Eric Colbourne

OUMUAMUA, THE SEQUEL

 

Location: Isolation cell on Starship Oumuamua, somewhere in the Pegasus Constellation. Earth distance:643,425,000 km. Sun distance: 546,000,000 km. Speed: 100 km/s (At that speed Dear Leader Duh-wite could get in his Audi A8 in St. John's, NL and be in Vancouver, BC in 1 minute 15 seconds flat.) Earth calendar: February 10, 2018, 2.20 AM.

Few people other than spouse are aware of my considerable experience with teleportation--the ability to travel great distances on earth or throughout the solar system by harnessing the power of ordinary AM radio waves--the things that bring you voices and music when you turn on your radio.

I have not shared this knowledge widely less some unscrupulous politicians like Dear leader Duh-wite and his gang find out what I am up to and send the constabulary over to my house to conduct a raid in the middle of the night. Spouse does not like to be disturbed when she is lying on a beach in the south sea islands of her dreams.

It all started back in the 1960s before spouse came along, interrupted my nocturnal fantasies, and according to her set me firmly on the path to a normal productive life. I learned at the time that big radio stations like WHRP, a 100,000-watt AM border station in Rosarito, Mexico, boomed in at peak power every night at 1 AM. There and then I got the idea of rigging up a satellite dish made from heavy duty aluminum foil to reflect the powerful radio waves in such a way as to beam myself up to any destination I chose. A few misadventures came my way and I nearly disappeared altogether in one incident.

Another time I accidentally beamed myself through a black hole in outer space which is like the whirlpool in a toilet when you flush it, only much bigger. That was the time when I beamed myself up in late 1965 and wound up 60 years into the future at the bottom of 2025. I landed right on top of Muskrat Falls. As I flashed over Newfoundland that night, I saw long lines of refugees dressed in rags and moaning from starvation as they trudged through the snow towards Canada. And to think I could have warned people about all this but, nobody would have listened.

I won't get into further details because, as I said, I'm being watched.

What got me thinking about giving it another try was the breaking news just a few days ago from the scientists at NASA that Ouamuamua had gone mysteriously quiet, not a peep, no cell phone signal, total radio silence, nothing.

That's when I got a late-night call. RS from MP was urgently whispering into the phone.

"Duh-wite has been trying to contact that spaceship," he said. "I overheard him telling Big Eddie he wanted to find out how they got free energy on their planet. Big Eddie told him to forget it until he'd done an environmental assessment on the sun."

"For God's sake," I said, "you have to sabotage his phone. If he talks to them, they'll find out how stupid we all are and they'll hightail it back to Lyra."

"Ok," he hissed. "I'll see what I can do but I don't think I can get near his office without Big Eddie's gang stopping me."

Later that night, I knew RS from MP had failed in his mission. Oumuamua took a sharp left turn, increased speed, and headed for the constellation Pegasus, otherwise known as the winged horse.

Greek myth, by the way, tells about a guy named Dann..., I mean Bellerophon, who flew about the land on the winged horse, Pegasus, slaying all sorts of monsters like Stephen Harper, and Quebec and making all the people happy. Nobody questioned what he was doing because he made everybody feel proud and told us he would build a city of gold just outside St. John's.

Then one day he let all the successes go to his head. He tried to fly to Muskra..., I mean Olympus, and join the Gods. He didn't succeed. He fell off the horse and back to earth but not until he had saddled us with great calamity.

Pegasus Constellation is pretty easy to find once you've been there. All you do is line up the two outer stars in the rim of The Big Dipper withThe North Star and then draw a position fix on Pegasus.

A few nights ago, I broke the news to spouse after we had finished our humble meal of boiled beans and dandelion roots. She had just cracked open yet another bottle of Fifty Shades of Bay. I poured a (L)iberal glass of Raspberry Screech with a splash of bog rosemary tea to help me along on my night's journey.

"I'm thinking of beaming myself up to Oumuamua, tomorrow night," I said. "It's just the right conditions after two solid months of rain, drizzle, and fog. I want you to come with me."

"God only knows what you're up to," she said. "I have no intention of being part of it."

Spouse is very shy about meeting new people, so I didn't push the invitation.

"But while you're at it," she said, "take that useless bunch in Confederation Building with you and leave them there."

"You are becoming very anti-government," I said. "I'm concerned about your state of mind."

With that, she downed her glass of Fifty Shades, said goodnight, and went off to bed.

I went outside to pry the small satellite dish off the side of the house but as I began, I saw a bigger one on the house next door. I was trying to figure out a way of stealing that one when my neighbor came out his back door and saw me eyeing his property.

"Go away," he said, "or I'll call the constabulary and have you charged with visual trespassing."

With his big words, I suspected that he was probably a spy for Dr. Dale, Minister of Illiteracy.

I took my small satellite dish down to my basement, tuned the RCA Victor, battery-operated radio to the 100,000-watt station, put a Duh-wite Ball dummy in the chair, stuck a needle in it, aligned the dish to the AM radio waves, and to the Pegasus Constellation. The dummy disappeared instantly.

When spouse came downstairs in the morning I told her excitedly about my test run and the disappearance of the dummy.

"Then how come you're still here?" she asked.

Spouse's sense of humor can be quite biting at times. She obviously does not understand the mysteries of quantum physics and the beam-me-up phenomenon.

So, that's how it happened. The next night at 1 AM I tuned in to WHRP and set it on blast as the DJ played Michael Jackson's Everybody's Somebody's Fool. I sat in the chair facing the satellite dish with the radio behind me and in a millisecond I was inside Oumuamua.

But not right inside. An invisible presence ushered me into an isolation cell. The presence talked like the sound of wind chimes which was instantly translated into the St. John's dialect.

"We have to send you back," It chimed musically. "If you come to Lyra, our planet will be ruined in no time. And who is that dimwit who was trying to phone us?"

Next morning, spouse found me sprawled on the carpet, sound asleep. I just knew she wouldn't believe where I'd been.

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