luto - the planet furthest from the Sun for ninety percent of its orbit, discovered by Clyde William Tombaugh in 1930, named after the ancient Greek god of the underworld - was generally considered to be the dullest place in the Solar System. Of course, that was in the opinion of the inhabitants of the other, more affluent planets and major moons. They shook their heads and lamented that all Pluto had going for it was its extremity. No nice red spot, no life supporting atmosphere, no majestic rings, no strange orbit. Nothing much of interest at all really.

And anyway, sneered its nearest neighbour Neptune, Pluto was hardly even a proper planet. It was so small it was most likely just a pebble-sized ex-moon of theirs. And it had a miserably thin atmosphere that was scarcely an atmosphere at all, just the slight remnants of methane - hence Pluto's cruel but somewhat accurate nickname of the Frozen Fart.

Naturally the residents of Pluto disagreed. They reminded anyone that would care to listen that they were the last of the outer planets to be colonised (after a brief and expensive stint as a prison colony) so of course they had the smallest economy. But, they insisted, that only left room for growth in the future.

After all (they reminded you with tedious regularity) Pluto was the outermost colony in the solar system. The gateway-to-Deep-Space. The tourist possibilities were endless! And of course there were the low temperatures. Closer to absolute zero than anywhere else in the sun's neighbourhood. That had to count for something.

However, all these statistics didn't change the sad facts. No the truth was, Pluto was a dreary little place. Too far to go for too little.

But all that was all about to change.

Phineas Furton, the Mayor of Pluto, hummed happily to himself as he typed the finishing touches to his speech. This was the best speech he'd ever written, if he did say so himself. He picked up his hand terminal, cleared his throat and practiced the speech on his half-dozing cat.

"My fellow citizens."

That was good, he thought. Put yourself on the level of the common person.

"As your Mayor, it brings me great pleasure to announce the arrival of the latest shipment of library discs from Earth."

The cat yawned, a sign that would have distressed a more sensitive man. Being a politician though, Mayor Furton was, by definition, lacking in any sensitivity.

The Mayor heard someone clearing his throat behind him and turned around. It was his Deputy, Wendell Furton who, coincidentally, was also his son.

"Sorry to bother you Mayor, but that comedian from Earth is here and insists on seeing you."

Furton frowned.

"Now?"

Wendell nodded.

"Something about his new act."

Furton sighed. These artists were an insecure lot.

"Very well, send him in".

Wendell nodded and left the office.

The Mayor quickly scanned the rest of his speech, nodded with satisfaction and saved it with the press of a button.

He turned around and burst out laughing at the absurdity of what he saw. The comedian from Earth, Leroy Jones, had entered the room wearing some sort of bizarre contraption on his face.

The Mayor wiped the tears from his eyes.

"That's rather amusing! What do you call it?"

Jones took the mask off.

"Why, that's just a simple Groucho nose, Mayor," he answered. "Been around for centuries."

The Mayor shook his head in admiration.

"What'll they think of next?"

They were joined by Wendell Furton, as Jones patted his mask.

"I was thinking of using it at the Mayor's ball next week. What do you think?"

The Mayor turned serious again.

"That ball is a serious fundraising event, Jones. We don't want to turn it into a fiasco."

Jones looked disappointed, so the Deputy took pity.

"Well, maybe later on in the evening," he said. "After the formalities are over and people have relaxed a little, eh Mayor?"

The Mayor nodded.

Jones brightened up again.

"Thanks Mayor, you won't regret it. There's something else I've been working on too. A fake ice-cube with a fly in it!"

The Mayor frowned.

"I don't know if I like the sound of that!"

Jones was about to demonstrate when the intercom interrupted them with its rarely-heard Priority One alarm. The Mayor and his Deputy gasped and stared at the intercom like rabbits trapped in the beams of oncoming headlights.

The excited voice of young Ben Sloane (Furton's brother-in-law) from the observation base on Pluto's moon Charon blasted the silence.

"Chief! Chief! Are you there Chief?"

Composing himself, the Mayor cleared his throat and picked up the microphone.

"I'm here Ben. Do you realise you used a Priority One? You shouldn't do that unless it's serious."

Ben's excitement was evident even through the static.

