His pyjamas were ripped that morning. Or perhaps during the night, but that wasn't the point. The point was that they were ripped, and he'd have to do something about it. He found his sewing kit and began.

After an hour he had performed repairs to his satisfaction and set equipment and pyjamas to one side. It was only then that he wondered exactly how they had torn in the first place. As far as he knew he wasn't a particularly athletic sleeper. Not alone anyway, and synchronised sleeping had been cancelled due to rain. So where did the rip come from. He had no idea. Examination of his mattress revealed no hidden springs. Putting the matter out of his mind he went about his daily work.

That night his pyjamas were a little tighter than usual due to his sewing. However they were still perfectly comfortable and he quickly fell asleep.

The next morning his pyjamas were torn again. Not in the same place but a few centimetres over. This was becoming annoying. The pyjamas had been new. Was this a plot cokked up by night apparel manufacturers in order to increase sales? But that was crazy talk. Again he reached for needle and thread and repaired the rip.

That night his pyjamas remained whole.

The night after that they were torn almost in half. He woke early when his leg became cold due to lack of coverage. Very annoyed, he spent an hour and a half sewing. Damned if he was going to buy a new pair. He'd only bought these a few weeks ago. No sense in wasting money when with a few stitches he could make them as good as new. Almost. They might be a bit tight but he'd manage.

During the course of his work that day he was tired and annoyed because of his disrupted sleep. At work, somebody wanted him to do something about redheads in Queensland, or some such rubbish. What do matches have to do with politics, he'd replied. His pyjamas were far more important. Let the Queenslanders sort it out. Whatever it was, it would probably go away if he ignored it.

When he put on his pyjamas that night they were too tight to be really comfortable. He rolled around in bed trying to fall asleep. Luckily for the world he didn't. About three in the morning he was startled out of a shallow doze by a weird light. He looked out his window. It appeared to come from the flying saucer parked on his front lawn. Wait a minute. He didn't own a flying saucer. Surely he'd remember an expensive purchase like that? Was it a surprise present from the States? He stared at the space craft. And heard the door to his bedroom slowly creaking open behind him.

"Oh dear. You're awake." The voice floating towards him had quite a pleasant tone, not at all alien. Yet this was definitely an alien. It was little. It was green. It was a man (probably). All the signs were there. After all it had come to him, the leader of the country, and very possibly had asked for directions on the way. The Prime Minister hummed the tune used to communicate with aliens in a movie. Then he pointed at the phone. He made strange gestures towards the ceiling. The alien looked at him with a strangely satisfied expression on its face, and put away the small pair of scissors it was carrying.

"I guess I don't need these anymore. It appears that my mission is accomplished."

The Prime Minister paused in his attempt to communicate and realised that he would probably have more success by talking.

"Greetings from planet Earth," he said, and then wondered if that was the right thing to say. Now that he thought about it, wasn't it the aliens who said things like that? Except that their greetings usually came from somewhere lacking in vowels and overly endowed with clicks and dribbling. He tried again.

"Hello." That seemed safe enough. Anyone could say hello, no matter which galaxy they came from. "I am the Prime Minister of Australia. I come in peace." He'd blown it again. You only said that last bit when you arrived on another world, usually just before destroying large portions of it. Perhaps it would be better to wait until the alien said something. He looked at the alien. The alien looked back.

After its initial feeling of satisfaction at a successful mission, the alien was becoming to have some doubts. Had it really achieved it's goal of driving the man insane, or was he just stupid to begin with? It decided to ask.

"Look, are you mad or not?" Worth a try, and it might provide some useful clues.

"Not that I know of."

"Ah. Well. Sorry to have disturbed you. I'll be going then." The man did indeed appear annoyingly sane to the alien now. Perhaps the earlier dance had been some kind of self defense mechanism. Or fear. Who could tell with these weird native rituals? The plan was ruined now of course.

"Wait. Aren't you going to give me a message of peace?" asked the Prime Minister. He could remember quite a few movies with that general theme.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"What else would you come for?" The Prime Minister suddenly remembered some other movies that didn't involve messages of peace at all, and wondered if he really wanted an answer.

"If you must know I'm here to infiltrate your pyjamas and send you mad as part of our plan to take over your planet," said the alien. As it was, he wondered if the alien was quite right in the head, and checked that he had heard correctly.

"Infiltrate my pyjamas?"

"Well, all right, rip them. In order that you can't sleep, go mad due to lack of sleep, and are unable to perform your duties as Prime Minister. And with your country in disorder we could take over."

"Oh. I see," said the Prime Minister, wondering why the aliens didn't just apply for citizenship.

"Won't work now of course because you know about it. But don't worry, I'm sure we'll think of something else. We're very good when it comes to conquering planets. Usually. Goodbye." The alien turned to go.

"Aren't you going to wipe my memory with some kind of laser beam?"

"Do you really think that if we had that kind of technology we'd be trying to take over your planet with a pair of scissors? Goodbye." The alien stomped over to the door and was gone. The Prime Minister lay back down and thought.

In the morning he bought a new pair of pyjamas. Silk. He put them on a miscellaneous expense account. Surely the public wouldn't mind. After all, the future of the planet was at stake. Come to think of it, it might not be a bad idea to buy a spare pair. Just in case.

Copyright © 1998, Tom Massey
URL: http://www.oocities.org/SoHo/Atrium/8864/stories/pjs.html

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