The Interstellar Space Vessel Livingston sat on the surface of Ragno 6, its sleek metal hull glistening in the brilliant sunshine emanating from the planet’s dual suns. Inside, Salvadore Cretch, the chief operating officer of The Planetary Humanitarian Corporation, waited with a small gathering of dignitaries and members of the press. Standing immediately next to Cretch was Colonel Armond Natrom, the sector commander for this region of space.
“Enjoy the air-conditioning while you have it,” teased Cretch. “Once we get outside, it’s going to be hotter than an old lady drawing to an inside straight. This planet is a real hellhole.”
Before Natrom could reply, a reporter who happened to be standing within earshot asked, “Can I quote you on that?”
“Of course not,” replied Cretch. “We are on a mission to improve the lives of these poor souls. That’s all I am really concerned with. By the way, tell your videographer to be sure to keep me in the frame while I’m making the presentation. It’s okay to get some shots of the native’s joyful expressions, but you can do that with me in the picture.”
“I must say,” said Natrom, “I am quite impressed that you and your people as so willing to donate medicines, food, and other necessities to some of the less developed worlds in this sector.”
“Thank you,” responded Cretch. “I appreciate you admiring me. Be sure to work that into your speech during the ceremony.”
A young woman, Cretch’s assistant, pushed her way through the crowd until she was next to her boss. “Sir,” she said, “the captain says that he is ready to open the doors.
“Excellent.” Cretch addressed the group waiting to make their way down the ramp. “Remember, I go first. The reporters will follow behind me and then the rest of you. When we get to the bottom, I want everyone to spread out to the side, so the Ragnans get a good view of my men unloading our generous donations.”
A loud crack, followed by an equally noisy hissing sound, indicated that the door was opening. The entire wall in front of Cretch gave way and folded outward. It swung down until the top of the wall reached the ground below. Handrails pivoted upward from hidden alcoves on either side of the ramp, which had just a few moments earlier been a wall.
A huge smile appeared on Cretch’s face, and he began walking down the ramp, waving at the contingent of aliens waiting below.
“Try not to be freaked out by their looks,” he said to Colonel Natrom. “They are ugly little buggers.”
Natrom turned his gaze to the bottom of the ramp. Cretch was not exaggerating. Natrom had seen pictures of the Ragnans when he was first assigned to this sector and briefed on the many different species that resided within his jurisdiction. Those images, however, had not really done the Ragnans justice.
The creatures stood barely three feet tall and were pencil-thin. Natrom estimated that he’d have no difficulty picking up a half dozen of the aliens with one arm. Had the Ragnans been an aggressive warrior world, they would have been easily defeated. Unfortunately, the Ragnans were not fighters but poor, desolate farmers. The Colonel wondered if their grayish brown skin color was natural or if they were caked in dirt.
When Cretch and Natrom reached the bottom of the ramp, three Ragnans moved forward, separating themselves from the hundreds who waited behind.
In turn, each of the Ragnan representatives shook Cretch’s hand with one of their three-fingered paws. After greeting Cretch in the usual human manner, they then welcomed him by performing the traditional Ragnan greeting, picking up a handful of loose soil and tossing it at him. Luckily for Cretch, who stood over six feet tall, the dirt did little more than bounce off his jacket.
Cretch was the first to speak. He did so very slowly and carefully. “Colonel Natrom, let me introduce you to Glork, Myro, and Tomat, the leaders of the Ragnans.”
The Ragnons exchanged greetings with Natrom in much the same manner they had with Cretch, although Tomat’s handful of dirt actually made it to Natrom’s face.
Rubbing his eyes, Natrom said, “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He mimicked Cretch’s slow delivery.
“The pleasure is all ours,” replied Glork, with a much quicker pace and no discernible accent.
“You speak English very well,” commented Natrom.
“That’s part of our humanitarian service,” explained Cretch. “My representatives have spent a great deal of time working with the Ragnans.” He turned to the triad of aliens. “Isn’t that right?” His speech once again slowed and heavily enunciated.
“We picked up your language fairly easily,” said Myro. “It’s quite similar to . . .”
