Baron von Ernest and the alien spaceship

I had the privilege of sitting in on the cabinet meeting with Baron von Ernest, who had recently been promoted to Emperor of the civilized word, when a messenger hastened into the room.

“There is a ship,” he said. 

The Baron turned and looked at him. Although unused to interruption, the Baron dealt with the intrusion calmly, although the messenger was clearly in a state of flummox. 

“Carry on,” he said.  “Where is this ship? In the docks?”

“No, my liege,” the messenger continued. “It is located in central park.”

“That cannot be,” the Baron continued politely.  “The park is over two miles from the sea.”

“It is not a ship of the sea. The ship came from the sky.”

The Baron, for once, was silent, unsure whether he was being somehow teased or tested.

“A flying ship!” the chancellor protested. “There is no such thing on earth.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” the messenger continued. “It has come from another world, from the stars.”

“Can this be so?” the Baron said, addressing his question at the Minister for Science and Philosophy. “Are there other world, aliens, flying ships?”

“Er,” said the Minister, “It is certainly plausible that there is life on other planets, and I have read a paper on the possibility of interstellar travel.”

“We should go and see,” said the Chancellor. “Messenger, take a message to Herr Blossomer Finch, 8 Zeromann Strasse. Tell him that his services are needed urgently in central park. We shall meet him there.”

“Who is this Herr Blossomer Finkelstein?” asked the Baron.

“He is a master of language. We will need him to translate.”

“Is her good?”

“The best, a master of 146 separate languages, so well versed in every tongue that his is said to have once travelled through Switzerland and managed to converse with every person he met.

Coaches were ordered and a small party of politicians, the Baron, myself, and the Baron’s stick rode towards central park. 

We had expected to have to search for the reported ‘ship’, but it was unmissable, because of the throng of people circulating in the middle of the park. There was consternation in the capital, very much what it must be like in a hive when a worked bee returns with news of a hornets’ nest in the vicinity.

The Chancellor called over a pair of policemen and these were ordered to clear a path through. At the centre of the park, we found the ship, a huge, grey, metallic saucer-shaped vessel, the size of a small castle. 

At the foot of the ship were a small group of large, green, bipedal beings in red, silken cloaks.  We stood and stared at the sight, unsure what to do. As we were staring the messenger caught up with us.

“Herr Chancellor, Baron von Ernest, this is Herr Finkelstein.”

“Ah, Herr Finkelstein,” said the Baron. “We need you to talk to these aliens from another world.”

“But how?” said Herr Finkelstein. “I have never been to another world, how could I possibly speak their language.”

“You are the preeminent master of language in the world,” the chancellor said.

“That is very kind of you, but of human language, not alien.”

Back at central park, Herr Finkelstein walked over to the large green aliens.  After some while he returned.

“Did you manage to converse with them?” asked the Baron.

“I did. By some quirk of chance, I had come across the language some years previously from a small, green community I met in the Austrian side of the black forest.”

“Did you not wonder that an entire community was comprised of people that were green,” asked the Baron.

“I found nothing unusual, this was in Austria, there are many different people there.”

“What do they say?” said the Chancellor. “What do they want?”

“They want to meet our leader,” Herr Finkelstein reported.

“It is lucky I am here,” said the Baron. “Let us go.”

I followed behind the baron to watch the historic discourse. As we reached the aliens Herr Finkelstein walked ahead, spoke to the aliens and introduced them to the Baron. Rather than come over in greeting, however, one of them returned into the spaceship.

“What is happening?” the Baron asked.

“They have gone to get their leader,” said Herr Finkelstein.

Eventually the alien returned, with a smaller, thin, younger-looking alien, carrying a stick on a cushion.

The Baron walked over confidently, bowed in greeting and introduced himself.

“I am Baron von Ernest,” said the Baron. “Ruler of the greatest empire on earth.”

Herr Finkelstein translated.

“Interesting,” said the figure (through Professor Finkelstein’s translation). “You have names. We identify by means of numbers and fruit. I am nineteen prunes.”

“Greetings, nineteen prunes,” said the Baron.

“I see that you have a stick,” said the alien.

“Indeed, the stick is a member of my government. What of your own stick?”

“This stick is my constant companion,” said the alien. “Come inside, we have much to discuss.”

As I waited rumour arrived, word from distant kingdoms that the same ship had visited many different lands, and following an unhappy meeting with the leader of said country, had laid waste to the land.

We waited nervously.

Eventually the Baron von Ernest emerged, the alien waved farewell from the door of the spaceship, which took off.

“Well,” I said. “What did the aliens have to say. Why are they here?”

“I can never speak of what occurred,” said the baron. “But let it be known that from this day onwards the consumption of prunes is banned.