Just Deserts
by Gordon Pinckheard
The scientists had anticipated that it would be difficult to communicate with aliens, but they were prepared. This was their first, and achieving communication, although difficult, was ultimately straightforward, though time-consuming. They had connected the Alien up to their best technology and led it through volumes of audio and video at high speed. Drugs kept it alert. Now it could converse, and they were proud of what they had achieved.
Its craft had drifted across England, and--before it reached the sea--landed in a field outside Liverpool. It had promptly been cordoned off by the police and Army. The scientists arrived in time to prevent the Alien from being harmed by trigger happy troops and escorted it to a reception area set up in a nearby prison. The Alien's body bore the marks of the tumultuous entry into Earth's atmosphere; portions of its surface skin were torn away, its limbs severely damaged. It was secured in a cell, doctors did what they could for its wounds, and it was connected to the teach-to-talk devices.
An interrogator debriefed the Alien in an interview room, his colleagues watching through the one-way mirror and video links.
"Where are you from?"
The Alien replied: "We call our planet Home, I do not know what you call it."
"Okay, we'll bring in some astronomers later. We'll work it out together. How long were you traveling?"
"A very long time. If I had stayed awake, it would have been most of my existence. But I slept a lot of the time. I awoke before the landing."
"So you hibernate? Okay. Why did you land on Earth? This planet?"
"I did not choose the destination."
"You weren't kept informed by your management team? Surprising. Nonetheless, you have traveled between planets, between solar systems! We have so much to learn from you. We too want to explore beyond our star as you have done."
"Why do you want to leave your planet? What do you seek? Can you hibernate? The journey is very boring."
