Have STARMAN, Will Travel

the sequel to "The Ambassador"

Copyright © 1992 by Bruce R. Jividen. All Rights Reserved.

THE SHUTTLE POD landed with the gentlest of thuds. The outer door automatically swung upward upon contact and the descent ramp lowered itself to the ground. Christopher checked his molecular oxygen meter, then cautiously removed his respiratory tube and sniffed the air. Then he took several deep, long inhales and exhales. Satisfied, he concluded that the atmosphere was quite breathable; apparently all those frantic messages about oxygen had been received and understood after all.

Relieved, he discarded the unnecessary breathing equipment, walked down the ramp, and stepped out into the blue light...

...the light was very bright, but it lacked the glaring quality of most bright lights. It was attenuated and mysteriously ambient, as though it were emerging from all directions. Christopher stepped off the ramp and there they were—the Cygnians! He had mulled over what to say to them for months, and had spent countless hours composing various greetings and consulting world authorities about what that all important first impression of Earthlings should consist of—if the Cygnians could even understand the presentation. But as he stared at the visitors, all that careful planning went down the drain as he hoarsely and instinctively yelled, "it's a hoax!"

It had to be a hoax. The Cygnians were little green men, about three feet tall, with immense eyes and large, curling mouths. The improbable alien at the front of the cadre returned Christopher's startled stare. This was not a good way to say hello!

The poor little fellow didn't know quite what to make of Christopher's outburst. He exchanged puzzled, yet meaningful glances with his companions and then said, in plain but strangely modulated English, "Please tell me, Ambassador Barnes: what is a hoax?"

Christopher was horribly embarrassed. "Uh...uh...uh..."

"Some sort of Earth animal, I'm sure," the little green man said. "I take it we resemble them. Odd, I didn't think there was life as we know it on Earth."

The situation was spiraling rapidly out of control, and Christopher knew he had to get a hold of it quickly. But his attempts at graceful damage control were stymied by the logjam of humiliation in his throat. "Welcome to Earth—" he started, although it came out sounding like "Urf."

"Oh, a greeting," the little man said. "How nice. You Earth people are very polite...once in a while. We've noticed from most of your TV broadcasts that you can be appallingly violent at times."

"Uh...thank you," Christopher said, hoping he wasn't flushing. If only this were an acting job and he could do a retake!

"I'm Doodad, ship's Cruise Director," the green man continued. "You're probably wondering why we're here."

Christopher nodded as they started walking to the exit. "Yeah, the thought did cross my mind." What an understatement! When the general populace found out that an alien ship was on its way to Earth, panic erupted, and a sort of mass paralysis had descended as the ship entered parking orbit.

"Well," Doodad said, "when STARMAN suddenly stopped appearing on your planetary broadcasts, you can imagine how concerned we were."

Christopher's eyes bugged out. "Oh. Yes, it was canceled, uh, twenty-five years ago."

Doodad stopped and stared at Christopher in shocked disbelief. "Canceled? Why?"

"Uh, not enough viewers," Christopher replied, with a very nervous smile.

"It's watched by all nineteen billion people on my planet. That's more people than on the whole Earth. That ought to be enough viewers," Doodad said matter-of-factly.

"Nobody knew about you, so you didn't count," Christopher said. He thought about trying to explain Nielsen ratings and network programming decisions, but quickly realized it was hopeless. Those things were incomprehensible to Earthlings, let alone creatures from another planet.

"We got here as fast as we could. Don't our numbers count now?"

"No, I'm afraid it's too late. It's impossible to bring STARMAN back now." Christopher was startled by a sudden, loud beep.

"Ah, good. The command crew is ready to meet you now," Doodad said, starting to walk again. "Sorry they sent me to greet you, but they've been busy calculating whatever it is they calculate."

An hour later, Christopher had met everyone on the ship, including Captain Wylie, and they had gathered in a conference room to discuss the urgent crisis facing them: what to do about their beloved-but canceled TV series. The Cygnians were extremely disappointed to learn that it was impossible to turn back the clock and reverse that extremely poor programming decision. All the cast and crew members still alive were working on other projects, and Robert Hays was, despite his advancing age, climbing the Lunar Alps with his son.

"Don't be so down about this, guys," Christopher said. "STARMAN didn't die, it was just transmuted."

Captain Wylie looked up at him. "Transmuted? What do you mean?"

"Well, after the cancellation, this group of people called Spotlight STARMAN formed, and they've kept the spirit of STARMAN alive with music, fiction, artwork, and gatherings."

"Gatherings?" Doodad inquired.

"Yes. They call them 'Family Conventions.' There's usually one of them every year. And they publish a newsletter, too."

All those immense eyes stared at him in delighted astonishment....

...Christopher moved into his new office in the Cygnian Lunar Base the same day the first quarterly flight to 61 Cygni left. The interstellar ships left and arrived like clockwork after that—four times a year, every year. The annual STARMAN Family Conventions and tours were frequented by little green men (and women) who sang off key and could only visit Sedona during the cool of the evening, and though it took twelve years for Blue Lights to arrive on the Cygnian homeworld, nineteen billion readers there enjoyed each and every issue.

In a strange enough way, STARMAN and its fandom had been vindicated!

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