The Wrexham Rocket

Wrexham football club’s stadium is packed. The hosts are playing Manchester City in a crucial match to decide the winner of the Premier League title. Along with the rest of the crowd, Desmond Troy is chanting ‘Wrexham, Wrexham!’ He feels his phone vibrate and hears his Star Trek movie ringtone. He ignores it and carries on watching the game. A few seconds later, it rings again, but Desmond still ignores it. Suddenly, the referee blows his whistle and waves a red card in the air, sending a Manchester City player off the pitch for foul play. Wrexham are awarded a penalty. The score is 2-2. With five minutes of the match remaining, this could win the game and the Premier League title for Wrexham.

As the player lines up the shot, the ground falls silent. Just as the player runs to take the kick, Desmond’s phone blasts out the Star Wars theme once more. Twenty thousand people turn as one to stare at him with death in their eyes. The distracted player misses the goal. Desmond runs from the ground with objects bouncing off his head, lucky to escape with his life.

Outside the stadium, Des looks to see who has been calling him when his phone lights up again with the words WASA, Welsh Agency for Space Advancement. He answers.

“This better be worth it, ’cause you nearly got me killed, and if I don’t get one light-year away from this place in the next few minutes, I will be dead.”

“Commander, we need you at the office at once! Something incredible has happened.”

“I know, I just missed the end of the match because of you! Furthermore, if we lose, I’ll probably never be allowed in the stadium again.”

“I apologise, Commander, but there has been a momentous development. I can’t go into details over the phone, but we need you here right away!”

“Okay, I’m coming in. But it better be good!”

Des Troy, as he is generally known, arrives outside WASA HQ in the centre of Wrexham. It is a small shop, and there is a sign above the door saying WASA Welsh Agency for Space Advancement, and on the window, in bold letters, is an announcement saying ‘Astronauts Wanted, No Qualifications Needed.’ A sign says ‘Closed for the Day’. He knocks, and a guy appears in jeans and a T-shirt with the Welsh Space Agency’s insignia of a happy red dragon astride a rocket. He opens the door, and as Des steps in, a recorded voice from the Lightyear film bellows, ‘To Infinity, and Beyond!’ Gareth the Secretary greets him,

“Hi, Commander. The Director is waiting.”

Des follows Gareth to the back of the shop. He opens a door which has the image of a Stormtrooper on it and above it the words, ‘Do Not Enter!’ The bespectacled director, dressed in a three-piece suit, is sitting behind an oak desk.

“Come in, Commander. Take a seat. Thank you, Gareth. You may go now. One more thing, what’s a pink goat doing in the office?”

“No idea, sir. It appeared from nowhere. I’ll look into it.”

Gareth leaves, and Des sits down,

“What’s going on, sir?”

“Something truly amazing! We have received a communication from what appears to be semi-intelligent extraterrestrial life.”

“Oh my God, this is incredible! Why do you say ‘semi-intelligent’?”

“Because they contacted us.”

“I see.”

“It’s the single most important event in the history of mankind, and they chose to communicate with the Welsh Space Agency.”

“Are we the only space agency to receive the message?”

“Yes, the Welsh Secret Service, WI5, informed me that no other institutions were contacted. The aliens decided to announce their existence to Wales and Wales alone.”

Commander Des Troy shoots off his chair and stands to attention with his hand across his chest. He begins to sing the Welsh National Anthem in Welsh,

“Mae hen wlad fy nhasau yn annwyl i mi, Gwlad beirdd….”

“Yes, yes, very good. I understand it’s a great day for the nation, but we really need to move on.”

“My apologies, sir. Pride and emotion overcame me. How did it arise, sir? Was it gamma ray bursts, laser pulses, radio waves, complex mathematical equations, or music perhaps?”

“No, they faxed us.”

“Faxed! The aliens contacted us by fax!

“Yes, rather unorthodox.”

“Have we managed to translate it?”

“There’s no need. It is written in Welsh.”

“The aliens speak Welsh!”

“It appears so. They must have identified the Welsh as the most intelligent race on the planet and chose to communicate directly with us.”

Des shoots out of his chair once more and begins to sing Sosban Fach, a popular Welsh folk song.

“Sosban fach yn berwi ar y tân, Sosban fawr yn berwi ar y llawr, A’r gath wedi sgramo Joni bach.”

“Yes, yes, but we don’t have time for songs, Commander Troy.”

“Of course, my apologies, sir.”

“I suppose you speak Welsh.”

“Yes, I’m from Caernarfon.”

