“I’m sorry to trouble you at such a late hour.” He said. “But your videophone was not turned off for the night, and I concluded you had yet to go to bed.”
“No bother.”
“Then is sit possible you can help us?” The Martian said. “The whole Embassy can’t get to sleep. We’ve poured over the encyclopedias, gone through all the phone books, but we still can’t find out who Baba Yaga is and where she lives…”
Bronty
They brought a Brontosaurus egg to us at the Moscow Space Zoo. Some Chilean tourists found the egg after a landslide on the shores of the Yenisei River. The egg was nearly round and miraculously preserved by the eternal cold. When the specialists started to study it they noticed it appeared to be quite fresh, and so we decided to place it in the Zoo’s egg incubator.
Certainly no one expected success, but after no more than a week the X-Rays and ultrasound equipment showed us a developing, growing Brontosaurus embryo. No sooner had the news hit the info services and the Net scientists and correspondents began to pour into Moscow from all over. We had to reserve the whole eighty story Venusian Arms Hotel on Tver Street, and that wasn’t enough to house them all. I had eight Turkish paleontologists sleeping like sardines in my dining room not to mention the journalist from Equador in the kitchen and the two women correspondents from “Antarctic Woman” who set up housekeeping in Alice’s bed room.
When my wife phoned in the evening from Nikos, where she was overseeing the construction of a stadium, she had decided not to come home for a while.
All the world’s newsfeeds were showing The Egg. The Egg from the side. The Egg from the front. A skeleton of a brontosaurus superimposed on the Egg…