Call me … maybe
E.T. phoned home, but some extraterrestrials may be phoning us.
According to Reuters late last month, scientists are investigating a mysterious signal from space. Russian astronomers detected a non-naturally occurring radio signal some 94 light years from Earth. Cue the “Twilight Zone” music.
Technically, the signal was heard a year ago, but scientists are still investigating.
Personally, I’m thinking they were keeping it from us, but I also believe there was a second shooter on the grassy knoll.
I believe. The truth is out there. Yada. Yada. Yada. I’ve always been a believer. I blame Klaatu and Helen Benson. I blame Kirk and Spock. I blame Dr. Smith and that robot. I grew up on space ships and flying saucers. I mean, I’m fond of them, I didn’t literally grow up on a space ship. I have a birth certificate from here.
If you look up at the vast array of stars and imagine there are planets around some of those stars, it’s easy to believe they are out there. Even if this one is a false alarm, one day we could get a real message.
I, personally, am ready to meet them. Maybe I’m ready/not ready.
The prospect is both exhilarating and frightening, but I’m intrigued about the concept.
If they made first contact, I’m curious about what they would say.
I hope their first call to Earth isn’t Dominos. We’ll never be able to get a pizza there in 30 minutes or less. Let’s face it, they’re 94 light years away. We couldn’t guarantee that pizza would be there this century.
If they do say hello, I’m hoping they’re nice (less “Star Trek,” and more “My Favorite Martian”). I do not need a “Hide your wife, hide your kids. We’re coming for you” kinda message. Let’s shoot for friendly.
But we have to play it cool. We can’t be too nice back. We can’t just invite them over right away.
The next thing you know we’re out cutting the grass, and they swing by just to chat for a bit. I have to make sure I have extra beer in the fridge, just in case.
We can’t just fly to the moon dressed in any old thing anymore. We’re going to have to look presentable. Those silver spacesuits have to go.
We get too friendly, and Earth becomes a tourist destination.
No one wants that.
Think of all the extra traffic, especially if they tell other aliens about us. Imagine the sign on store windows: “We accept Visa, Mastercard and Dilithium Crystals, Galactic Credit Standard, Chronodollars, Zulacks and Space Bucks.” I don’t know what we’d sell them except for “My parental units went to Earth, and all I got was this lousy T-shirt” T-shirt.
Maybe they’ve already been among us, and their first call is, “Hey, did you guys happen to see a pair of sunglasses? If you find them, put them in the mail. The address is HD 164595. Second planet from the sun. They’re the ones with the five lenses. Kay. Thanks. Bye.”
E.T., if you’re out there, call us, maybe.