The Spaceship Lula Belle

Ever since the Roswell incident in 1947, American Presidents have known of life on other planets. Most people in the habit of reading books like this know that an interplanetary spacecraft crash landed near Roswell, New Mexico. President Truman inspected the site and even viewed the little bodies of the craft's humanoid pilots. Tabloids would later tell their gullible readers that President Eisenhower had received living UFO pilots at the White House, but that's just silly.
It was not until April 12, 1963, that an American President, John F. Kennedy, actually received beings from outer space. Around 10:30 that morning, President Kennedy's secretary Evelyn Lincoln spoke into a cellular telephone that the aliens had provided: "The President will see you now."
Four columns of swirling light appeared in the Oval Office and took human-like forms. They were the captain and several senior officers of the United Spaceship Lula Belle. They were Captain James T. Kook, Science Officer Spook, Doctor "Bonehead" McKay and Chief Engineer Snot, or "Snotty.” Overcoming his initial surprise, President Kennedy stepped from behind his desk and warmly grasped their hands.
The President was struck by the advanced age of the officers. "I have it on Elvis Presley's word," Kennedy began, "that you fellows are spaceship officers from the twenty-second century. Is it customary in your century for spaceships to be piloted by geriatrics?"
"Certainly not," Captain Kook replied. "We were all thirty years younger when we began our voyages into space on what was supposed to be a five-year mission. Our mission was to go as far into space as we could and not ever come back. They said it was a peaceful mission, but every time we turned around, we were having to kill somebody to save our own skins. We finally came to the conclusion that Spacefleet Command was trying to get rid of us, and they didn't really care where we went, as long as they never saw us again. So, we decided to just go where ever we wanted to go, including time travel, and—well—PARTY! All of them, including Mr. Spook, broke into smiles at the word party.
"I think there's something to be said for the twenty-second century," said Kennedy, "that party has become a verb."
"Yeah, r-r-r-r-right, man!" Snotty said trying to mimic a Scottish burr. In reality, Mr. Snot was from Venice Beach, California.
"I hear what you're sayin', man!" Mr. Spook added. "I used to be a real Herbert: I didn't show my feelings, have fun, or nothin’. I'm glad we came here 'cause I've been seein' this famous psychologist, see, and she's done me a lot of good. Showed me that I was repressing my emotions, because I was trying too hard to please my emotionless father. What a bummer! No wonder my Mama liked the collie and my brother Timmy better than she liked me!"
"Excuse me," President Kennedy said, "but I can't help noticing a piece of tissue paper on your face, and it seems to have some kind of green stuff on it."
"Oh," Mr. Spook said with a little embarrassment. "This morning, I was so excited about seeing you that I cut myself shaving."
President Kennedy concealed his surprise. "Oh, pardon me for interrupting," he said. "You were saying you were seeing a famous psychologist? Who is he?"
"Joy Sprothers," Spook replied.
President Kennedy's surprise was mounting, but he held it in check. "And why did you contact me by way of Elvis," he asked, "instead of directly contacting the White House?"
Captain Kook replied, "Well, contacting Elvis was our main reason for coming here. Saving your life was kind of an afterthought. We wanted to find out what Elvis really looked like."
"’Really’ looked like?"
"Hell, yeah. Elvis imitators have been popular for about three hundred years. Every planet in the galaxy has them, and a lot of them are not even humanoid. When we saw a Klintonne Elvis---that is, a boneless creature very much like a slug, which feeds mainly on hamburgers---we knew it was time to find out what Elvis really looked like.
"First, we went to the planet Vicarias. The Vicarians are such great imitators that they can turn themselves into exact duplicates—right down to the mended spots in previously broken bones—of an original. Unfortunately, there have been so many Elvis imitators over the years that not even the Vicarians know what he really looked like. Worse, we got into some trouble on Vicarias and had to leave quickly."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Some of the Vicarians saw fit to duplicate our landing party. One Vicarian's imitation of Dr. McKay was particularly offensive, and Bonehead beat the snot out of him."
"But you said that their imitations were exactly like the originals in every possible way."
"That's what Bonehead found particularly offensive. Bonehead's anger still isn't satisfied. He dragged him aboard the Lula Belle, where he vents his anger by zapping him with his zapper.
"So, when the trip to Vicarias didn't pan out, we traveled through time and visited Graceland."
"That brings us to the purpose of your visit to me," President Kennedy said, getting down to business. "As I understand it, you told Elvis that I am to be assassinated in Dallas on November 22 of this year?"
"That's right, Mr. President," Captain Kook replied with unaccustomed seriousness.
