The Archfornicator of Canterbury

86 Milking the occasion

The final list of the lucky winners to go to the stars, as approved by selection committee, rested safely in the desk drawer of Intardo Musilicus. Assuming everything went to plan, there wouldn't be a whole lot more for him to do in his role as Alien Ambassador except perhaps wave goodbye to the receding spacecraft. While the list was not public, however, he enjoyed an aura of importance and prestige. The ceremony where the list would be announced was arranged to be held on the square in the afternoon. A crew of men was already busy putting together the stage for the occasion. Musilicus had insisted in reading out the names himself. He liked to think of the ceremony as his private Oscar gala.

The only thing that detracted from his enjoyment of anticipating being broadcast live via satellite TV to millions of homes all over the globe was his mounting hangover. The selection triumvirate had been swift enough in drafting the list. There was some discussion about the relative merits of different ways to do it, but in the end they took the easy way out and chose the winners at random as advertised, except of course for the Bulimian couple. After that, the three started on a sentimental journey down the wine list of Il Cazzo Grandissimo and got in fact quite far before they had to concede defeat at dawn. Luckily, Musilicus was able take the edge off by hitting the liquor cabinet so thoughtfully left behind by the Minister of Yak Herding.

Musilicus didn't know what time it was or, indeed, what planet he was on when Ingrid came to let him know the ceremony was about to begin. He had dozed off, floating into that faraway mystical land of strawberry fields and marshmallow skies, where everything is permitted and nothing is taboo. Heavenly clarions sounded by a metric shitload of cherubim and seraphim signalled the anointment of His Excellency Intardo Musilicus as the Archfornicator of Canterbury. He was just about to fold his wings and perch on a custard apple tree branch, when he was cruelly awakened from his slumber.

"Sir. Wake up Sir."

"nnnggggghhhh"

"Sir. The ceremony is in half an hour. You should get dressed."

Musilicus sat up, stretched and yawned.

"Thank you Ingrid. Bring me my good suit."

The square was, as recently had been the case every single day, full of people. This time, however, there were even more camera crews than usual. Every newsmedia worth its salt wanted a piece of the action. The stage was heavily guarded by the police, most of them in riot gear. Yakwurst sales went through the roof and of course donuts, both glazed and unglazed, were selling like hotcakes. The T-shirt slogans now read "MY PARENTS LEFT WITH THE ALIENS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS T-SHIRT", "COLONISTS DO IT IN OUTER SPACE" and "I'VE GOT A DOUBLE BERTH TICKET TO ORANGE - WANNA SHARE?"

The proceedings started with a horn sextet playing the Bulimian national anthem. The ceremony organisers had thoughtfully arranged for the lyrics to be displayed on a video screen, as it was likely that few of the tourists had heard it before.

How touching, Musilicus thought. If that doesn't bring in foreign tourists en masse then nothing will.

The ceremony was MC'd by the Minister of Porn and Propaganda, who was so anxious to get to the stage that the national anthem had hardly stopped playing when he was already busy tapping the microphone. Once he was satisfied that his speech would be not only transmitted live across the planet, but also caught on videotape for posterity, he began the oration that he had carefully crafted.

"My fellow countrymen. People of the Earth. Today King Square here in downtown Nuevo Saunabad is the scene of an unprecedented historic event. An event that will be forever forged in the hearts and minds of all those who are able to witness it whether it be here in our beautiful Bulimia or everywhere else via the wonder of modern technology that is satellite television. We really must get this TV thing happening in Bulimia as well. But I digress. This historic event is the start of a new era. A beginning of an age when mankind is no longer bound by the shackles of this Earth. And what a beautiful planet it has been. But our future lies in the stars. The entire universe awaits us. It is there to be experienced and explored."

"Our alien visitors have granted us a rare gift. The gift of space travel. The hundred lucky winners whose names the honourable Ambassador Intardo Musilicus will soon announce will be able to go to the stars not only in spirit but in flesh as well. They will join our guests on their trip back to their home world. The world which they call Orange. That strange world which no man has laid eyes on will soon no longer be a mystery to mankind. These one hundred brave people who will share their long journey will be able to see and hear the sights and sounds of a distant world. They will breathe the air of a distant planet."

If there is any, Musilicus realised. Now that is a disturbing thought. I wonder whether anyone bothered to check this little fact with the aliens.

"The advanced technology that our visitors possess is a mystery to us as well. What wonderful method do they employ when hopping from star to star while remaining safe inside their space vessel for thousands of years at one go. We do not know. We are not sufficiently advanced to understand the powers that they have harnessed. It is all the more graceful of our guests that they have extended us this generous gesture. A gesture that will enable mankind to live on even if the light of life is one day extinguished here on Earth. Yes my fellow inhabitants of Earth. We have to be prepared for the eventuality. We cannot let the human race die out."

"We Bulimians are a humble people. Our land is largely not arable. We cannot grow mulberries or aubergines like some of our neighbours do. But we have something else. Something even better than that. Our land is full of grass growing wild. Grass that yaks eat so that they may grow and give us milk. The yaks know that one day they will have to make the ultimate sacrifice. They have to give their lives so that we may enjoy succulent yak steaks and delicious yakwursts and other sundry yak meat products which by the way are available for reasonable prices at the stalls on the far side of King Square."

"And so it is with us humans. We do not eat grass. At least not as a habit. But we too must one day die. Yet even though each one of us will some day kick the bucket. Hang up the apron. Miss the last bus. Even though that is our destiny we have hope. The soldier may fall but the battle rages on. It is our destiny to go to the stars. Mankind will one day conquer the universe. We shall prevail."

He's gone off his rocker, Musilicus thought. I hope he doesn't start outlining any plans to kick the aliens out of Orange. They might not appreciate that.

