A Matter of Coping

A Matter of Coping One day after the crash of the alien spacecraft, Col. Albert Johnson persuaded Base Command that the situation would be less intimidating if he alone interrogated the survivor. For security, the Colonel was ordered to carry a pistol, holstered.

Cameras and microphones recorded much of what transpired, but regrettably not everything.

The Colonel faced a creature looking in some ways human, though it stood almost seven feet tall. It had two arms, two legs, hands with four fingers and a thumb in gloves attached to a silver-colored jumpsuit. The head seemed that of a man in his mid-twenties, except for the hardly-human bulging forehead and lack of hair.

The monstrosity of the thing was revealed when it talked. Its lower jaw dropped almost to the point of appearing dislocated. The autopsy to come would reveal a small mouth set back within the larger one. Apparently, the inner mouth articulated some syllables, the outer mouth others.

The Colonel and the alien sat across from each other on wooden chairs. The alien’s wrists were tied behind.

Col. Johnson began, “We are not so different, physically.”

The alien’s lips twisted a bit, suggesting an effort to smile. “We may be alike in other ways, or at least become so.”

“You speak English very well.”

“As do you.”

The Colonel leaned forward. “You have a sense of humor.”

“I also have an intense curiosity.” The alien’s eyes squinted as if it were trying to discern something about the Colonel.

“That is what brought you here?”

“You can think of me as a cultural psychologist. I inject mythologies into developing civilizations. Those in my profession have been at this a long time.”

“Toward what end?” “To foster evolutions compatible with our own, a congenial community of planets within the galaxy.”

Seeing the alien’s outer mouth moving only intermittently during speech was more than a bit disconcerting.

“So, you came here to inject mythologies.”

“Oh, that was done a very long time ago. I came to see the consequences.”

“What were the myths?”

“There were just two. The first was the legend of King Arthur. I’m guessing you know the elements. Lady of the Lake, Excalibur, Merlin. There was no significant effect though, beyond some history dissertations debating the truth of the legend.”

“And the second?”

“Will you untie my wrists?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I wouldn’t dare tell you, but it was wonderfully successful. It became entrenched in the human psyche and in what you believe the universe is, fundamentally. Only your Einstein came close to realizing the deception. You likely cannot cope with it.”

“Still, I want to know. You owe me that. I saved you from the burning wreckage of your spacecraft.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The Colonel shrugged. “I might untie your wrists.”

“Well then, for your ears only.”

Colonel Johnson stood and approached but stopped for a minute as he was wary of the creature’s motives. When he finally moved closer, the alien whispered into his ear.

The whisper was too low to be picked up by the microphones.

The Colonel became quite agitated. He paced back and forth, then returned to stand directly in front of the alien and said, “What you’re suggesting is horrendous. It’s worse than horrendous. It’s—”

“As I said, not something you can cope with.” The alien’s expression was definitely not a smile. “I’ve seen this before, elsewhere. Your mind is turning in on itself, trying an escape to some safe haven. Let your colleagues send in someone to restart this conversation.”

The Colonel’s arms began to shake as if he had a palsy. He screamed, “I’ll show you coping!” and managed to pull his pistol.

Before anyone else could enter the room, he shot three rounds into the thing’s head. Then he turned the gun to his own head and fired, but his agitation affected the suicide attempt. There was tangential shattering of the Colonel’s skull but no brain damage.

Several months later, he was still refusing to divulge the specifics of what he heard the alien say . He refused a direct order to do so and was given a dishonorable discharge.

Not long after, he instigated some violence that led to his being admitted to the Edmond Psychiatric Facility in Dayton, Ohio. Under suicide watch, he died there of a coronary attack in 1973.

Speculation held that the Colonel shared something of his secret with an Edmond orderly named William Carter who was assigned to his care. There was definite evidence of camaraderie between them. Carter died from a self-administered overdose of barbiturates in November 1972.