Operation Unicorn

By Pamela Love

“You want me to make you a unicorn.” I tugged at my tie, which was suddenly feeling much too tight.

“Wrong, twice over, Dr. Delany,” said the Premier. “Didn’t you read my message? Earth’s Council doesn’t want a unicorn, the Craldirish do. And they don’t want one; they want a breeding pair. It turns out those aliens have been here before, in the Middle Ages. Back then, con artists passed off some narwhal tusks as unicorn horns. The Craldirish paid them in gold. Now they’re coming back, and in exchange for a pair of unicorns, they will pay us with cold fusion technology.” She folded her arms. “Need I say more? Need I remind you of how desperate Earth is for a clean, renewable, reliable energy source that doesn’t depend on the weather? Or don’t you think climate change is a problem?”

I wiped away sweat rolling down my forehead, feeling the wrinkles there deepen. That sweat wasn’t caused by a warming planet. “This will take years of bioengineering research, and the cost—”

“The aliens will be here in ten years. You have your orders and a blank check. Consider Operation Unicorn of moonshot level importance.”

Nine years later

“Well, what do you think?” I didn’t try to hide my smirk behind my mustache as I waved toward my research team’s creations. “Did we deliver what you had in mind?

The entire Council stared wide-eyed at the superb—if I did say so myself—creatures before them. Two snow-white unicorns the size of white-tailed deer pranced on dainty hooves as my assistants led them around the ring built just outside the research institute. The horn of each, a half-meter of twisted ivory, rose from a forelock flowing back to a rippling silvery mane.

“You absolutely did, Dr. Delany,” whispered the Premier with a solemn nod.

“At the cost of canceling projects that probably would have saved a dozen other species, including, ironically, the narwhal.” My lip curled.

“It was worth it,” breathed the Treasurer, leaning over the railing. He wanted to ride one. I could tell.

“Don’t let yourself be quoted as saying that,” the Premier snapped, rolling her blue eyes. “We have some very important constituents who are irate when any species goes extinct. Nevertheless, this Council’s priority must be the good of humanity. Well done, Dr. Delany.”

Garlands of white roses were draped around the fence of the unicorns’ exercise ring. A sign read, “Welcome, Craldirish!” in their language and a half-dozen of Earth’s. But the leader of the extraterrestrial embassy paid no attention to the decorations. He hadn’t even agreed to allow Earth’s Council here. Every alien eye—and each Craldirish had eight—was focused on my creations, which were as docile as anyone could hope on this vital occasion. I held out the male’s halter to him. “Your Excellency, on this joyous day, may I just say—”

“Are these what the unicorns eat?” he asked. “We will require instructions on how to butcher and prepare them.”

I swallowed hard. Stroking the unicorn’s neck, I said, “Ambassador, these are the unicorns you requested.”

The ambassador raised one of his two primary tentacles, shifting his color from blue to purple to indicate denial. “No, they are not. We were shown unicorns on our previous visit to this planet. They live in Earth’s ocean. We have prepared a saltwater tank for them on our ship.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pamela Love was born in New Jersey, and worked as a teacher and in marketing before becoming a writer. Her work has appeared in Havok, Page & Spine, and Luna Station Quarterly. She is the 2020 winner of the Magazine Merit Fiction Award for her story “The Fog Test”, which appeared in Cricket. She and her family live in Maryland.

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