Generator Commander Tropical Premium

A typical facet of how the aliens failed to understand us was their policy with their pilots.

I was an air force pilot. I explained to the alien assigned to me that pilots were usually given nicknames and carried lucky charms to help them. I told him that the names helped camaraderie and that the charms gave us hope. Bonds and superstition can win a battle, I told him. The alien was silent, thanked me, and returned to his base.

He came bounding back to me like an excited pet six hour later and told me that his nickname was Generator Commander Tropical Premium and he showed me the fork that he’d taken from the mess hall and told me that it was his lucky charm.

I thought it was hilarious and I told him that he’d got it exactly right.

Now all the aliens have four-word random nicknames and carry whatever they saw first as a lucky charm. They don’t truly understand sentimental value. I’ve seen socks, bootlaces, chalk, gravel, and on one stinky occasion, cheese.

Even when I tried to explain to him that he’d got it wrong, he didn’t care. He said it was helping a great deal.

So now I’m flying a four-seater with Generator Commander Tropical Premium and his two friends Ticket Lamp Helmet Cooler and Batwing Christmas Cartridge Storm. Hanging around Ticket Lamp’s neck is an empty coke can and Cartridge Storm is carrying a rubber wedge in his pocket.

I have to admit it. It worked. I like them more and it’s helped us become a team.






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Copycats

They were a race that liked to live amongst the other races they encountered to better understand them. They were diplomatic yet fearsome, possessing great weaponry but very gentle in one on one conversations.

They looked like starving centaurs crossed with giant centipedes. Very thin and stable on the ground, surprisingly quick in the water and capable of short bursts of flight. They were stronger than us physically. They gave us a resume of the battle they had won and proved it by setting up a brief example in the space around out planet for the scientists and military to monitor.

It was a terrifyingly graceful display of military supremacy, both in tactics and in weaponry. However, after it was over, they started peaceful negotiations and cultural exchanges. We never felt defeated. It was interesting. One columnist from the New York Times wondered if they did this with everyone or merely recognized that it would work with us specifically.

The diplomats assigned to aspects of our society joined in, spoke our language, and tried to mimic us. It was like as a race, we were given bizarre little brothers. Alarming at first but their earnest need to learn was disarming. Their gentle voices assuaged our fear.

It’s been strange to think we’ve been conquered. There’s been no rebellion. They brought their own food and they don’t want our resources or money. They aren’t here to eat us.

There are two in my office. They wear suits cut to fit their long bodies. I remember footage of one of them that had gotten into the fashion industry. Seeing that six-legged body standing upright and sashaying down the runway in clothes made to fit its strange body was a strange sight.

The ones in my office are named Doug and Tina. Doug wears suits with extra arms and Tina wears dresses with extra arm-holes. They talk around the water cooler with us about what was on television last night and Doug remarks on sports scores.

I find it strange that I’m not alarmed and that as a race, we’ve adjusted to it so quickly. I find it fascinating. They’re so dull and friendly.

What’s even more alarming is that I’m thinking of asking Tina out to a movie next week.



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