"I realize that the alleged reason for the trip is just an excuse to do some early campaigning in a key state. After all, if I wanted to mend fences between Ralph Yarborough and Lyndon, we could all meet in Washington. Ralph and Lyndon are both up there on the Hill. Besides that, I feel uneasy about going to Dallas. The city is dominated by an elite group called the Citizens Council, and to them, I'm public enemy number one. The last time I went to Dallas, back in October of '61, the only public official who came to greet me was the police chief, Jesse Curry. Still, if I don't campaign, I don't get re-elected. I must go to Dallas."
"We're not here to prevent you from going to Dallas. We wish it were that simple. If it were, we could as easily locate the would-be assassin and keep him in quarantine until November 22 is over. The trouble is, your murder has never been solved to the satisfaction of the authorities. According to a Congressional investigation in 1978, your death was the result of a conspiracy, probably by organized crime. We know that Lee Harvey Oswald was one of the gunmen, but we don't know how many others there were or where they all were located."
"Of course, there's no way I can help you with that," said Kennedy, "so why are you all here?"
The Lula Belle landing party glanced at one another, and Captain Kook replied, "If we're unable to get to the bottom of this conspiracy and bring the conspirators to justice by November 22, we'll have to resort to extraordinary means to save your life."
"Such as?"
"Such as using a double in your place. This would require split-second timing. According to a film taken of the assassination, the first bullet hits you just as you disappear behind a street sign. Only your waving hand is visible. If it becomes necessary to use a double, we can beam you aboard the Lula Belle and beam down the double between the instant you disappear behind the sign and the instant the first bullet strikes."
"Assuming that your timing isn't off," Kennedy suggested, "surely, there will be an autopsy. Wouldn't the medical examiner we able to tell he's a double?"
"No, sir," Dr. McKay beamed, "The double is going to be the badly behaved Vicarian I dragged aboard the Lula Belle."
"That would mean, though," said Kennedy, "that I would never be able to go home again. If we reveal what will have really happened, we would have to admit the existence of interplanetary life visiting us here on Earth. We can't do that. It would be too disruptive to our civilization."
"That's right," said Captain Kook. "If it comes to that, we would have to take you to the twenty-second century with us."
President Kennedy suddenly felt drained of energy. He sat on the edge of his desk for support. "I wonder how much will have changed over the next three hundred years."
"You may be happy to know," offered Captain Kook, "that all races on all planets—in fact, all intelligent beings—enjoy complete equality. Your dream of a color-blind society is fulfilled in our century."
"But," countered President Kennedy, "your description offers bigots a perfect excuse for unfair discrimination. By considering some beings unintelligent, you may freely deprive them of equality. Who determines whether a being is intelligent?"
"Why, men do, of course!" Captain Kook exclaimed. "As I've often told Mr. Spook, his planet is the only one in the galaxy where the women are logical. We treat all intelligent beings as equals, but women are still regarded as objects for men's gratification."
"Oh," Kennedy sighed with relief. "For a moment there, you had me worried."
"Don't worry about a thing. You know," Kook reminisced, "when I was a much younger spaceship captain, I had a new girlfriend on each new planet at least once a week. In those days, I used to really knock 'em dead. Now that I'm old, instead of knocking them dead, I just make them a little sick. There was one planet we discovered where people reproduced by artificial insemination. Sex was entirely frowned upon, thus, entirely unknown."
President Kennedy interrupted, "I'd get headaches in a place like that."
"Oh, but I have a very enterprising crew," smirked Captain Kook. "They saw it as an opportunity to boldly go where no man has gone before. Ah, those were the days. I hate getting old, reflexes and attention span slowing. Why, just last week, the Spaceship Lula Belle was lumbering along at .03 warp, other vessels hailing us to speed up or pull over. I wondered why they didn't just go around me, until I realized the problem: for at least a half an Earth day, the left-hand turn signal had been blinking. Once, when the Lula Belle had to pass through a cloud of X-Ahn gas---"
"Captain," Mr. Spook interrupted, "don't we have something important to discuss here?"
Captain Kook shook himself back to lucidity. "Sorry," he muttered. "Sometimes I get carried away by my reminiscing."
"Just how much have you learned about the assassination?" Kennedy asked.
"Our ship's computer is evaluating all information now," Kook responded.
"We personally have only the bare bones information, but our computer has downloaded every byte of information from the Kennedy Assassination Center in Dallas. Since the downloading took place before we left the twenty-second century, that's more information than any of us could possibly imagine. Mostly due to the assassination, you are the fifth most written-about person in the history of the world, exceeded only by Jesus Christ, Napoleon Bonaparte, Abraham Lincoln and Adolph Hitler, in that order."
"Why am I not encouraged by all this abundance of evidence?" Kennedy mused.
