Mike Murphy

The First Temptation

Mike Murphy

Issue 56, Spring 2019

In the sunny Garden, Eve turned on a bare heel as she heard an unfamiliar voice call her name. Following the sound, she walked toward the Tree and discovered the serpent. “Got a minute?” it hissed.

“You can speak?”

“Of course,” it responded, happily flicking its forked crimson tongue.

“How’d you get in here?”

“The same way you did.”

“The Creator?” Eve was confused. “He didn’t mention you. Adam would have told me.”

“Maybe He forgot?”

“But He’s all powerful!”

“Would I be here if He didn’t want me to be?” As she pondered this, it continued: “Let me show you something.” The serpent slithered to the Tree.

“Stay away from there!” Eve called. “We were warned not to touch it.”

“You and Adam were warned. Not me.” The snake crept up the trunk, plucked a green leaf with its tongue, and dropped it into the afternoon breeze. A flash of light briefly enveloped it before it fell at Eve’s delicate feet.

She picked it up. It had turned into a rectangle and sprouted markings she didn’t understand. She waved it at the serpent, who was slithering back onto the ground. “What’s this?”

“Money,” it told her.

“What’s money?”

“You use it to buy things – things you want.”

“We want for nothing. God has given us all we need.”

“For now, sure, but how about after you leave the Garden?”

“Why would we ever do that?”

“The Creator could change His mind.”

“Not as long as we obey Him.” She dropped the bill to the ground, where – with another flash of light – it transformed back into a leaf. The woman began to go.

“Wait!” the serpent called.

“What now?” she replied, irritated.

“Can I interest you,” it asked slyly, “in an apple?

Vocabulary Test

Mike Murphy

Accompanied by the usual urgent-sounding music, the “Breaking News” banner flashed on the screen. The announcer’s deep voice intoned, “This is a breaking news update from USNN – the United States News Network.”

Anchor Theresa Williams appeared onscreen behind the large news desk. “Good afternoon,” she said. “We want to bring you up to date concerning the alien spaceship that arrived on Earth this morning and assumed a parking orbit over New York City. So far, all attempts to communicate with the vessel have failed, and the inhabitants of the ship have made no attempt to contact authorities. For the latest developments, we go to Harry Walters at State University.”

Harry appeared on the right side of the screen, while Theresa remained on the left. “Good afternoon, Theresa,” he said.

“I understand that you have word of the disappearance of a State University professor?”

“I do,” Harry went on. “Margaret Lansing, a noted English professor here at State U, is reported to have disappeared less than 30 minutes ago before the very eyes of her associate, Deborah Butler. Professor Butler had this to say to USNN.”

They cut to a plump, gray-haired woman sitting behind a large desk covered in papers. She was upset and choking back tears. “I. . . I still can’t believe what I saw!” she exclaimed. “Margaret and I were sitting in her office, having lunch and discussing Coleridge’s ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ when she disappeared before my eyes. One moment she was there; the next – poof! She didn’t even have time to finish her turkey and Swiss sandwich.”

“What did her disappearance look like?” Walters asked.

“Like nothing,” Butler responded. “There was no sound, no blinking lights. One moment, she was making an interesting point about the poem. The next moment, she was gone.”

The screen was filled with animation of a yearbook opening. One image was brought forward. “Professor Lansing,” Harry continued, “seen here in a yearbook photograph, is a divorced, 51-year-old English literature professor who has been employed at State University for just over a decade. Federal authorities have yet to comment on this new development or whether they believe it is connected to the arrival of the alien ship.”

#

A tabby cat walked across the deck of the Sinlaxian ship’s control room, paying little attention to the alien life around her. “What do you call this creature, Professor?” Egrethor, her thin, tall, sparkling “host,” asked.

“A cat,” Lansing answered.

“No, that won’t do.”

“I beg your pardon?” The cat, having little interest in this meeting between human and alien, flicked her tail and padded away silently.

“From now on,” the alien told the professor, “that animal will be known as a dog.”

“But we already have an animal known as a dog.”

“Not any longer! What you once knew as a dog will now and forever be known by its Sinlaxian name – an oomphax.”

“Oomphax?”

“That is what a similar creature is known as in our language. You will not call either of those animals by its Earthly name ever again. Do you understand?” he asked.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Hardly. My people are here to take over your world, and we will now start molding it to our liking. We will begin by doing away with your language.”