"It doesn't get more serious than this! Look out towards me!"

After a brief and confused conference as to where Pluto's moon was at that time, the Mayor and his Deputy both looked out of the east window. They saw a small star-like dot moving near Charon. The Mayor picked up the microphone.

"We see it Ben. What is it?"

"Whatever it is," said Ben, pausing theatrically, "it isn't human. I read it at over five miles in length!"

The aliens were coming.

Every other planet in the system was astonished that Pluto should be the First Contact point for mankind. The Plutonians, if truth be told, were astonished themselves, but bounded back with as much smugness as they could muster and reminded the other planets that, after all, they were the gateway to Deep Space, so naturally any interstellar visitors would drop in there first. After all, it stood to reason.

Even now, the various government and media representatives from Earth and the inner worlds were racing towards Pluto at maximum acceleration. Even so it would take them months to arrive and they would be black and blue for weeks afterwards from the g's they would be pulling. That made Furton smile, until he reflected on what the President of Earth had said to him on the videolink a moment ago: "You're the representative of humanity, Furton, at least until I get there. For God's sake, don't mess this up!"

Wendell snorted.

"Don't mess this up? What does she take us for...yokels?"

The Mayor patted his Deputy's hand reassuringly.

"Don't let it upset you, Wendell. I think she's just envious that we get to be the ambassadors of mankind. And rightly so, too."

Wendell looked confused.

"What, that we're the ambassadors or that she's envious?"

"Both," said the Mayor as he adjusted his ceremonial sash. "Now, is everything set?"

Wendell consulted a constantly growing list.

"Well, considering we only had a day's notice, I think we're pretty well set up to meet them."

The Mayor finished straightening his tie in the mirror then turned around.

"Then let's go make some history."

Fortunately, they weren't going into this totally unprepared. They'd been in constant radio contact with the alien ship since they'd first spotted it.

The aliens had explained (in English more accentless than the Plutonians) that their interest in humanity was purely peaceful and they were simply interested in establishing trade relations. They had learned our languages by monitoring our TV transmissions for years and in fact were looking forward to catching up on the latest episodes of some their favourites. Their shuttle would arrive in approximately a day's time. That day had come and gone and now Mayor Furton, Deputy Wendell and assorted lesser minions were lined up on the habitable side of the airlock connecting the shuttle of the Dreeg (for that was the race's name) to the Pluto colony. When the airlock door opened and the Dreegs entered, Mayor Furton's first impression was one of disappointment. The Dreegs looked pretty much like humans, only slightly uglier and taller.

Nevertheless, the rest of the contingent was excited. The Mayor stepped forward and bowed to the leader.

"I am Phineas Furton, Mayor of Pluto. On behalf of all humanity, we welcome you to our humble colony and trust this will be the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship."

The head Dreeg bowed in turn and spoke in a deep voice.

"Thank you Mayor Furton. On behalf of the Shlistar of Dreeg, I too look forward to a long and prosperous relationship. It is a pleasure to meet your people at last."

The humans that were present applauded politely. The representatives of the Plutonian press stepped forward to take their videos and holos.

Mayor Furton walked toward to the Dreeg ambassador, hands extended in friendship - and stumbled on his ceremonial sash. He fell slowly in the reduced gravity but still managed to land in one of the most undignified positions humanly possible.

Leroy Jones, watching from the sidelines, burst out laughing. The crowd, encouraged, followed suit. The Dreeg ambassador looked on with a fixed, solemn expression.

Wendell helped his boss up and dusted him off. Mustering what dignity he could, Mayor Furton took the Dreeg's arm and escorted him into the base to begin their tour.

The other aliens, all looking identical to their leader, began mingling pleasantly with the humans. The press appropriated most of the Dreeg but Wendell managed to corner one for himself.

"I must apologise for the Mayor stumbling like that."

The Dreeg nodded sympathetically.

"No apology is necessary. Clearly it was an unintentional error. I am thankful he was not injured."

Jones, who was listening to their exchange with interest, joined the conversation.

"Sure. But it was kind of funny."

The Dreeg looked at Leroy and cocked his head.

"Funny?"

Jones nodded again.

"Yeah funny. You know what funny means don't you?"

