldn’t have sex with children, or discriminate against each other, or get drunk and imperil other people’s lives with cars!

“They have laws against medicinal herbs, and laws protecting corporations that produce far worse. They have laws that tell them they have to wear head protection on a freaking motorcycle, Bob. What the hell does that tell you?

“Some of them have laws that allow the stoning women, some have laws that include beheading as an accepted punishment. They ELECTROCUTE each other Bob. E L E C T R O C U T E. Why? Because that person killed someone. So they have kill them, of course. That makes perfect sense now doesn’t it?”

“But…” Bob started and was cut off again.

“These people ,” Gary cut in, “have imaginary lines that they are afraid to cross. And just in case some of them get bold, they have laws that limit crossing of these lines. They have lines between houses, between cities, between states, and between countries. The bigger the line on a map the harder it is to cross. It’s not a real, physical line Bob. Do you get that? These people are hamstrung against fellowshipping with other fellow people by a line drawn on a map ! They pledge to die for a flag Bob… for a freaking flag! How many thousands of years has it been since that unfortunate incident with Mike and Gloria? How many?”

Bob shrugged, simply waiting for Gary to run down.

“A lot!” Gary said as his face turned purple. “A lot! And even after that many thousands of years they still can’t communicate across the major lines they’ve drawn BECAUSE THEY DON’T SPEAK THE SAME LANGUAGE! Do you get that Bob? Do you? They can’t even speak to each other without an interpreter. How absolutely pathetic is that? I can go on Bob… oh I can certainly go on. The myth of money, governments, sexuality, religion. Jesus Bob, RELIGION! Don’t you see it?”

“You do see the irony in that last statement… right?” Bob asked smiling.

“I could stuff you through an airlock right now,” Gary said as he wound down, “and never think twice about it.”

“Not very enlightened of you,” Bob said smiling. “That might hurt a little.”

Gary simply glared at him.

“Listen,” Bob said. “I know that everything you’re saying is true. But, when we get back from one of these trips they don’t simply turn us loose on humanity. They quarantine us so we have time to decompress and get back to our normal selves. We all know that this type of insanity is contagious. Just as contagious as any other virus, and it could destroy our civilization. Maybe the opposite could be true also. Maybe if we take him with us, quarantine the shit out of him, then let him out to see how we live he might be able to make a difference. We’d keep him under constant surveillance, and only allow him to move around with specifically trained escorts.”

“I don’t know Bob, this could be devastating on one hand,” Gary said “but on the other hand it could be just what we’ve been lacking.”

“You just sounded like Tevye,” Bob said smiling.

“On one hand,” Bob continued in a gravely Jewish accent “What would the life of a tailor be? On the other hand, he’s an honest hard worker.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Gary asked impatiently.

“Nothing,” Bob said.

“I’ll have a conference call with the elders back home and get back to you,” Gary said as he slumped back in his chair.

“Cool,” Bob said as he turned to walk away.

Then as he got to the door Bob turned, threw his hands in the air and yelled “Le Chaim!” Then he turned, jabbed one finger into the air and started singing “to life, to life, Le Chaim!”

“Disappear,” Gary said darkly.

“Za vashe zdorovie,” Bob continued singing with both hands in the air, as he spun in circles through the door and out into the hall.

Gary could still hear him singing and dancing down the hallway as the door whooshed shut. “Heaven bless you both, na zdrovie…”

“Sometimes I truly hate him,” Gary mumbled to himself, “but he sure can sing.”

Mike sat cross-legged in the gleaming white room. It appeared that he was levitating about two feet off the ground. He was actually surprised that he was beginning to get used to the idea. All he had to do was think of sitting or lying down and there seemed to be a surface of the exact right height underneath him. It was refreshing.

Mike heard the now unmistakable soft whoosh of a door opening behind him and stood to face his company.

“Good news ole’ buddy.” Bob said. “It looks like you’re going for a little deep space ride.”

“So they bought it?” Mike asked absently.

“Bought it?” Bob said. “That’s an odd way to put it.”

“Tell me,” Mike said staring blankly at the floor “who’s your interior decorator.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bob “You don’t like the digs?”

“I guess if you’re really, really, into white,” Mike answered “with no corners, edges or… basically anything other than whatever that thing is in the middle of the floor.” He was pointing at a silver needle like spike that protruded about a foot out of the floor in the middle of the room.

“You mean the potted flowers?” Bob asked.

“Potted what?” Mike looked at him incredulously.

“Oh man,” Bob said snapping his fingers. “I never even thought about that. You don’t see anything do you?”

“Just that,” Mike said still pointing at the spike.

“See, we never had anyone up here long enough to even think to ask how they perceived the rooms,” Bob said. “We’re all used to the implants.”

“Implants?” Mike asked. “I thought you said they were potted plants.”