Chapter 20 - William makes first contact

We found the other two Smoovs. We found them lying in amongst a mess of rubble and debris. Not just crippled, but destroyed. These were not scars sustained from the human craft, but scars sustained from our own. But how? The logical conclusion would be that in the heat of battle, the Smoovs strayed under their own fire. That seems imbecilic for it to happen once, but twice? It defies the logic with which I made that conclusion. Unless we have a traitor who purposefully set out to destroy these two. When these men were specially handpicked for their years of service and duty, their basic trustworthiness, one would then turn out to be a traitor? Am I feeling my own delicate pangs of guilt here? 

We flew down to inspect the wreckages, the carcasses. We ensured our own survival by adding a few more craters to the surface of the floor. The already fairly clear surface was now guaranteed safe. We landed on Earth. I got out first, the first Trascon to step out onto the new homeland. I feel light-headed as Skernajj follows me out. My actions seem faster and easier and smoother. My whole body feeling like it’s finding some slight difficulty staying down. I put this down to the fact that Earth is slightly smaller than Trasconia, and we are therefore being subjected to a weaker gravitational pull. But it’s barely noticeable and after the first few seconds, it’s forgotten about. 

I have only seen Earth in pictures and videos. I never realised how limiting the view given to me was. I find here that if I look in one direction, I can see this, if I look in the opposite direction, I can see that. If I move over there, I can get a better view. The control I can take over my own viewing pleasure is vastly superior to the restricted, controlled view of a picture. It’s liberating. Of course, it’s a liberty that I have every day of my life. I have the freedom to look where I want (within reason). It’s just that it’s not until you see a once static world for real that you think ‘wow’. 

As I walk over to the damaged Smoov, we pass by ruined buildings. Jagged teeth of bricks and mortar stick up into the sky. The clouds are luminous grey, contrasting with the black teeth. But what is more noticeable is that as we pass the bricks, the clouds stay in their position in the sky. They do not move, unlike the nearby landscape. At first this is disjointing, and I have to stand there and look at the clouds. Then I have to test them by looking out from either side of a larger tooth. They do not move. But then stars never moved their position in the sky for weeks as we flew through space. This must follow the same logic. It just seems unnatural. It must have happened on Trasconia, too. That thought more than others scares me the most as I am experiencing something for the first time, late in my life, that many generations before never could have got the chance to, that my earlier ancestors would have taken so much for granted in their day to day life. And I have to realise this on another planet. 

I feel a wave of nausea. I have spent a lifetime on a ship with my entire race, and I have never once felt like a Trasconian. The simple pleasures, the simple luxuries, the simple hardships all falsified. For instance, there is a cold stream of air, but when you stand in front of a big enough object that can block that stream, the discomfort goes, even though you still remain cold. It is wind, but is not generated by anything. It is natural. It’s a difficult thing to know that it’s not just Trasconians who have known all this, but humans too and all of Earth’s inhabitants. It makes me realise that…they are not unfeeling. They live lives too, in exactly the same way that we live life. Lived life, though we can get back to that state now that our journey is over. My opinion of humans rises even more. I want to forget about everyone else. I am just content to stand here. For my journey, at the very least to have finally ended.

We inspect the Smoov to discover that another had shot it down. Inside, there is the bloodied remains of a body. Shot at point blank range, destroyed, un-alive. We dig out the black box, hook it up to our onboard screen and watch the last few moments of this Smoov’s life. What we see is a confrontation between this Smoov and another. They face each other, before accelerating towards each other whilst firing, turning and repeating these movements. In a game like this, there is no skill that can match luck. This one got unlucky. 

We rewind the tape even further. What we see is truly disgusting; a small projectile is dropped from one of the human planes, landing on one of the other Smoovs. The projectile explodes, though not damaging it, but covering the Smoov in a red substance, it crash-lands, blinded. The human follows. The Smoov later reappears, but is flying extremely haphazardly. This is all seen in glimpses with gaps missing, or at the edge of the camera with humans flying around the screen, blocking much of what has been captured. It takes us a couple of attempts, but we manage to piece it all together. My greatest guess is that one of the Smoovs was commandeered. Well, the humans have been given the chance they deserve. 

We dig out the other Smoov, the black box to that one is even less help, but it goes some way to confirming our suspicions that the humans have taken control of our Smoov. We know that there is still one more Smoov to find. Hopefully, it will have been taken somewhere important, which then gives us a prime target. So there is always good in whatever is bad. 

However, we fly over what is a vast city. I really had no idea. We cram ourselves together because there is only so much room even a vast spaceship can give. Yet humans cram themselves together for the sake of it, almost. When you look outside the cities, there is so much open space you wonder why it has not been used. There must be reasons that an outsider is blind to, but I hope to learn some time soon. 

We stop. I get out again. It is a field. There are inhabitants, but not human. Cattle, I believe. Providers of food. I cannot help but go up and speak to it, anyhow. I know it won’t understand me. It’s not frightened or anything, but it does not understand a thing. I am frightened. I don’t know how it reacts to anything not cattle. Will it attack? Will it run away? I must admit, I take its nonchalance to be threatening. But as I carefully get closer, I realise that is all it is. It’s sad actually. The first contact between two races from different planets and all it is interested in is eating grass. I don’t know. That’s all I should have expected, I guess. Anything with more intellect and there would be a sense of something happening. With humans, the day would have been marked with ceremony. Massive ceremony and they would not be entirely to blame. We, too, would have blown it out of all proportion. In a sense I’m glad of this, unofficial, first contact. This is what I will remember. 