The Dreeg shrugged.

"We understand the mechanism of humour in terms of humans, but the concept itself does not affect us."

Jones was astonished.

"What? You mean you don't laugh?"

The Dreeg shook its head.

"No."

Jones pulled his Groucho mask out, seemingly from thin air, put it on and did a fairly accurate but unremarkable impression: "That's the nastiest thing I've ever hoid!"

The Dreeg simply looked at Jones and blinked.

"If you will excuse me, I must begin my work."

The Dreeg bowed politely and left the discouraged Jones to his thoughts.

How could someone not laugh? Especially when it was him, Leroy "Chuckles" Jones, playing the jokes. How could they not laugh at him? It was inhuman. Okay - bad choice of words. Just say it wasn't normal.

After all, he was a funny guy. He made his living from being funny. True, his particular type of humour was considered a bit old fashioned back on Earth just at the present phase in his career, but that was just a matter of fickle and changing tastes. That's why, on the advice of his accountant, he was on tour out here on the barely civilised rim of the Solar System, where his simple humour could be appreciated by simpler people.

No, getting a laugh was in his blood and Leroy was, if nothing else, a persistent person. A tough crowd was just a challenge. He'd make those stone-faced Dreegs laugh if he had to personally tie them down and tickle their over-sized toes with feathers.

Being a natural-born politician Mayor Furton was, unsurprisingly, never short of a word. If there was a way to say something in five words, Furton would use twenty.

Therefore, the official speech welcoming the Dreeg to Pluto ("the gateway-to-Deep-Space!") was predictably long and tedious.

Or so it seemed to Jones. Actually the speech was about average for Furton, and would have normally measured a mere 4.3 on Jones' personal tedium scale. Jones was simply impatient to get the formalities out of the way so he could begin his surefire practical joke on one of the Dreegs. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and patted the whoopee cushion reassuringly.

Finally the Mayor wrapped up. The aliens and humans began mingling in the somewhat more relaxed environment of an official party. Leroy began circulating, looking for the Dreeg most likely to be susceptible to humour. It wasn't an easy task. All of the aliens had the same stony humourless expression.

He overheard one of the Dreeg discussing their home world. He was commenting on the slightly greater than Earth normal gravity field there. Jones saw his chance and took it.

"That's fascinating," he said to the alien who had spoken. "You must feel positively light-headed here on our humble world."

The Dreeg shrugged.

"Perhaps a little. It's nothing we can't cope with."

Jones pressed the point.

"I don't know, you look kind of tired to me. Why don't you take a seat?"

Jones put the whoopee cushion on a chair discretely as he pressed down on the Dreeg's shoulders and aimed the alien posterior toward the chair.

Mere inches from the chair, the Dreeg was interrupted by Jan Van Verman, the colony's sociologist and hairdresser.

"Ahh, there's one of you. May I have a word?"

The Dreeg stood up.

Jones muttered a curse. So close!

Verman brushed past Jones and took out a hand recorder.

"Your grasp of our language is as impressive as your technology," he said to the Dreeg. "I was wondering, though, if you could say a few words to us in your own language? Just to get me started on my report."

The Dreeg bowed.

"Certainly," it said.

The Dreeg opened its mouth and emitted what, despite some subtlety and modulation, sounded extraordinarily like the sound of someone passing wind.

Verman nodded enthusiastically, obviously impressed, while a few people listening suppressed smirks.

Jones, however, was far from amused. A whoopee cushion was hardly going to make the Dreeg laugh if it sounded like their own language!

No, it seemed like this was going to be a little more difficult that he thought.

After a night of sleeping on it, Jones concluded the problem was one of scale. Obviously the Dreeg wouldn't laugh at a simple face mask. These were sophisticated beings who could fling city-sized motherships between the stars. Ergo, they would need more sophisticated, more elaborate, more complex practical jokes. It took another day's preparation, but Jones thought he had it this time. He had arranged every bit of furniture in his room so that it was now bolted to the ceiling. Table clothes, cutlery, slippers, books - everything was oriented so it appeared that upside down was the norm for that particular room. Even he was strapped into a chair on the roof. Now this was something that would appreciate - the humour of one sophisticated, intricate mind to another.

