The Plasmoids

"I’ll get to the point," she said. I could have stared at her beautiful green eyes for hours without complaining, but I nodded earnestly at her. This is America, I thought. They get to the point here.

Your story, The Plasmoids, has won the Short SF-Fantasy Story Contest organized by www.scififiends.com!

Etc., etc.

‘I’m going to New York, mother.’

‘Heh?’

‘New York! The story I wrote in a day? The online writing contest I won, remember? The prize?’

‘Heh?’

‘Look at me! I’m…going…to…New…York.’

‘Will you be home for dinner?’

‘Vijay? Very glad to finally meet you. I’m Denise Nebula, the editor.’

I stared at the stunning twenty-something woman in front of me, trying to keep my jaw from dropping. I thought people associated with Science Fiction were all slightly overweight, disheveled, spaced-out, a little nerdy even.

People like me.

But Ms. Nebula (Please, call me Denise) looked like she’d just come back from a Cosmopolitan shoot. The legs, the hair, the face, the…

Anyway.

I followed her like a little lamb to her plush office and we sat.

‘Please tell me all about yourself.’

So I did.

‘I’ll get to the point.’

I think that brings me more or less up to date.

Denise leaned forward.

‘I’m not from this planet,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Don’t look so alarmed. I-we-mean you no harm. In fact, I have great news for you.’

Beautiful woman who thinks she’s an alien? I can deal with that, I thought. All Americans are crazy, anyway. Well-known fact.

‘The reason we organized this contest,’ she said, ‘was to find the earthling whose vision of extraterrestrials corresponded most closely to our reality. Your Plasmoids, Vijay, are just like us-a race of peaceful beings of superior intellect,’

I smiled at her. She’s mad, I thought, but at least she’s harmless.

‘So your website is actually run by aliens,’ I grinned. ‘Studying earthlings, no doubt.’

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling in turn, ‘I’m glad you understand. The creativity implant worked particularly well with you, I see.’

‘The what?’

‘This is going to shock you a little, Vijay.’

‘I think I can handle it.’

‘There are a number of extraterrestrial races already present on earth, all engaged in a race to establish contact first. We could conquer your world easily, of course, but the Parliament forbids it.’

‘So you use Science fiction as a peaceful alternative means of contact?’

‘Yes. Science fiction is not a human invention, but a result of certain signals we send out-brain images commonly called dreams.’

I was beginning to feel a little scared. The whole Plasmoid idea had come to me in a dream.

‘Different SF websites are actually the creations of beings from various planets. And these writing contests all have only one purpose, Vijay-to find an ambassador. That is why the deadlines are so short-everyone’s in a hurry to establish an embassy on earth, with an earthling in charge of communication. That will minimize panic and loss of life.’

‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘You mean that Science Fiction is what aliens tell us about themselves in our dreams?’

‘Yes. To be brutally frank, you humans are simply not capable of thinking beyond politics, sex and violence on your own. It’s not your fault-you simply aren’t evolved enough. Science fiction-and fantasy-are our way of helping you. Gentle pushes towards evolution.’

‘And that’s the job you’re offering me? To be your ambassador?’

‘Yes, Vijay. Picture it. Interstellar travel, money, worlds beyond your imagination,’ she leaned forward further and smiled even more seductively. ‘And there are other benefits…’