by
John Hilario
We had, until recently, refused to accept the possibility that intelligent life, on the same level as — or superior to — our own, could exist in other worlds. We had also discounted the eventuality that these otherworldly beings may, one day, decide to come to our planet — on their own terms.
As a senior commander of the armed forces, I, like my brethren, had sadly fallen folly to such narrow-minded and bigoted views, which — to our world's eternal and collective chagrin — almost certainly paved the way for the catastrophe that, unbeknownst to us, would soon fall onto our laps.
One languid summer morning, amidst great shock and consternation, we witnessed the aliens arrive in their mighty ships, belching smoke and flame as they streaked down the clear, blue sky, to land — as we would later learn — in each of our great cities.
With my own eyes I observed the grounding of one such alien vessel in our sector. Besides causing widespread panic and chaos, the ship created an immense blast radius upon touchdown that shattered numerous structures and buried countless inhabitants under tons of rubble.
For some time thereafter, there was no activity from the large, unfamiliar ship that lay, smoldering, inside a deep, featureless crater; it could be, we thought, the proverbial lull before the storm, or it could mean that the ship's occupants had been injured — or mayhap killed — by the tremendous impact of their landing. In any case, our deepening curiosity was — by degrees — overwhelming our better judgments, and contact with the spacefarers seemed ordained by the circumstances.
Hence, after the initial wave of hysteria had passed, a small contingent of our renowned scientists and military leaders (including myself), after much discussion and debate, finally mustered enough courage — or was it bravado? — to approach the strange vessel in an attempt to communicate with the aliens. After all, believing our society to be an enlightened and peaceful one, we hoped that we could, at least, try to find some common ground with our otherworldly visitors, and, perhaps, learn more about their motives and — more succinctly — what they wanted from us.
It was — as nearly always is in matters of this nature — a task easier said than done. The hissing, smoking exterior of the alien ship, in addition to exuding an intimidating aura of the unknown that preyed on our hitherto dormant xenophobic instincts, radiated intense heat that was, in all likelihood, caused by its dramatic entry into our atmosphere. Clothed in protective suits, we made our way to the strange craft, holding our arms aloft in what we wanted to believe was a universal gesture of non-hostility.
Our delegation was some distance away from the ship when all of a sudden, a black, stubby barrel poked out from its hull and fired a beam of rose-colored light at us. Instinctively, I reverted to my combat training, and reflexively ducked and hit the ground at the moment of the beam's impact. Most of my colleagues were not so lucky; they were immediately vaporized. The fortunate survivors, including myself, hastily scampered for cover, and after much crawling and crouching, we regrouped and made our way to safety, even as the alien vessel ceaselessly fired its devastating ray at us.
Our so-called safety, however, did not last long. A few moments after the alien ship had fired its first salvos, its cavernous bay doors yawned open and disgorged a substantial number of nimble walking machines equipped with smaller — but no less potent — versions of the ship's beam weapon.
The aliens' technology was beyond us. Their armored, bipedal walking machines mimicked, as we learned later, the aliens' natural gait, and were powered with what we later discovered to be an advanced form of fusion engine — a stunning feat of engineering which our greatest scientists had yet to conceptualize. As it was, the alien walking machines roamed our city with impunity, firing their amazing beam weapons with unsettling aplomb, as the despairing survivors of our once-great metropolis fled towards the countryside. The aliens seemed unstoppable.
Meantime, in an uncharacteristic display of professional maturity, our eminent scientists hastily set aside their differences and worked feverishly to devise some means of staving off the unremitting alien onslaught. Unfortunately, all of them were agreed that for them to develop some method of offense or defense against the invaders, they first had to get hold of actual samples of the aliens' technology for further analysis.
All this seemed beyond reach: verily, what chance did we have of obtaining such material in the face of such terrible might? At last, at the cost of many, many lives, the expenditure of much ordnance — and the propitious arrival of divine providence — one of our crack military units (of which I was in command) successfully brought down one of the armored walking machines.
After the euphoria created by this small victory had subsided, I took it upon myself — for good or for ill — to see what the aliens looked like firsthand. Disregarding the shrill warnings of my aides, I held my weapon at ready and walked cautiously towards the downed behemoth.
My breathing became heavier as the anticipation of first contact electrified me. Smoke from burning debris obscured my vision as I slowly opened one of the hatches of the wrecked machine, and I was much surprised when one of the aliens suddenly jumped out and attacked me with a queer-looking hand weapon. I dodged its first blow, but was cut deep in an arm by its second one just as I fired my weapon at its chest. Amazingly, despite its initial ferocity, the alien immediately crumpled, and a peculiar red fluid burst from the holes in its bulky suit as it collapsed at my feet.
Recovering my composure, I stanched the heavy bleeding from my arm wound with a med-patch, and knelt beside the dead alien, who had on its head an oddly shaped helmet. With no small amount of trepidation, I removed the alien's faceplate and gazed at its pinkish face, blue eyes, flaxen hair, and round, reddish mouth. I was instantly overcome with extreme revulsion and nausea. I stood up, retched, and staggered back to my aides, who brought me to our city's only remaining healing facility straightaway.
At this very moment, our scientists are analyzing the captured alien technology, and — it is strongly hoped — they will soon be able to make use of any information gleaned there from to our advantage. Although I had been, at first, dismayed to learn that my wounded arm had to be amputated, I had since determined to take some solace in that, after all, I still had five remaining appendages to use in my crusade to rid our home world of the plague that presently besets it.
In the end, I believe that our indomitable spirit shall prevail, and we shall eventually defeat our brutal foes — in the same way that Mak'kala, our divine ancestor, had trounced the barbarian invaders of our distant past.
Nonetheless, my antennae still twitch at the distasteful memory of the bizarre, two-eyed, two-armed, pink-skinned, biped being that I had killed. In truth, I dread the day when these vicious creatures relentlessly launch the second wave of their invasion of our peace-loving world: an invasion that will come from a faraway planet that these aliens call Earth_ .
-The End-
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