"Except for a few of the oil producing nations and the usual rogues, we now have the approval of eighty-percent of the earth's governments, representing at least ninety-percent of the planet's population, as per your request."

As soon as the box banged, slurped and snapped out the translation, Domptoom came back with a quick response.  "And they have agreed with every point?" spouted the device.

"The benefits to our planet are obvious, Captain," explained Candace, holding onto a pleased, confident grin she hoped Domptoom would notice.  "A select panel of Earth's top scientists have completed a preliminary evaluation of your generous gifts.  The translation machine, the solar power module and the ultra-light-speed communications device are everything you claimed.  Everyone is extremely excited."

Domptoom made a slight bow before it responded and boomed out a response using their lower-pitched, apologetic tones.  "I'm sorry we can't offer more at the moment.  As we explained, we were passing through this sector on the return leg of an emergency rescue mission to one of our mining colonies.  It was only through luck that we picked up one of your 'television' broadcasts.  We were not well-prepared."

"I can assure you President Tousch and the other world leaders greatly appreciate your efforts to forge a cultural exchange agreement between us, even if it takes four-hundred years to get to the next step.”  She curtsied once more, holding the bow until Domptoom raised its head.

"Three-hundred-fifty to four-hundred of your years is only a rough estimate," drummed Domptoom.  "We need to study your race, make sure exposure to our advanced technologies matches your capabilities, and give you ample time to prepare.  We will return with plans for our deep-space power-drive and miniature fusion reactor... provided you have the thousand volunteers prepared for their journey to Popoon."

"We foresee no problem at all, Captain Domptoom.  Humanity is not as old or advanced as the Popoons, but our race loves adventure and in the past has risen to meet every challenge.  I can assure you, we will have to turn away many more than we're allowed to send."

"Wonderful!" boomed Domptoom, a barely recognizable attempt to mimic English.  The machine translated its sound into rapid-fire Popoon drumbeats.  Candace allowed herself a chuckle behind a cupped hand.  "Excellent, Captain.  You can speak our language much more easily than I could ever speak yours.”  Domptoom fully exposed its teeth.  "One last thing, today," she added, "An issue President Tousch asked me to raise."

"An issue?  We apologize for any 'issue'," it said, leaving its mouth closed once its beating tongue retracted.

Candace hesitated, not sure if she had stepped onto another cross-cultural minefield.  "It's about the Reverend Farley Cadwaller.  He seems to be turning into a... a sort of Popoon."

Domptoom formed its down-turned, teeth-baring grin.  "When we first arrived, Reverend Cadwaller went on your television and asked his followers to pray for us Popoons to worship your Jesus," it said.  "It is the highest honor in our culture to wish another can be like you.  However, I am sorry to inform you, when we investigated the potential of such a thing happening through prayer to your god, we found it impossible.” 

For once, Domptoom's excited drumming outpaced the machine.  The Captain waited for the translation and Candace's reaction, surely a puzzled look the alien apparently didn't understand.  "There are powerful sentient spiritual beings that rule certain sectors of some of the outer galaxies, but none we can detect here," Domptoom explained, the translator putting it into a tone a first-grade teacher might use in class.  "You will eventually learn about every race we've encountered, but these god-like creatures are often selfish, capricious and cruel, perhaps bitter from eons of loneliness.  Humans are much better off not to have one."

Candace had always wondered what the Popoons thought of the mixed greeting waiting for them after contacting earth.  Thousands of Reverend Cadwaller's Mob for Morality gathered outside Andrews Air Force Base within sight of their ship, praying for them daily.  She tried to explain at first, but gave up after Domptoom seemed amused, later oblivious.  "With all due respect, Captain, what have you done to Pastor Cadwaller?" she asked.

"We decided that if we can't become like Reverend Cadwaller, then Reverend Cadwaller will become one of us.  It is only fitting we honor him that way in return.  We will take him to Popoon to live among us, to return to Earth on the next ship, the first true cultural exchange between us."

This was a new, awesome capability the Popoons hadn't yet revealed, though all along they only seemed to explain things as needed.  "Captain, how... how can you change someone's body like that?" asked Candace, breathless as she spit out the words.

"We mentioned we live for hundreds of your years, sometimes thousands.  This is not our natural life cycle, but synthetic.  We learned how to alter what you call DNA at first to inhibit the aging process--a necessity for deep space exploration.  Later, we developed more advanced capabilities, such as those you have noticed with Reverend Cadwaller.  We only needed to initiate the process, a sort of 'inoculation'.  The replacement DNA seed will slowly spread throughout the host and change one organ at a time until the conversion is complete.

"Don't worry," it added, assuming once more its grotesque, toothy smile.  "When we return, if he desires, we can change him back.  He will remember everything and will no doubt have wonderful stories to tell."

President Gregor Tousch, as host, was the last of the assembled world leaders to speak at the sendoff ceremony on the Capital Mall.  After a standing ovation, he stepped back from the podium and stood next to Candace, applauding as the Popoons carried the struggling Reverend Cadwaller onto their ship.  The rotund minister was far along in the conversion process—the sprout of a tail-paddle poking through a hole cut in his trousers, mid-forehead and rear eyes beginning to form and his lips stretched out to a flopping hugeness. 

Candace had to lean in close to Tousch, trying to be heard above the cheering throng.  "I don't quite understand why you seem so pleased, Greg," she yelled, "I know you've never liked the man personally, but Reverend Cadwaller has been one of your staunchest supporters.  I was surprised you let the Popoons cart him off so easily."

"Let's just say it's one less big mouth to feed," Tousch countered, turning to her with a wink.  "A big mouth that has become more and more demanding.  Besides, we wouldn't want to offend our newfound froggy friends, would we?" He put his lips close to her ear.  “Is it true?  I mean, what they say about Popoon mating rituals?" he asked.

"I have no reason to doubt Captain Domptoom," replied Candace.  "Farley Cadwaller will experience everything a Popoon experiences, including their coming-of-age ceremony."

"Ceremony, huh?”  A TV cameraman moved in closer, the red light on.  Tousch smiled, waved at the camera with one hand and pumped a thumbs-up clenched fist with the other.  "Sounds to me more like a semi-organized amphibian gang-bang.”  He chuckled, wagging his head.

"You're not being cross-culturally sensitive here, Greg," she said, laughing with him.  "Popoons are born with both male and female genitalia, it's true.  However, Domptoom mentioned some ten-percent prefer to take part in mating exclusively as one gender or the other.  If an adult Popoon wishes to live exclusively as a male or female, it is now generally accepted though once was a stigma. Cadwaller will have a choice to participate in his first mating frenzy as a male, though they're hoping to convince him to freely accept any Popoon wishing to mate by whatever means.  It is their custom not to refuse during a Popoon's first mating season."

"I'll bet he'll be extremely popular.  You don't suppose they'll film it?" asked Tousch.

"Think you can wait three or four hundred years?" she said.

Domptoom stood at the door of the ship facing the crowd and bent low, offering a final ritual bow.  The ship's door slid closed, the cracks at the edge somehow melding invisibly into the hull.  A quartet of Air Force jets screamed overhead while the Marine Corps Band played The Battle Hymn of the Republic. 

The huge craft rose above the cheering throng, silent, and drifted along the full length of the mall to hover above the Washington Monument, where it faded to transparent, gone.

"You know, Candy," whispered the President, "Despite what Domptoom claims, there just might be a God, after all."