'The Professor' by Donovan M. Colbert

Professor Joe Smith crossed his porch and sat down at the white wicker chair that waited there patiently for him every evening. His loyal dog, Jack raised his head curiously from the well-manicured lawn where he lay. Once certain that everything was as it should be, Jack rested his head back on his front paws and resumed his dozing.

The professor enjoyed the warm summer nights. He liked to sit on the porch and enjoy a tumbler of scotch brandy and a full pipe of tobacco. He could sit out on the porch and contemplate the heavens for hours. Joe understood that most of the stars visible to the naked eye were inhospitable to life. Or inhospitable to life as it was known by modern man. Still, somewhere out there between two bright red giants might be a yellow sun like his own, where a planet circled in orbit at just the right distance to harbor life. He would stare into the sky and wonder if perhaps some being on a planet circling one of those bright points of light above was staring back at him across the light-years, wondering the same thoughts in some exotic alien tongue. Perhaps thousands of beings on thousands of planets orbiting thousands of stars were all staring at each other, wondering these same thoughts, all suspicious that they must not be alone in such a vast universe, yet all of them unaware of the presence of the others.

But perhaps some of them were not unaware that they were not alone. In some far off galaxy maybe there was an alien Captain Kirk commanding a starship that was charged with defending the peace of the Federation. He certainly hoped that any alien cultures were not as hokey and contrived as the heroes of television sci-fi series, but the general concept intrigued him none-the-less. And perhaps it would be somehow more exciting if alien life did turn out to be larger than life, cinematic and breathtaking. Wouldn’t it be disappointing to finally find other intelligent life in the universe and find they were much the same as regular people? That they lived in suburban tract homes and drove shiny and expensive automobiles to work where they worked nine to five to pay off their mortgage? Joe wondered could alien life be like that, with a society so similar in structure to his own? The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Wouldn’t any society advanced enough to have technology of any reasonable level need the basic structure and organization of society? It would need people working in offices, selling goods, running restaurants, hell, even teaching the next generation in schools and colleges. Alien lawyers, judges, politicians, doctors, scientists, wouldn’t that be a shock for the first space-travelers to encounter them. The professor found his thoughts suddenly turning down a darker path. He had never seen any science fiction that postulated the idea of aliens with honest human frailties. If a superior race of extra-terrestrials landed and made contact, the standard fear would be that they would be malevolent. No one had ever suggested that the landing race might be well intentioned, but still suffer the same basic human weaknesses of humanity. Greed, envy, blind-ambition, things that could be seen every day among his fellow men. Every day Joe read about another pervert of psychotic who had ruined the lives of his unfortunate victims. If these extra-terrestrials had a society so much like that of humanity, why not the same problems? The professor shuddered at the thought of a drug addicted alien transvestite prostitute.

The professor tried to chase these depressing images away, taking a healthy sip of his drink. Finishing, he chewed on his pipe thoughtfully and regarded Jack asleep in the lengthening shadows, as the evening grew long. He had once read a collection of short stories and articles by a science fiction author. It seemed that this author was both admired and detested by what seemed an equal number of readers. Joe was one of the few in the middle. Aside from a tendency to have his characters rant philosophically or politically in a two-dimensional fashion, the author wrote entertaining stories. One of the articles in the collection was a short piece for librarians intended to help define the genre of science fiction. One paragraph had stayed with Joe all of these years, although he could not remember the name of the author any longer. Joe was not even sure the author was still among the living. The author had proposed that many librarians were put off by the esoteric and exotic names that science fiction writers often gave their characters. Joe looked down and regarded himself. His corded pants and tweed jacket were slightly disheveled as their folds and wrinkles covered his aging body. His sensible brown shoes were scuffed and had well worn soles. He was well aware that he fit the role of the stereotypical aging college professor, regarded as somewhat eccentric, deeply intellectual, stubborn and standoffish, yet kind-hearted and curious minded. Joe let his eyes roam the heavens from horizon to horizon, and considered the idea that somewhere out there another Joe Smith sat at his porch on an alien landscape and stared back at him, wondering the same thoughts. He tried to envision this alien, bipedal, basically humanoid, but with strange alien features. What would he look like, the professor wondered? He imagined the strange differences an alien atmosphere and different evolutionary path might introduce. Perhaps this alien Joe Smith had only two eyes, smallish almond shaped things placed grotesquely on the face. What other strange features might such creatures have? Would these aliens have hair in odd places, tufts of it growing on top of their heads? Or soft doughy flesh? Could a creature this bizarre really share the same society, perhaps even the same names, that humanity had developed? The professor stroked thoughtfully at the mandibles that protruded from his large, transparent jawbone, then quickly dispensed with the scotch remaining in the tumbler. Placing the pipe carefully in an ashtray that sat on a small table on the porch, Joe turned to the yard and whistled for Jack. The dog rose wearily to his feet, his ears standing alert. The dog stretched, using its center pair of legs to balance it’s elongated, serpentine body, then obediently trotted across the yard toward the porch, all six legs moving in a harmonious canter. Joe scratched the dog affectionately behind the spiny ridge of its sensory tentacles for a moment.

"There’s a good boy," the professor said, and together man and his best friend entered their house and prepared to turn in for the evening.