"Because much of the evidence—however basic it may be—contradicts other important evidence. Even the physical evidence, which in most criminal cases is considered the most reliable evidence, shows signs of being tampered with. We don't know if there will be one shooter, or two, or three, or more. The number of shots is somewhere between three and eight. The number of sniper's nests is somewhere between one and five."
"Lawyers have a saying," said Kennedy. "It's bad to have a witness against your client; but, if there are witnesses, it’s better to have as many witnesses as possible. Is that the way it is with the evidence?"
"Exactly. Dealey Plaza in Dallas is such an echo chamber that over 200 witnesses can't tell us from which direction the shots came or how many there were. Bonehead is kind of a history buff. Bonehead, what can you tell us about that?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Bonehead muttered. "If you go solely by the numbers—how many people said what—you’ll get nowhere, because no one's opinion is in the majority. If you go by the quality of each person's description of the events, you can learn a little more. There were at least four shots. The first, second and fourth came from behind, probably all from the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. The character of one of the spent shells indicates it may have been dry fired. That would mean that Oswald—the only assassin to be caught—had fired only three shots. Another shot, if there were more than four, may have come from the roof of the Depository, the roof of the Dal-Tex Building or one of the upper floors of the Dal-Tex Building. The third of the four confirmed shots almost certainly came from what has come to be called ‘the grassy knoll.’ That would be a shot from the right front. At this time, we have no way of knowing where in the Dal-Tex Building a shooter may be, or even if there was be a Dal-Tex shooter. We do know, though, that a Dallas police officer encountered a West Coast gangster named Eugene Hale Brading only moments after the assassination. Brading had close ties to a top New Orleans gangster named Carlos Marcello and a corrupt labor leader named Jimmy Hoffa, both of whom are suspected of having a hand in the assassination."
At the names Marcello and Hoffa, a look of shock crossed President Kennedy's face. "You recognize the names?" Spook asked.
"Yes," Kennedy sighed, shaking his head in amazement. "My brother Bobby has been moving heaven and earth to get Marcello deported and to put Hoffa behind bars. So, you fellows think the Mafia is behind it?"
"We know they are, but there are so many gaps in our knowledge about the assassination, we can do little or nothing to stop it. In almost every area, we have either too much information or not enough. Even the medical reports are contradictory. The surgeon who tried to save your life gave one report, while the medical examiner at Walter Reed Hospital said the opposite. Two FBI agents who witnessed the autopsy reported hearing something else from the medical examiner.
Later—reportedly—the Secret Service persuaded the surgeon in Dallas to alter his report, based on information supposedly learned at Walter Reed, while the M. E. at Walter Reed was persuaded to change his report, based on the findings of the surgeon in Dallas. In other words, Mr. President, from two examinations we have five different reports."
"There is a logical dictum called 'Occam's Razor,’" Mr. Spook interjected, which says that, when presented with a puzzle, you should seek the simplest answer that fits the facts. When dealing with conspiracies, though, Occam's Razor loses some of its edge. A conspiracy's first task is convincing others that it doesn't exist.
It always does that by presenting a set of obvious facts that lead to the wrong answer. The truth behind a conspiracy is almost always complex."
Dr. McKay continued, "The waters are further muddied by all those people who spiced up their autobiographies with claims that they, or someone they knew, was involved. It was an easy way to boost sales. Rumor has it that Shari Lewis' publisher had to talk her out of blaming the assassination on Lambchops. Lucille Ball may have tried to blame Desi Arnaz, but the Cuban connection wasn't strong enough to be credible."
"I can't believe that Castro would be involved," Kennedy said. "We've been making some great headway behind the scenes in normalizing relations with Cuba. Castro knows he can't get a better deal out of Uncle Cornpone—that is, Lyndon."
"Not Castro," Dr. McKay said, "but he may be the only one we can rule out as a suspect. According to some conspiracy theories, the Mafia is aided by the CIA, the military-industrial complex, anti-Castro Cubans, rogue elements of the FBI, hard-line conservative businessmen from Dallas, Uncle Cornpone and a host of others. Since you can't prove a negative, we can't rule out anyone for sure."
"Dr. McKay, you've just listed some of the folks I've made bitterly angry over the last couple of years," President Kennedy said. "And do I correctly understand that it was you who convinced the others to try to save my life?"
"Uh, no, not really," Bonehead stammered. "That was Mr. Spook's idea. He kept trying to impress on us how logical it would be to try to save you. He used the word logical so much that we realized that if we didn't agree, we'd have a nervous breakdown. And please, Mr. President, don't ask him what it's like to be in your century. If I hear the word fascinating one more time, I'll scream."
"Well, what about you?" Mr. Spook shot back. "You get your jollies telling Captain Kook that somebody is dead! If an asteroid falls on someone, do we really need a doctor to tell us he's dead? And while we're getting things off our chests, I'm tired of you monopolizing the hologram room every Wednesday afternoon. Do you really need to pretend you're on a Myrtle Beach golf course several hours a week?"