His doorbell buzzer activated. This was it. He'd asked one of the Dreeg over on the pretext of discussing the concept of humour. He couldn't wait to see its expression!

"Come in," he said as casually as anyone could with the blood flowing to their head.

The door irised open and the Dreeg entered. Jones waved a greeting.

"Hello there. Did you have a pleasant sleep?"

The Dreeg shrugged.

"Actually, our race only sleeps about once a week, so in all honesty I must reply 'no' to your question."

Jones was disappointed. Not about the fact that the Dreeg hadn't slept (he couldn't have cared less, at that point) but rather that it didn't seem at all surprised to see Jones on the ceiling. Perhaps he had to bring more attention to the fact?

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" asked Jones as he pointed to the upside-down tea pot.

"Most kind," responded the Dreeg with a bow. With that remark it effortlessly climbed the wall like a fly and lowered itself (so to speak) onto a chair facing the astonished Jones.

The Dreeg picked up the teapot, which had been electrostatically attached to the table, and poured a cup of tea.

"Milk?" it asked Jones, but Jones did not reply as he had finally succumbed to gravity and passed out.

Deputy Wendell Furton shook his head sympathetically as he shared breakfast with Jones the next day. Jones looked like a wreck, with burst blood vessels in his eyes and an icebag on his head to stop the swelling and the headaches.

"Why don't you give it up?" asked Wendell. "Maybe they just don't have a sense of humour - like cats?"

Jones took the icepack off his head and frowned.

"Of course they have a sense of humour. It's a sign of intelligence. It's just a matter of finding what they think is funny."

Wendell shrugged as he buttered a piece of toast.

"Well, you've tried highbrow and you've tried lowbrow. What's left...drugging them?"

Wendell sniggered at his own joke but stopped at the crazed look on Jones' face.

"I wasn't serious!" protested Wendell.

"Eat your toast" said Jones.

Wendell ate his toast.

Fortunately for Jones, all the ingredients he needed were in plentiful supply on Pluto, either in the atmospheric domes or out on the surface of the planet. With a few well placed credits, a pulled favour or two and a little blackmail, he was able to arrange to have the colony cinema to himself for two hours, along with several cylinders of freshly brewed nitrous oxide.

He had asked some of the Dreegs and a few of his friends to a screening of a classic comedy film from early Hollywood and he planned to get some laughs - natural or not.

As his guests settled down for the film, he made a secret gesture to an accomplice and waited for the show to begin.

Unfortunately, the pretext was spoiled somewhat by the fact that he had inadvertently picked up the wrong film canister and they were not shown a Buster Keaton film as planned but rather a documentary on amoebas. Nevertheless, the newly created laughing gas soon turned the audience into an appreciative one.

All except the Dreeg.

Through his tears of laughter, Jones could see that not only were the Dreegs not affected by the gas (due to a protective membrane on their nostrils, as he found out later) but they actually sat there and enjoyed the documentary. One of them was even taking notes!

Jones was feeling dejected and frustrated (though to look at him laughing hysterically it would be hard to come to that conclusion).

Beneath the laughter, he knew that he had failed. He'd faced the toughest audience of his career and they had beaten him.

On the night of the Mayor's ball, Jones was in a decidedly better mood.

Not that he'd succeeded in making any of the Dreegs laugh - he wasn't even close, failing to induce so much as a smirk. No, the reason Jones was in a better mood was simple - he was drunk.

Extremely drunk, in fact. Strictly speaking, his state of inebriation was far in excess of what was considered acceptable for the sort of formal affair that the Mayor's Ball was, but Jones was past caring about matters of civic etiquette at that particular moment. He stared indignantly and somewhat unsteadily at a table of seated Dreegs.

Dreegs! What kind of stupid name was that for an alien race anyway? Of all the dumb names to name their dumb race, that was the dumbest. And look at them. They didn't even look like proper aliens. Where were the tentacles, or extra limbs, or squiggly bits? They looked more like a bad amateur theatre group's rendition of aliens than actual honest-to-god extra-terrestrials.

Jones attempted to thumb his nose at the Dreeg's table, but was so lacking in motor co-ordination that he only managed to stab himself in the eye.