“Why?”

“Language is important. It gives people a commonality, an understanding, a strength. That is why we will deny you humans yours. It pains me to have to use your tongue to communicate with you now.”

“Sorry,” Lansing said sarcastically.

“Do you remember the Sinlaxian words I taught you?” Egrethor inquired.

“I don’t see why –”

“Do you?” he asked again adamantly.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Good,” the alien continued, “because the survival of your race depends on it.”

#

Lansing was called into Egrethor’s presence the next morning. She answered his question: “An inopala.”

“Correct,” he said. “That will be all for today. You may return to your quarters.”

“Is that what you call the closet you’ve stuck me in?”

“It is adequate for a human. Go now.”

She started walking away, but then stopped and turned on her heel. “Why did you pick me for this?” she asked.

“No reason,” the alien told her. “It could have been anyone. The fact that you are an English professor learning Sinlaxian from me does make this ironic. Don’t you think so?”

“No.”

“You need to develop a sense of humor.”

“I find that difficult,” she said, “when you tell me that the fate of every man, woman, and child on Earth rests in my hands.”

“It has to rest with someone,” Egrethor told her. “Not to worry. I’m sure you’ll do just fine on the test tomorrow.”

“Test? What. . . What test?” she stammered.

“The vocabulary test. Tomorrow morning, I will quiz you on the Sinlaxian words you have been taught. Your performance will determine whether your race will be allowed to live as our – what would your archaic word be? – servants.”

“You mean ‘slaves,’” Lansing countered.

“That sounds so demeaning.”

“But that’s what we would be, right?”

“That will be decided in the morning,” her host said.

Lansing stumbled over her words. “I. . . I can’t do it.”

“What?”

“I can’t be responsible for this. I can’t. You’ll have to pick someone else.”

“You are as fitting a representative of your people as anyone,” the sparkling alien told her.

“But –”

“Without the test, your race has no hope, Professor, and only you will be allowed to take the test.”

“Is that the best we Earth people can hope for,” she asked, “to be your slaves?”

“There are worse alternatives.”

#

The oral test began: “Cat?” Egrethor asked.

“Dog,” his student answered.

“Dog?”

“Oomphax.”

“Sky?”

“Doleray.”

“Moon?”

Lansing had to think on that one briefly. “Gibron,” she quickly answered.

“That is all.”

“How’d I do?” Lansing asked anxiously.

“You answered every question correctly,” the alien replied.

“Good,” she said with a sigh.

“You have failed the test.”

“But –”

“Your score,” Egrethor explained, “proves that you and your fellow Earthlings are too dangerous to allow to survive.”

“What?”

He explained, “The idea was to get a low score – to demonstrate the limited mental abilities suitable for underlings.”

“But I didn’t –”

“In our past, intelligent servants have plotted against their Sinlaxian masters and caused unrest. We will not allow that to happen ever again. We will import servants to tend to our needs. You and yours will be done away with.” He called out to some of his crew, who were monitoring the walls of computers around him. “Ready the annihilation beam!”

Lansing heard the beeps of several buttons being pressed and then something warming up. “That’s not fair!” she exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me what you were looking for on the test.”

“Of course not! If you had known that information, you wouldn’t have given us a true accounting of your mental ability.”

“You can’t judge the entire human race based on me,” Lansing pleaded.

“Why not?”

“I’m a college professor,” she told him. “I spend a lot of time reading and studying. I’m paid to be intelligent.”

Egrethor seemed confused. “Are you saying that others would not be as intellectually dangerous as you?”

“Definitely. There are thousands. . . millions of people down on that planet who have never read a book in their lives! All they do is watch reality television, eat fast food, and go to NASCAR.”

“They would be suitable servant material?”

“Oh yes.”

Egrethor gave it some thought, but only briefly. “That would be so much trouble,” he told Lansing, “deciding who should live and who should die one by one. There are so many of you!”

“But –”

Three shrill beeps sounded. “Ah,” the alien said, “the annihilation beam is ready.”

“Please,” Lansing continued desperately, “you. . . you can’t do –”

“Do you want to press the button to destroy these inferior Earthlings, Professor,” the alien asked, “or shall I?”