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First Contact.
A short story by I D Atkinson.
Byron Willard felt extremely nervous as he rode in the presidential hover car. The year was 3050 and medical advances meant that people could live for hundreds of years. President Willard was over two hundred and fifty years old, but physically he was about forty five. His chauffeur looked back from the pilot seat at the front of the plas-glass bubble and said, 'there's an incoming message for you Mr. President.'
'Patch it through will you, Radcliff.'
'Yes, sir.'
The onboard micro speakers crackled into life. 'The extra terrestrials will be entering the Earth's atmosphere in 30 minutes - they'll be landing in the main plaza of Capital City,' announced the voice of Vice President Jameson.
'OK, Michael, I'm already on my way.'
Byron settled back in his seat. The tiny servo motors embedded in the upholstery made faint whirring noises as they adjusted the seat for maximum comfort. He'd never wanted to be president; it was just the way things had turned out. He started out as an accounts clerk; that was over two hundred years ago now. He'd had a great time when he was just a clerk. Mars and the moons of the Jupiter were being colonised. Everyone was into the new Immersion Games. You were jacked into the World Web computer by Direct Synapse Stimulation. An intravenous nutrient system was developed so that people could spend weeks at a time in their favourite game. It got to the stage where some people would spend every second of their spare time playing them; role-playing games mainly. But, eventually, real life encroached on fantasy, and the games; as with all fads, fell out of fashion.
Then the big news broke. The 'blip' was picked up. It was picked up by ultra sensitive astronomical equipment at the Mars orbital observatory. It had to be a space craft of some type. Scientists had watched it approach for two hundred years, but the blip was now on the outskirts of the solar system and had sent a message. The extraterrestrials were small grey bipeds with almond shaped eyes. The one that greeted us over digi-vid had raised its tiny arm and said, 'We come in peace!' Byron had been quite disappointed at their appearance. They were like some sort of cliché of how an alien should look; he'd expected something a little more exotic.
Byon Willard; President of the World for one hundred years, closed his eyes tried to sleep in his comfortable seat for the rest of the 20 minute journey across the huge sprawl of Capital City. He'd been feeling especially tired lately, even though he was in perfect health.
The sound of cheering brought him back wakefulness. He looked out the plas-glass bubble and noticed that; as well as the officials and dignitaries, a huge crowd of people had gathered in the plaza.
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