"You devil-eared varmint! I'm tired of you using my medicine bottles for three-dimensional chess pieces!"
"I wouldn't have to use your medicine bottles for chess pieces if it weren't for Mr. Dzau-le using my chess pieces as traditional Taoist idols! They don't look any more like Taoist gods than your medicine bottles look like chess pieces. Trouble is, with him worshiping my chess pieces every time I turn around, I'm afraid I'll offend the gods if I use them to play chess. Talk to him about it!"
"Boys, boys," Captain Kook admonished. "We've got an assassination to prevent. After this is all over, we'll all go to the Ramalamadingdong star system to replenish our supply of Ramalan ale. I think we're all suffering from being too far behind in our drinking."
"Now, you're cookin'," Snotty said cheerily. Spook and Boney agreed. "I've been wondering something," Kennedy said.
"And what is that?" Kook asked.
"I suppose you've found cures for quite a number of diseases?"
"Oh, yes," Dr. McKay replied. "Over the next three centuries, man will have found a cure for every twentieth century disease except the common cold."
"I'm glad to hear that," Kennedy sighed with relief. "Dr. McKay, I have Hodgkin's disease. Could you cure me of that?"
A look of weariness crossed Dr. McKay's face, and the protested, "I'm a doctor, not a—uh...oh, yeah, that's right. I'll ask Nurse Chaplin to make an appointment for you aboard the Lula Belle."
Captain Kook chuckled, "He got you on that one, Bonehead." Then, to President Kennedy, he said, "He uses that `I'm a doctor' line all the time to get out of work. When he's really in a lazy mood, he won't even give you the time of day. He'll say something like, ‘I'm a doctor, not a clock-watcher,’ or something like that.
I'm glad somebody finally asked him to do something he can't get out of doing."
"I suppose you don't consider aging a disease," President Kennedy opined. "You obviously haven't discovered a cure for it."
"No," Dr. McKay admitted, "but our scientists may be onto something. They're studying Dick Clark to see how he does it."
"You mean, the guy on `American Bandstand`?"
"Yes."
"I understand how I may soon find myself in the twenty-second century, but what's going to happen for Dick Clark to find himself there?"
"We don't know how he does it, but that guy just doesn't seem to age."
"Have you discovered anything on your own?" asked President Kennedy. "You mean like a cure for aging?" Dr. McKay responded.
"No, I mean the assassination."
"Yes, we have, Mr. President," said Captain Kook. "We've discovered that some form of mind control is being used on Lee Harvey Oswald. A very brilliant psychologist is in the process of convincing him that he's from another planet; that simply by claiming to be from that particular planet, people will automatically believe whatever he says."
"How can that further to goals of the conspiracy?" Kennedy asked.
"Well, if he believes he can convince people of his innocence merely by telling them he is innocent, he'll be less fearful of squeezing the trigger. There's no such planet, of course, but Oswald is being made to believe it. This fictional planet is called Pat. Oswald is being made to believe he can get off Scot free—excuse the expression, Snotty---he believes he can get away with it just by saying something like, 'I'm a Patsy. I didn't kill anybody.'"
"That's horr-rr-rrible!" Mr. Snot burred. "Who could be diabolical enough and brr-rr-rrilliant enough to come up with a scheme like that?"
"We don't know yet," Captain Kook replied, "but that may be an important key in unlocking this conspiracy."
At that moment, Mr. Spook brandished his zapper and shot a hole through the ceiling of the Oval Office. "I warned you about that!" shouted Captain Kook. "Keep your zapper over your right hip and your communication device over the left. That way, you won't get them confused!" Captain Kook turned to President Kennedy and said, "Can you believe that? A few months ago, when we were trying to buy some contraband from Han Solo, Mr. Spook accidentally shot the poor man's Wookie. The whole deal went down the drain."
"Sorry, Captain," said Mr. Spook. "There's something I must find out before I forget it again." He brandished his cellular telephone and spoke into it, "Computer, what is a Manlicher-Carcano?"
The computer responded, "A Manlicher-Carcano is a kind of bolt action rifle. It was standard issue for Italian soldiers during World War II. Its effectiveness is unknown because it was never tested in battle. Some experts believe it is capable of picking off a liberal Democratic President from ninety-three meters."
"Fascinating," Mr. Spook said, returning the cellular telephone to the holder over his right hip.
"What's fascinating?" asked Captain Kook.
"Each time I leave my analyst's office, I get the strangest urge to smuggle a Manlicher-Carcano into the Texas School Book Depository."
President Kennedy, Captain Kook, Mr. Snot and Dr. McKay all exclaimed at once, "Joy Sprothers!"