“We worked very hard,” interrupted Glork. “We want to honor Earthlings for their generosity.”
“Speaking of generosity,” said Cretch, turning to the crowd behind him on the ramp. He frantically gestured for everyone to move to the side.
“Let me present to the people of Ragno 6 our generous donations.”
From somewhere on the ship, a fanfare sounded. Then, one by one, Planetary Humanitarian Corportation representatives emerged from the vessel, carrying large crates and boxes.
“We have brought you some wonderful things,” announced Cretch. “First, we have enough breakfast cereal to feed your people for six weeks. Unfortunately, we didn’t bring any milk, but you’ll find it tastes just as good dry.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Cretch,” said Glork.
Cretch bent over and leaned close to Glork, hoping to give the videographer a good angle of the two of them.
“Next,” continued Cretch, “we have twenty cases of low-dose aspirin. You will find this very helpful in relieving the aches and pains that come with the hard physical labor that you do.”
“That’s nice,” said Myro, “but wouldn’t some machinery be . . .”
“We are extremely grateful,” interjected Glork.
“Next, we have fifty rolls of shag carpeting.”
“Yippee,” said Tomat.
“But, best of all,” began Cretch before pausing slightly to build the excitement. “We have a collection of video discs featuring both educational and entertainment material. We have gifted you with over a thousand hours of material; everything from Sesame Street to The Three Stooges.”
“Um,” said Glork. “We don’t have anything to play your discs on.”
“Oh, but that’s where it gets better. We also have fifty video disc players.”
“How are we supposed to power the disc players? We do not have the thing you call electricity.”
“Each of the fifty video players comes with a battery pack good for ten hours of play.”
“But,” began Myro, “fifty players at ten hours each will only give . . .”
“We are eternally grateful to you and your people,” said Glork.
“We also have assorted boxes of t-shirts proclaiming the loser of the Super Bowl as world champions, some oddly colored socks, cookies that are slightly past their sell-by date, and a half-ton of grass seed.”
“Your generosity is too much,” said Glork. “The people of Ragno cannot truly repay you, but we, too, have an offering.” The little alien waved his arms above his head and let out a high-pitched whistle. The Ragnan crowd parted, and a makeshift cart filled with hundreds of small pink potted flowers was rolled into position in front of the spaceship.
“These are Ruga plants,” explained Glork. “They are extremely beautiful . . .”
“They don’t look that special to me,” said Cretch.
Undaunted, Glork continued, “and hardy. They can survive the harshest environments. Best of all, the leaves can be used to brew a flavorful and medicinal tea. Please take these back to your planet and share them amongst your race.”
“Sure, uh, thanks,” said Cretch. “But first, we need to hold a ceremony and have a few photo-ops.”
***
When the Earthlings finally climbed onto their spaceship and departed, the Ragnans let out a sigh of relief.
“I thought they’d never leave,” said Myro in their native tongue.
“We had to let them have their moment,” shrugged Glork, also speaking Ragnanian. The trio walked over to a nearby hut and went inside. Tomat pressed his hand up against a crude drawing on the wall, and an opening appeared in the floor. The gap was soon filled by a large cylinder which opened on one side. The Ragnans entered. “Level 5,” proclaimed Glork. The side of the cylinder closed, and it began to descend.
“Why don’t we just tell them that the Ruga plant cures the disease they call cancer?” asked Myra.
“I think the Earthlings are a very proud race. They will think that the discovery is theirs alone.”
“I think they are more than proud,” said Tomat. “I think they border on arrogance.”
“That may be true of Mr. Cretch, but we cannot judge an entire race by one representative. They tried to do good by us, misguided as they are.”
The cylinder stopped, and once again the side opened, revealing a large chamber filled with computers and other super-high-tech gadgetry.
“What should we do with the junk they gave us?” asked Myra.
“The usual,” replied Glork. “Put it in the storage vault with the stuff the other races have donated to us. Except . . . leave me one of the video disc players. I am rather intrigued by the Three Stooges.”
12/15/2025
12:36:43 PM