"My fellow Bulimians. Dear countrymen. And everyone else who is here on King Square with me on this day that will be remembered for generations to come. And of course all of you there in TV land who are joining us in virtual reality. Let us now all join to sing the last verse of the Bulimian national anthem to thank our generous guests for this unique opportunity."

There wasn't a dry eye among the Bulimians who raised their hands in the customary 90 degree angle greeting and wiggled their fingers while singing the anthem. This was indeed a great day for them, if for nothing else, then for the fact that they would no longer have to live in the shadow of the huge donut. Whatever else its significance, it wasn't exactly a sight for sore eyes.

"And now without further ado I will step down and let the honourable Ambassador Intardo Musilicus take the stage to read the winners' list. Let's all give a big hand to Mister Ambassador."

Musilicus climbed on stage to thunderous applause. He had to admit he was quite enjoying himself. Back in the days when he used to be the Archbishop, even if there was someone at the Cathedral when he happened to be giving a sermon, they didn't usually clap their hands.

"Thank you Minister. It is my great honour as the Ambassador for the aliens to now read the names of those who will join our guests on their long trip to the far edge of the universe. I will start off –"

At that moment his voice was drowned out by the commotion on the square. It was obvious that someone or something was making a beeline for the stage through the crowd. Musilicus did not recognise him, but that someone was Professor Drøvel, the High Priest of the Church of the Latter Day Aliens.

Musilicus was not too worried. He knew that the dozen police officers dressed in their best riot uniforms who were guarding the stage would not let any lunatics get through. They would probably whip out their nightsticks and give the perpetrator a good old-fashioned beating. He was a bit annoyed that the television cameras were no longer pointing at him, but instead they were trying to capture the mysterious shape in the crowd.

"...let him through..."

What's this, Musilicus thought. The voices had been silent for a long time. Why would they be piping up now?

"...we want him to speak..."

"No way. This is my show."

In the heat of the moment, Musilicus completely forgot that he was in the middle of a world-wide TV broadcast and that his microphone was still open.

"...he is with us... a friend..."

"Look. I don't know who that guy is but he's not coming up here to mess up the whole ceremony. Tell your pal to bugger off."

"...you will do as we tell you... you are our servant..."

"Your servant. Look pal. I didn't sign up for this gig. And I haven't been paid a single kepock so far. I don't think I would recommend you guys as an employer."

Musilicus was going to continue, but suddenly he could no longer get the words out of his mouth. He felt like something was constricting his throat so he could no longer breathe. He was suffocating. Nobody was paying much attention to him, though, as Professor Drøvel had just reached the perimeter guarded by the police and was about to climb on stage when he was stopped.

"You can't go up there."

"I have an important message for mankind."

The police officer who had confronted the Professor started to say something, but he too felt something grab his throat. Musilicus had already passed out a while ago and collapsed in a heap. The police officer joined him. The other police officers looked like they might have tried to stop the Professor if they hadn't been paralysed. Unstopped, Professor Drøvel climbed on stage. He was dressed in a flowing purple robe that was embroidered with golden threads. The Professor stepped up to the microphone that Musilicus had been using.

"People of the Earth. I have an important announcement to make. You have been deceived. The aliens are trying to deceive you. Do not do what they tell you. Do not go with them."

The square fell silent as everyone pondered what the Professor had just said. Most were expecting the Professor to go on.

"My name is Hans Drøvel. Almost fifty years ago I joined a religious organisation. The organisation is called the Church of the Latter Day Aliens. I am the High Priest of the Church. The secrets of the aliens have been passed within the Church since their first visit on Earth thousands of years ago. I know what the aliens want. I want you all to understand why nobody should get on that spaceship."

"The aliens are an ancient race. Their civilisation is more than a million years older than ours. They started out resembling humans. Evolution has molded them so they no longer bear any relation to us. They are as different from you or I as the Moon is from the Sun. They both share the same sky. Yet there is almost nothing in common between them. One orbits the other. One is a cold piece of rock. The other is a molten fireball."

"Dear friends. The aliens are no longer corporeal. They exist only in thoughts and images within the cold machinery of their spaceship. Their home planet is not and never has been able to support life as we know it. The atmosphere is made of methane gas. It is bombarded by lethal radiation from nearby stars. It is a cold and dark place. Put simply it is as close to Hell as we can possibly imagine."

"The aliens want to experience what it is like to exist in flesh and blood. They can no longer remember the time that they themselves were like us. Their only hope is to invade our bodies and minds and to take them over completely."

"The aliens just want to survive. That's what we as humans want to do as well. But our survival depends on what we do. Not on how clever an illusion we can conjure up to save ourselves from dying of boredom. The aliens want to become parasites. They want to take the volunteers with them to Orange and start a colony within a desolate underground cell only kept barely inhabitable by their mad machinery. A colony whose only purpose is to breed so that there is a constant supply of fresh bodies for their kinsmen. They want to walk and breathe as we do. Their minds in our bodies."

The square had fallen completely silent. There had been rumours about the aliens' ulterior motives, but most people had taken their announcements in good faith. Now they didn't know what to believe. The prophet of Doom on the stage seemed convincing enough. There was no doubt that Professor Drøvel sincerely believed every word he uttered. Whether he was telling the truth was another thing.

Musilicus was starting to regain his mobility. He didn't know what to think. He couldn't understand why the aliens would have helped Drøvel to deliver his message. If Drøvel was telling the truth, surely this would spoil the aliens' plans once and for all. If the aliens were motivated by something other than a desire to get a renewing supply of surrogate bodies, it didn't make any sense for them to let Drøvel say so. I could definitely do with a drink, Musilicus thought.

The Archfornicator of Canterbury by Olli-Pekka Rinta-Koski
is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License.