Message II (BMK phone home)
Sent via ╜╝┼╡╢╤╕╦╧╘ .
Subject: Observatory Mission to Planet #3 Local Interstellar Cloud, Local Bubble, Orion-Cygnus Arm, Milky Way.
apologies for the strange greeting, but we are having to scribe this missive in what these Earthlings call English. They have asked to read it before we send it. Run the piece in its entirety through the translator module I left with you before we left. Malkar assures me that the above salutation is appropriate for this form of communication, which is known as an e-mail. I have no doubt it will arrive via the satellite and booster system in due course.
We materialised in a place known as the Smithsonian. There were a great many primitive examples of powered air- and space- dirigible design in the particular place in which we arrived. Baltachior thought perhaps that it might be some kind of theme park of the kind that Malkar studied at length on the Television frequencies. I am not so sure, particularly after the reaction of several uniformed earthlings when Baltachior attempted to enter something labelled “Apollo 11 Command Module” with the aid of a molecular saw.
We were greeted warmly, each of us was embraced by a pair of the uniformed theme-park employees. We walked arm in arms out of the building before we halted before a quite elaborate welcoming committee. Certainly it approximated the full military honours so beloved of the earthlings. Baltachior expressed some doubts as to the number of weapons actually pointing in our direction, but Malkar seemed convinced that the quantity and size of them was merely a reflection of our undoubted status as visitors from another star.
I have to say my reservations about Malkar’s suggestion that we say “Take me to your leader”, were quite unfounded.
However, the affirmative response which came was unfamiliar to me. I repeat it as near as I can manage -
“Dam’ right, Buddy!”
We were transported in a heavy vehicle without the benefit of glazing, so we were unable to make notes concerning our journey to a square bearing the name “Judiciary Square”. We were handed over to a group of a dozen or so earthlings dressed in rather severe clothing, but not uniforms. Baltachior was most put out when Malkor began jumping about like an excited fruujon saying, and I quote it in its entirety of silliness,
Baltachior has been convinced for some time that Malkar’s wits have been turned due to his exposure to the Earthling Television and, I must say, since arriving on Planet #3, I am very much inclined to agree with him.
We made the acquaintance of someone called The Director, and I, quite naturally, began my speech, which - as you know - I had worked on for light years before our departure. Well, I got no further than listing the Pavlovian Co-ordinates of our particular rock in the interstellar pool when this man began biting the brim of a fedora hat before erupting with the following,
‘Dam’ if I care what happens. Take these goons to the President. Let him deal with ‘em’
Malkar, having got over his fit of fruujonian hysterics, looked the distressed Director right in the eye and said,
‘We get a phone call, right?’
At this, The Director came over all fruujonistic himself and tore the brim from the hat with his teeth and spat it out with a loud shout of
He did point a finger at a device on the desk in front of him, at which Malkar sneered, before demanding something called an Eye Phone. It is this marvel on which I am writing this communiqué. I trust, subject to satellite and booster signal efficacy, you will receive this message, and the fond regards of,
Baltachior, Malkar and Kaspazar