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MOTHERSHIP NEW CHICAGO
Jane hadn't been abducted, exactly. Things had been explained to her, after a fashion. She had known what she was getting into, sort of.
She looked around the main room, still unsure whether she should call this place her 'quarters' or her 'apartment'. Over on the desk were her MacBook and iPod, the two things she was most glad to have been allowed to bring along. One small bag, she had been told, and those had been stuffed into her backpack first.
There was a cover story Jane was supposed to keep using while in contact with friends in ‘Old’ Chicago and elsewhere on the surface, but her disdain for dishonesty kept her offline most of the time and caused a shortage of details in her instant messaging and e-mails. She was somewhat out-of-touch. Her blog page had been virtually abandoned.
Maybe it was time for a new blog. The mental question was sent out, and the immediate answer was yes, as though they had been waiting for her to ask. Maybe it was to be one of her duties all along. Jane couldn’t be sure.
In the background of that answer were what could be referred to as a set of instructions. Jane immediately sat down at her computer and created a new Google account to work from, then went to Blogger and began to compose her first post to the Mothership New Chicago blog, calling up a playlist after deciding on a title. With some of her favourite music to keep her company, she was soon finished. Then she asked another mental question and contacted the half-dozen other Earth Humans on board, inviting them to become contributors and alerting them to her alternate address.
It was nice, after three months, to be able to honestly share some of her experiences. Her only complaint, really, about life aboard the mothership was the veil of secrecy. Who would believe her, even if she were to try to tell them?
As the replicator produced a flip-top bottle of Grolsch at her request, Jane asked another question. Yes, there were three, but only three, of her previous contacts that she could e-mail with her alternate Gmail address and new blog URL. The replicator had to produce another pint before that message was complete, but it was soon sent...
...and then they would know. Meanwhile she had gotten responses from a couple of her shipmates, who both wanted in on the blog action. Awesome, but then she had to arrange for them to do so while her buzz intensified. No big deal, done and done.
With the absence of a proper day/night cycle, Jane’s body clock had set her on a 30-hour day -- twenty hours awake, ten hours of sleep. She’d had to check her computer clock for Chicago time and date before publishing her blog post, and now realized her e-mail had been sent out at a crazy hour. She made a mental note to tell them about her new schedule in the next message, then rocked out to the sounds of her iPod docked into the incredible sound system her place had come with, losing track of how many Grolsch bottles she’d put in the sub-molecular recycling unit.
Ten hours of sleep are a big help when you’ve reached a point of near-oblivion with alcohol. As Jane made use of her alien-alloy lavatory, the details of the previous ‘night’ slowly came back to her. Showering could wait. Her replicator produced black Columbian coffee at the perfect temperature for drinking. She powered up her MacBook, signed in with her new account, and re-read her blog post.
This ‘morning’ was a good one, one to go down in the books. Virtual windows around her simulating a beautiful post-dawn, Jane cupped her mug lovingly and basked in the telepathic approval of the beings who had brought her here.
It was a wonderful moment.
Soon, the silent voices in Jane’s head began to speak again. Her role in upcoming events became more clear. She was compelled to message her shipmates again, to stress the responsibility they had all taken on with the blog. Her mug drained, Jane got up to get another and mulled things over.
She was here on Mothership New Chicago for more than one reason. To begin with, as a former resident of ‘Old’ Chicago she was expected to be a barometer for what Chicagoans would expect from an orbital (and incredibly mobile) version of their city. Also, with her telepathic abilities, she was expected to be a sort of ambassador between her people and the rest of Galactic Society. As it turned out, the blog she had just created was to be the first of many.
Soon Jane was online with the contacts she had been given from other motherships. She sent messages to New London, New New York, New Tokyo, on and on until the silent voices finally shut up about whom she ought to alert. Though the messages were all in English, all the recipients instantly understood. Within hours, pages in many languages were published, recounting the experiences of those involved and giving the people of Earth a taste of what was to come.
Breakfast. Brunch. Lunch. By teatime Jane’s inbox was full of messages containing links to new pages where people could learn about how Humanity was to enter into Galactic Society. As she went out to tour the robotic construction of New Chicago’s interior, Jane was filled with the unparalleled sense of accomplishment that can only come from the approval of an entire telepathic delegation of a more-advanced race.
Dinner? Forget dinner. Time to send out a telepathic invitation to the few other Human residents of New Chicago for a party. Might as well invite the Syrians too. Jane is told to move the event to a larger space, and a mothership connection ensues.
Fortunately, Jane has ample George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic available on iPod for this extraglobal celebration...
Phil Smith
May 23, 2007
Earth (just west of Appalachia)
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