Christopher SchutziusThe ship landed in the bougainvillea.
Purple flowers scattered across the patio tiles.
“We were merely passing through,” the voice said. “We found nothing of value.”
“Nothing?” I said. “We have resources. Gold. Rare earths. Art. Music. Philosophy.”
“We did not detect value.”
“Please,” I said. “We’re in trouble. Climate change. Nuclear weapons. Poverty. You can have anything. Land. Resources.”
“We have no need of your land.”
“You can have the whole planet,” I blurted.
Even as I said it, I thought: that’s poor negotiation. I should have offered Washington first. Or Wall Street.
“We could,” the voice said thoughtfully, “use this planet as a launch platform. It would significantly accelerate departure. Approximately half the surface would be scorched.”
“Would that be acceptable?”
“I wouldn’t be authorized to agree to that,” I said quickly.
And then my mind struggled.
The President? No, not the current one.
The British prime minister? There had been several. I’d lost track.
Surely there was someone official. Someone global. Someone sanctioned.
The Secretary-General of the United Nations.
What was his name?
I saw his face in my mind. Or thought I did. A podium. Blue flags. But the name would not arrive.
I felt suddenly fraudulent.
A citizen of the world who could not recall who spoke for it.
The aliens waited.
“Who negotiates for you?” they repeated, growing impatient.
Suddenly, it hit me.
A stadium. A spotlight.
“Bono,” I said.
A pause.
“This is a political leader?”
“He’s influential.”
“Elected?”
“Not exactly.”
“Empowered to authorize planetary immolation?”
I hesitated.
“He’s good at summits.”
Another pause, longer.
“We have reviewed your cultural transmissions,” the voice said. “This Bono appears frequently.”
“He cares,” I said. “About poverty. About debt relief.”
“Does he command armed forces?”
“No.”
“Does he command your economic systems?”
“No.”
“Then why would he speak for you?”
Because he was instantly recognizable.
Because I could spell his name.
Because I had seen him on stages with presidents and kings.
Because I could not remember the name of the man who actually held the title that sounded like it should matter.
I swallowed.
“He represents us.”
“In what capacity?”
I looked at the flattened bougainvillea.
“In aspiration,” I said.
The seam in the ship began to close.
They had seen enough.
I woke before sunrise.
I looked up the name.Next Story →