Science fiction writers almost always deal with the first encounter between human beings and sentient beings from another planet in one of two ways. In the "Alien as Monster" scenario made popular by the pulp fiction of the 30s and 40s, the alien, which is often portrayed as a cross between Charlie Chaplin and an avocado, is a mindless engine of mass destruction. While this genre has been given some very entertaining turns in works such as Invasion of the Bodysnatchers and Alien, it is mostly populated by the "helpless screaming female/macho hero/improbable confrontation with a thing that refuses to die," kind of story which has given science fiction such a bad reputation in literary circles.
The other scenario, "Alien as Saviour," is the exact opposite. In this sub-genre, which has admittedly spawned such classics as The Day the Earth Stood Still, ET: The Extra-terrestrial and even 2001: A Space Odyssey, the alien contacts humans in order to "stop war" or "wipe out disease" or, at its most pretentious, "teach mankind a lesson in humility and save it from destroying itself." In short, the alien solves those nasty problems that we mere humans cannot. While some people find such works inspirational, sometimes bordering on a religious experience, many find them ponderous, at best, and pedantic and boring, at worst.
Both the Alien as Monster and Alien as Saviour scenario suffer from an absurd human-centric assumption: that aliens see themselves only in their relationship to the human race. This is like assuming that human progress has taken place so that we can have some sort of relationship with ants. It is most likely that aliens will not be interested in humanity at all, or that they will be interested in us in ways that we cannot begin to imagine.
Consider what might happen if a saucer did come to our little gem of a planet. (Of course, it is equally likely that the alien craft would be shaped like a brick or a football or a piston engine or the microphone on David Letterman's desk, but let us, in this detail, be consistent with the popular literature.) The alien craft has hovered over some fair city for several weeks, giving no indication of what is going on inside.
Below, a large crowd has gathered, more or less the same crowd that gathers in every alien saucer story. On one side, there are the folks who are happy to see the saucer. They carry signs that say, "You are welcome," "Come in peace," and a variety of other sentimental slogans. These are the ETites.
On the other side are the group of individuals who believe that the saucer has come to destroy the world. Their signs contain sentiments like "Aliens go home," "We are prepared to defend ourselves," and "The first alien to lay a hand on one of our daughters dies a horrible death." (Why aliens would want daughters, as opposed to sons, have hands as opposed to tentacles, or would even be able to read English are questions clearly beyond this group, which we might dub the Alienists.)
Oddly enough, the only disturbance that occurred since the saucer appeared was a nasty brawl between the ETites and the Alienists, with dozens of people being rushed to the hospital suffering from concussions brought about by being hit over the head with cardboard and wood signs.
Between the two groups, a small souvenir stand has sprung up. The stands caters to both sides of the issue, carrying an assortment of alien merchandise, including the obligatory ray guns and miniature saucers.
A man moves through the crowd. He goes unnoticed, not because he has any special powers (even though he was born many light years away), but simply because he is so average in every respect that he is beneath notice. (No Michael Rennie or Geiger concoction this alien.) he stops in front of the souvenir stand, smiling.
"Buy a 'I survived the alien landing of '85' t-shirt, mister?" the young woman behind the counter asks, pointing to a shirt pinned prominently to the wall behind her.
"No, thank you," the alien says, quietly. "I was wondering if you could direct me to the nearest baseball diamond."
"Sure," the woman says, "but nothing's happening there. The season ended a couple of weeks ago."
"Oh," the alien mysteriously tells her, "I don't mind. You...you don't suppose anybody would miss it, so you?"
The woman laughs. "You planning on taking it somewhere?"
The alien shrugs lightly. "Only if nobody is going to miss it," he responds in earnest. The woman is about to wave him away when a strange thought occurs to her. "Who are you?" she asks.
"Just another guy," he replies. "Just a regular Jim..."
"Regular Joe," the woman corrects him. "You're an alien, aren't you?"
The alien winces. "I prefer to think of myself as an extra-terrestrial tourist," the alien says with much gravity. "Alien is such a...such a cold term, don't you think?"
The woman does think for a moment. "Gee," she says, "don't you have something important to do? What do you want a baseball diamond for?"
"It's a little game we play where I come from," the alien explains. "Something to do to pass the time. We're given a list of planets to go to and items to bring back from those planets. The first one to return with all of his assigned items wins. The winner gets to rule our planet until the next game - or free potato chips for the rest of his life - I'm not really clear about that part of it.
"But, it is great fun. I'm getting to see parts of the galaxy that I would never have otherwise thought to visit, and I'm learning about all sorts of different cultures..."
"You're on a scavenger hunt!" the woman exclaims.
"Good!" the alien shouts. "That's it, exactly."
"How are you going to get a baseball diamond into that little thing?" the woman asks, indicating the ship that, in truth, wasn't much bigger than a station wagon.
The alien produces a small mechanical object that looks like nothing mankind could ever imagine to create. "With this," he says, tossing it to the woman. "It shrinks things. My ship is full of them." The woman turns it over in her hands, amazed.
"How does this work?" she asks.
"I wish I had the time to show you, but I've already got my elephant, bust of Beethoven and dozen eggs -"
"A dozen eggs?"
The alien almost blushes. "That's not part of the game," it admits, "But my mates asked me to bring back some exotic foodstuffs..."
"Eggs aren't exactly exotic..." the woman blurts.
"They are when you come from a place without chickens," the alien states, growing somber. "Now, if I could have those directions..."
The woman tells him where to go. Her boyfriend slips into the booth soon after. "How's it going?" he asks.
The woman flips the alien device into the air. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she answers.
