The Archfornicator of Canterbury

83 Anyone for dinner?

The fax avalanche at the Alien Embassy had died down, as all countries had already chosen their representatives for the Orange colony lottery. Only Switzerland had declined the invitation to take part, preferring to remain neutral in this matter also. Intardo Musilicus wasn't too concerned about the Swiss. They could keep on perfecting the art of making cuckoo clocks for all he cared. His current preoccupation had to do with nursing his hangover, which surprisingly enough was not world class for once. He was also trying to figure out the fisherman's calendar the aliens gave him. He wasn't making too much progress. The door opened and Ingrid came in.

"Here's a summary of the candidates Sir."

She handed him a stack of typewritten sheets stapled together at one corner.

"Thank you Ingrid. Now get me a cup of coffee please."

"Right away Sir."

Ingrid disappeared through the doorway and Musilicus started studying the candidate summary. He didn't really care too much who would get to go. His interest towards the whole matter had considerably waned after he decided to stay behind. Even a postcard saying "We've just arrived, it's lovely, wish you were here, the Colonists" would take more than 25000 years to arrive from Orange. Musilicus doubted he'd be alive by then. He wasn't sure there'd be any humans at all on Earth after that time. If nothing else, the next Ice Age would surely come and wipe away civilisation as we know it. He suddenly realised that that might just be why the aliens returned in the first place. They knew mankind would not survive on Earth for too long and that the only hope for survival would be somewhere else. The only question was: why would they care? It wasn't as if mankind itself seemed to care all that much.

Musilicus shrugged and decided to concentrate on more pressing matters, such as his plan for continued and hopefully increased prosperity. He could always become a management consultant. Being a former Archbishop and soon a former Alien Ambassador, he certainly had the credentials for it. He also had the prerequisite total lack of conscience. On the other hand, management consulting didn't sound like too much fun. Boardrooms and executive summits would probably bore him out of his skull in no time at all. If nothing else, he'd at least try to flog the fisherman's calendar to some Far Eastern electronics company. They'd surely have the knowhow and patience to reverse engineer the gadget. If it really worked as well as the aliens said it would, every fisherman on the globe would have to have one in his pocket. The royalties just might be enough to provide him with a comfortable lifestyle, although he'd probably have to kiss his private Lear Jet dreams goodbye.

Ingrid returned with the coffee. In the same instant, the phone rang.

"Hello."

"Could I speak to the Ambassador please."

"This is he."

"I have the Minister of Porn and Propaganda on line for you. Just a moment."

Musilicus heard a click, and then the familiar voice of Silvio Cagadero.

"My dear friend Mr Ambassador. I hope you are well Sir."

"I am. How can I help you."

"Have you received all the applications. The Crown Prince is anxious to get started."

"I believe we have. Perhaps you can book a cabinet at a suitable restaurant for us. I imagine we'll be able to finalise the list over a nice meal. And port and cigars."

"But of course. I'll ask my secretary to contact you about the dinner reservation. Shall we do it already tonight. Provided it suits the Crown Prince of course."

"I don't see why not. Best not keep the world waiting for too long."

"Indeed. I will see you at dinner then. Good-bye."

"Bye."

This Ambassador gig isn't half bad, Musilicus thought. A free meal is always a free meal.