"Jennifer, you're wasting your life, spending all your time sitting in front of that thing and playing games!"
"So what are you watching on teevee tonight, huh, Mom?"
"I don't have my whole life ahead of me, child. What are you going to do when you get out of school?"
"Something, Mom, something."
"Oh, Jen," sighed her mother, heading off to watch her evening shows.
Running into the den, her mother exclaimed, "Jennifer! Spaceships are landing!"
Jen didn't look away from her computer monitor. "I know, Mom. I get breaking news. Now please let me finish this! I'm almost to level thirty-seven."
"Kids!" Her mother threw up her hands and went to the kitchen for another can of diet soda, then back to watch the news of the century.
At the United Nations, Secretary General Mchunu reacted with shock. "You will give us the technology to travel between the stars? Why?"
The small blue being smiled, speaking through its translator box. "In your planet's history was there a time when developed countries helped undeveloped countries, with the look ahead to larger markets?"
"Yes, of course."
"So it is with us. We give you the technology for star travel. Then you will see what more you want from us, for which you will have to pay."
"I see. Still, we cannot turn down your gift."
"Of course not," smiled the small blue being, rubbing the tips of its six-fingered hand together in a familiar gesture.
"Blast it! What is a giga-nano-plex convolver? And why don't we have the plans for it?" the General fumed. He glowered around the table at the department heads presenting their weekly reports on the progress of the construction of Earth's first interstellar ship.
"Advanced computer technology is an item for which you may trade, once you have the ability to do so," smiled the small blue being. "Until then you must use sentient mind and skill to navigate your star ships."
"What! That'd be about as easy as shooting pool in free fall during a hail storm!" said one engineer.
The small blue being smiled. "Our experience is that sentient beings, such as humans, have many surprising skills. We can help you test for and find those who have such abilities."
"Can't you just give us the giga-whatsit?" pleaded the General.
"No, it is against policy."
"All right, all right. What do you suggest?"
"Hold a world-wide competition...."
"Jennifer, don't you have homework? What in tarnation is that!" Her mother stared at the crazily changing pattern on her daughter's computer monitor, which she was somehow manipulating with a joystick in one hand and a trackball under the other.
"Quiet, Mom. This is important."
"Well, at least it doesn't look violent. But when I was your age, I had better ways to spend my time! Boys noticed me!"
"Yeh, that's because you didn't have color teevee, and I don't have time for boys." The monitor cleared to a text screen, then another crazy pattern began.
"Don't have time! What are you doing with your life, child!"
Her mother opened the front door to find a uniformed officer standing on the porch. "Ma'am? Does Jennifer Patrice Conlin live here?"
"Yes, my daughter," stammered Mrs. Conlin. "What's she done?"
"I'm from the Air Force, Ma'am. Your daughter has passed The Test, in global competition, and we need her."
"Need her? Test? Competition? What are you talking about?"
Jen came up behind her and squeezed into the doorway. "Mom? Who... Wow! A Colonel! Then I really did make it to Altair?"
"Are you Jennifer Patrice Conlin?"
"Sure 'nough am." Jen stood up straight. "Sir!"
"Ms. Conlin, your country needs you to immediately begin training as an interstellar navigator. We offer a full scholarship, room and board, and officer rank in the United Nations Space Fleet when you complete your training."
"Hot damn! When do I leave?"
"Jennifer! Your language! Leave? Officer, my daughter is only fourteen. Her grades are awful. She wastes all her time playing computer games and reading trash magazines!"
"I understand this is confusing, Ma'am. The Altarians (damn little blue con artists) have given us star drive technology, but only rudimentary stellar navigation equipment. We must train a cadre of astrogators with incredible reflexes and the ability to react and control swiftly changing multi-channel scenarios."
"What?"
"What it means, Ma'am, is that navigating a star ship takes the same skill set that computer gamers develop. The reflexes are best in teenagers. Earth needs your daughter."
(July 2003)
I live under a rock, seriously. When I wrote this I had never even heard of The Last Starfighter.