“I thought so with that rich guttural Welsh accent.”

“What did the message say, sir? Are they going to visit us?”

“No, they say that they have been following Wrexham Football Club’s meteoric rise to fame and success, and they are inviting Wrexham to play a match against a team called Intergalactica, which is made up of the best extraterrestrial footballers in the universe. The prize will be $50 billion for the winning team, an all-paid luxury holiday on a paradise planet, and ten corned beef sandwiches for each player. Apparently, corned beef sandwiches are the most sought-after delicacy in the universe.There will also be a pre-match discussion on the rules of the game, and free drinks and entertainment at a place called ‘The Pub in the Sky’, which is near the match venue.”

“What do Wrexham think of this?”

“I’ve spoken to management, and they have agreed to participate, and the players are also keen to go.”

“I suppose Ryan Reynolds and Rob Mac will also be going?”

“Well, that’s a sticky issue. I faxed them back to suggest exactly that, but they weren’t too enthusiastic.”

“Why, sir?”

“They said that they hate Ryan Reynolds’ acting, and they think Rob Mac is a shapeshifting Thorgon spy from the 7th Dimension.”

“That would explain a lot about Philadelphia.”

“Maybe. Now, I want you to head the mission.”

Des shoots out of his chair again and begins singing again,

“Calon lân yn llawn daioni…”

“Commander, I know we are Welsh, but that’s enough singing!”

“Sorry, sir. I’m just so honoured and humbled that you have picked me.”

“You will also be accompanied by Very Special Agent Dai Bastard.” (Dai is a common Welsh name pronounced ‘Die’) He is head of a special unit of the Welsh Secret Police called ‘Blocks in Red’ which deals with any alien activity related to Wales. He will take care of security.”

“Where is he from?”

“Porthcawl, South Wales.”

“A ‘hwntw’!”

“Yes, a hwntw, a southerner. He is on his way here as we speak. I told him to meet you in the Floppy Cock pub in an hour. Here’s his phone number.”

“Fine. It’ll give me a chance to get to know him.”

“Now, I want you to host a press conference accompanied by Agent Bastard at one o’clock tomorrow in Wrexham’s Xplore Science Discovery Centre. We have issued a brief press statement this afternoon, but the media will be hungry for more information. It will be attended by scientific journals and media outlets from across the world. They are probably unfamiliar with WASA, so you can also fill them in on our ethos and activities.”

“You can count on me, sir. When is the launch date?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“That soon!”

“Yes! We have to be quick to beat the competition. Luckily, the communication is in Welsh, so even if the Americans or Russians get their hands on it, it will take their most advanced quantum computers at least a week to translate it. But we can’t take chances. We’ll launch as soon as we can. This is Wales’ chance to win the space race!”

Des leaps up again and starts singing,

“Men of Harlech, march to glory, victory is hovering o’er ye…”

“Commander, stop singing! That’s an order.”

“My apologies again, sir. I couldn’t resist a famous Welsh battle song.”

“Now, the rocket will take off from Wrexham’s Racecourse Ground at 14.00.”

“Fine! But there is a small problem, sir. WASA doesn’t have a space rocket.”

“Now we do.”

“Where did you get it, sir?”

“I bought it on Amazon this morning. It should be arriving tomorrow.”

“My God, it must be one humongous delivery van!”

“No, it comes in pieces. I’ve already ordered a half ton of Scotch tape and twenty litres of super glue. My grandson’s sticking together as we speak. He’s pretty good with model aircraft.”

That’s reassuring, sir. What will the name of the spaceship be, sir?”

“The Wrexham Rocket.”

“Perfect! Ah, just one more thing, sir. I don’t know how to fly a spaceship.”

“Don’t worry about that, the rocket will be piloted by an advanced AI system. The craft has artificial gravity, as well as faster-than-light propulsion. It will also be equipped with a five-a-side football pitch for the players, as well as a cinema, restaurant and two bars.”

“Superb! Have the aliens sent us instructions to get there?”

“They say it’s signposted all the way.”

“I will be sure to get us there and back safely.”

“Good! Now, remember, this is the most important event in all of human history. A huge responsibility rests on your shoulders as a representative of not just Wales, but of the whole human race. Supporters from different galaxies will attend, so we will have a chance to establish friendly relations with many different species across the universe. Furthermore, if you happen to have sex with any of the aliens, send the videos directly to me for analysis. Good luck, Commander!”

“Will do, sir. Hwyl!”

Des salutes and leaves.