Dress Rehearsal
by Paul Cameron Brown

"The universe is expanding".
There's cause for reflection and bound to do wonders
for "who am I" queries.
At this late moment on the Celestial Clock, man isn't
sure if he's stumbled into a Black Hole or just the
debris from the Big Bang Theory.
Many of the earth's residents desperately want to be
E.T.'s    -    travellers with carte blanche passports
welcomed in any galaxy. Therein lies the ultimate
twist to "getting away".
Alas, what if we're alone?
What if the universe expands so much it forgets
there's an inhabited world and obscures the planet
from our collective vision? Sobering stuff.
Meanwhile, on a spaceship earth preparations are
underway. Preparation to abandon the planet.
Preparations to forget life is a serious matter.
Preparations to drown protracted speculations about
existence's intensity.
E.T. mania is carrying the day. People adorn stuffed,
life-sized dolls of imagined creatures on the
dashboards of their cars. Children queque up for
hours to get gingerbread designed from scary,
monster dough. Everywhere, the question on
everyone's lips is "how many of'em are there"?
When will contact be made? Will they want to throw
in their lot with mankind or "take over"? After all, it's
our Arc. No one seriously wants reminders of Von
Daniken's chariots riding again or the genetic mumble
about intergalactic breeding.
Going to bed with E.T. is too much. It's the Outer
Limits. Propriety still has some hold even if Marian
Engel did slip up and get it on with a bear. At least
that was recognizable earth life. Darth is too much of
a transition even if it's only a One Night Stand.
E.T. is just like Bambi.
He wants to go home.
And alone.
He's not interested in sex.
Too many other myriad problems are floating in his
adorable, gelatin head. Surely earth women can relate
to that. Surely, if the universe is expanding, then it's
because of intrigue in high places. Because cosmic
particles are hammering out new definitions. Anyone
of a thousand theories.
Star Wars can stuff it. We want "peaceful" contact
and on our terms. Ask Orson Welles.
Or H.G.Wells.
Time machines are old hat and another invasion in
Newark is too much to absorb.
With NYC across the river, they've already got all the
action they can handle.
We like our extraterrestial life tailormade and
preferably in our own image. We're prepared to accept
them if they conform to stiff criteria. They have to be
like us and prepared to cooperate. Seeing eye dogs
help the blind, horses were good draft animals for
centuries. We might even want to decorate it like the
Hindoos do elephants; make it into a "religious"
procession such as a Roman Triumph. It would be the
same for outer space visitors. No mutants or Roving
Intelligences allowed. Earth is "off limits" to
marauding predators    -    we'll fight at the suggestion
they're here on "reconnoitering missions" as a prelude
to Conquest or the Bermuda Triangle is one of their
many "staging areas" or dress rehearsal sites.
Earth for humankind carries more immediacy than
"Canada for the Canadians". If they are "out there",
they'd better behave.
Hollywood's got it all figured out.
There's no shortage or scenarios.
Life support systems will be rushed wherever there is
a sighting with artillery back-up.
The Pentagon is in control.
The Moonies have asked to be informed.
Crackpots the world over await deliverance.
The Earth has big plans for the visitation.
Contact would displace Ihe Copernician revolution as
"a first" in blockbuster events: edge out Columbus'
hat trick, even erase Caesar's Gaelic campaigns.
Such things are no longer "relatable".
Every school kid can fathom "aliens" even if he can't
decline a Latin noun or understand the causes of the Renaissance.
Unveiling the first spaceship would cap the
evolutionary quest for Enlightenment or realization of a greater Oneness.
The universal thirst for knowledge would be satisfied.
Still, our trek to the stars would turn in on itself if they
got here first. Something like the Seminoles arriving
in Paris in the 13th century overland from Nice or
finding an orangutan piloted the Viking ship, Sutton
Hoo, into Vineland. It's barely credible and has to be
remade into "tangible" dialogue. No sapient, red
puddles or Dryads need apply. Fuel up the
Crematoria. Break out the electric cattle prods. They
may be common as blades of grass in a meadow but it's
our show. Orange Pekoe intellects will naturally be
suspect. Benign intelligence better be the order of the day.
Earth is a "closed shop".
Everything Koltur. Everything above board.
No renegade "interpretations".
When will the Juggernaut be?
Human nature is nothing to toy with.