Mayor Furton, too, was in a good mood, but for different reasons. In fact he could scarcely contain himself.

To think a month ago he was worried about the popularity polls. Now...well, it was scarcely a problem now, was it? Tonight would be glorious. The Mayor's ball, with aliens present, and the rest of the Solar System watching enviously over videolink. He couldn't have asked for more. This would definitely put Pluto on the tourist maps.

And just to make it perfect, his chef had informed him that his favourite dip, frijoles, would be on the Mayor's table. It just didn't get better than this!

Right now, the Dreeg ambassador was finishing off his historical (sigh!) first speech to the citizens of the Solar System. Some of the things the Dreegs were promising as trade items were amazing - anti-gravity, star-drive, cold-fusion, VCRs that were easy to program. Pluto - and therefore Phineas Furton - would forever be linked with these new wonders, in future history classes taught to children from this point on.

He applauded enthusiastically with everyone else as the Dreeg finished his speech, then continued the applause at the announcement of the first part of the evening's entertainment: none other than Leroy Jones.

He watched as Jones walked slowly to the stage. Strange that Jones was wearing an eyepatch. Furton shook his head wearily in a moment of introspection. Sometimes, some of this sophisticated Earth humour just went straight over his head.

Jones stumbled onto the stage, past the point of caring about his dignity, and snatched the microphone from its stand.

"How are we all tonight?" he slurred to the audience in greeting.

The audience members responded politely, most of them assuming Jones' intoxicated state was part of his act. It was, but not in the way they believed.

Jones bowed at the table of Dreegs and smirked.

"And to our out-of-town guests, I'd like to say a very special hello, in your own beautiful language."

Barely suppressing a giggle, Jones turned around, bent over, placed the microphone near his rear end, and emitted a piercing, amplified flatulation of extraordinary strength and longevity - thanks in no small part to a generous helping of Mayor Furton's beloved frijoles.

The shocked silence of the crowd seemed to last forever.

Jones straightened up and looked around at the open-mouthed dignitaries and reporters gathered in the room and finally wondered if he may have gone a trifle too far.

At least Mayor Furton didn't seem to be too angry - probably because he'd fainted and was only now being revived by his faithful deputy.

Still not a word was uttered by anyone. The silence was starting to get to Jones' nerves. This was even worse than being heckled. He began perspiring nervously. Geez, didn't anyone have a sense of humour any more?

Finally, the silence was broken by something Jones had thought he'd never hear again - the sound of laughter.

Every head in the room turned to see the source of the laughter...which was none other than the Dreeg ambassador!

Slowly, like a shock wave spreading outward from the Dreeg ambassador, the other Dreegs began laughing as well. The locals joined in and soon both species in the room were laughing and applauding Leroy Jones - at that moment the funniest being in the Solar System.

The various results in the aftermath of the Dreeg Incident, as it became known, were mixed.

For humanity as a whole, the results were mostly tragic. Once the Dreeg ambassador had started laughing, the other Dreegs had followed suit - normal enough except for the fact that the Dreegs now seemed addicted to laughing. Whatever joke Jones had inadvertently said in the Dreeg language was obviously a show-stopper, as the initial bout of laughter for the Dreegs had lasted some 36 hours. The Dreegs then became insatiable and looked for humour in everything.

The tragic part of the equation (for humanity at least) was that the Dreeg had lost interest in trading, anti-gravity, cold-fusion or anything useful, and were suddenly obsessed with plastic excrement and itching powder.

The Dreeg mothership, still in orbit around Pluto, quickly severed (by videolink) all ties with its ground crew and humanity for the sake of self-preservation and vanished as fast as its now-unattainable stardrive allowed.

Jan Van Verman was recruited by the Earth to translate the recording of Jones' address to the Dreeg in the hope of finding a new kind of debilitating biological weapon, but scientists were doubtful of much progress given the limited clues.

For Pluto, the results were more favourable. Pluto itself gained a certain grudging respectability, with a resultant increase in tourism.

Mayor Furton escaped blame for the Incident on the technicality that Jones was from Earth and not a citizen of Pluto. Ironically, it was the President of Earth who had to assume responsibility and had to answer to the Council.