Nine
Growing up, I’d watched even the worst serials about aliens. As a Security professional, I’d devoured every Montague manual on alien contact. Devoured optional training on past alien contact. Daydreamed about meeting aliens in another universe. Whatever I’d expected from the aliens, Old American English wasn’t it.
Some of the North American countries preserved their language. Was it North Nevada that had the Language Purity Commission? Nebraskansas? Navajo Michigan? One of those N countries, anyway. One that missed their glory days, when they hadn’t had to get along with anyone.
The alien leader didn’t speak it perfectly. The drawl was exaggerated, the twang almost a parody. But it sure sounded enough like Old American to start off a skit in an episode of Laughs.
My pressure suit
