Subject: Re: A Man's Experiences With The Space People.
From: Matt McIrvin <mmcirvin@world.std.com>
Date: Tue, 20 Jan 1998 01:56:39 GMT

> Good lord.                   X
>                             X X
> They're breeding.            X

The aliens seem friendly and cooperative, have established N₂O₂ atmosphere in the section adjoining my tug, but still refuse to show me what they look like.

Will not tell me how they cracked the human visual cortex. Instruments show no detectable EM or chemical interference, if I can trust my eyes when looking at the instruments. The first-contact reps all still look like my dad, sound like him too. Have told them as politely as I can to cut it out. They politely refuse, say this is important for some reason.

No real progress. They seemed to be mulling over my repeated requests ship-time AM, finally reached some kind of breakthrough and let me back into the breathable-air compartment. Brought multiple microcams, hexaphonic audio, GC-mass spec., remote flash-MRI, cold neutron spectrometer, NaI scint., bioassay. Spent whole morning hauling them through the tunnel.

No dice. My dad's skin split from head to crotch and what came out looked like a bald glowing angel. Give me a break. Instruments revealed nothing of consequence.

Complained, more vociferously this time. Aliens insist that, provided we insist on the program of face-to-face meetings, we are not sufficiently mature as a species to deal with their actual appearance. I explained at length that I'm scientifically trained, open-minded, went to college, don't appreciate transparent God Gambit, realize BEMs are people too, etc., etc. They stand firm.

More of the "maturity" speech, this time from what seems to be a high-level administrator. I think I'm pushing slowly through proper channels. Hard to tell given that I've only got access to this little bubble within the assembly. God only knows what they could be doing back there.

Anyway, I can't believe that there's nothing more to their reluctance to show themselves. It isn't as if I've just come down from the trees. I'm a rationalist. I don't scare easily. They acknowledge these things but don't budge an inch. They all look like angels now.

Now see the aliens' point. Have come to compromise. Recommend further contact via remote video until we can figure our next move.

I acted sufficiently hysterically to prompt a special order from higher-ups who never visit my bubble, or so it seems from reading between the lines. Contact reps seemed annoyed, resigned. Many apologies in advance. I had no clue what they were talking about. Tried to act reassuring. Said we weren't superstitious, xenophobic monkeys. And so on.

And so the blocks were removed from my visual and auditory perception. The aliens look like large, hairy fists which fly at me rapidly at irregular intervals of five to eight seconds, stopping just short of my nose. Their utterances, in their native languages, sound like voices shouting "Think fast!" "Is this bugging you?" and "Cry, baby! Cry!" in a dozen major Earth languages.

When I return to base I will request a long vacation.

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