I regret this war that we’ve started. We had a chance that we’ve spoilt now. Take this cattle, here. I mean it no harm. It means me no harm. We could live peacefully side by side. It could provide us with food; we could give it a home. It’s a shame that we immediately took any sign of intellect on this planet to be a threat. I guess the only way I can justify this now is to say that even if we had come in peace, humans would have felt we were a threat and tried to kill us. So I had no choice. What are we? Jealous of each other? 

I look down at the floor. I’m walking on grass. It’s springier, muddier and wetter than I could have ever imagined. I look up at the sky; the clouds seem to be moving now that I’m stood still. I look at trees. There are no leaves on the trees. Each tree looks completely unique, entirely spontaneous. Trees. Whenever I had seen them in pictures, they always looked like they should have been identical. Maybe it’s just the leaves distorting the images. But there are only branches here. They twist and bend. Look gnarly and ugly, reaching out in all corners at all places. Chaos theory. They are not even as brown as they should be. I can see through the tree. Through the mesh of branches, that is. I can see hills and valleys, fields, villages, buildings, roads, cars. The world looks like it just stops there at a hilltop. The world looks flat. There is so much information to be taking in. I guess that the world does continue over that last hill, but it does not look like it. The way that the hill connects with the sky. I cannot imagine anything further. It should just be space. Yeah that’s something that I do know about. That and artifice and controlled environments. 

I walk back to the Smoov. Skernajj has been waiting patiently for me. Who knows what he was thinking about? I hope it’s the same kind of thing that I was thinking about. We take off. What should be space does in fact turn out to be more fields, but we are flying in the opposite direction. 

I ask Skernajj what he thinks of Earth now. He says he was confused by it. Yet not particularly impressed by it. I ask him if he felt how it must have been to live on Trasconia in the old days. He seems not to believe that it was any different from being a Trasconian today. I ask him, did he feel Earth was beautiful. He does not. He states he has very little interest in it. I ask him what interest he does have in it. He says he has some interest in Earth because it is home. I say it is the humans’ home, too. He replies, “Why do you think we are both fighting over it, then?” Skernajj is right. We do have to fight for it. It is our home as well. We have sacrificed too much for it not to be.

The radar guides us to where the final Smoov should be. It’s a complex of buildings and strips of concrete. In a valley, there is a town nearby. But we open fire on this building complex that is hiding the Smoov, just firing randomly. I feel I have to applaud Skernajj’s efforts. They have done a lot of damage. “Good shot!”

“Thank you, Sire William.”

One of the lights on the control panel begins to flash. There is an emptiness inside me. Oh, fill me up why don’t you!

“We are being attacked, Sire William.”

This satisfies my need. I smile. “Just as I predicted.”

“You knew they were going to attack us!” says poor, young, naïve Skernajj. He starts getting angrier. “Couldn’t you have at least warned me?!” He opens his mouth, the crunch of his anger is about to fly out of his mouth, his fist is clenching. Though not to hit anything, I presume. There is a slight twitch, there, his hand tightens, a word comes out of his mouth, but is suppressed before it begins to make even the slightest sense, as he has just looked me in the eye. His fist clenches even tighter as all his feelings are now being pushed into that one act. He has realised in whose presence he was getting angry. The fist goes a pale blue. The eyes are closed, his mouth still open, hanging there, the tongue raised, but not sticking out. There is a sudden jerk of the hand, the mouth closes, the eyes open slowly, looking soulful, compassionate even, as if he pities me. But surely he is only projecting his own feelings of pity outwards, onto me. He pities himself for making a fool of himself, but is trying to deny it, pretending everything is normal and what just happened didn’t. For his sake, I play along. It makes no actual difference.

I smile again, a warm smile, easy. Friendly, at first to help calm him, but turns cold and distasteful as I turn back into what he expects of me. “It’s all right. But there is no need to worry. They have only primitive weapons. They will do us no harm.”

The encouragement, however, is not enough for Skernajj.

“Oh Skidoojj,” says he, under his breath.

Fucking freak! Fucking sputum faced piece of scum! Arseing twat fuck! Why me? Why me of all people? Why do I have to be sat here? Why could it not be him? Why do I have to be the calm one? I have to be calm. Have to be calm. Breathe in… breathe out.

Diplomacy, as I see it, is about the ability to remain calm in terms of good relations. I have to keep up good relations with him in order for him to do what I want him to do. I could damn well scream at him, but how much respect would I get? Probably a hell of a lot in some shitty perverse way. But right now I know I have to be calm, because he is principally in control of this craft right now, and if he gets fired up, we could damn well lose our lives. I have to appear calm even though right now I want to scream and shoot my fucking head off. You fucking fuck fuck of a fuck fuck’s fucking fuck fuck son!!

“Please…do not swear,” I force out, admiring the voices that are currently screaming abuse at him and at myself, more importantly, in my head. “You are in the presence of a superior being, after all.”

“Yes, well. They may not be able to hunt us down, but that certainly can.” He points at a slightly larger dot on the radar screen. This slightly larger dot is in fact the human. Or who we suspect to be the human in the captured craft, who has by now gotten into the air and is in pursuit of us, the real aliens. A fact I had hoped to conceal from Skernajj. Somehow, I had blindly hoped that we would destroy the infernal machine, at least put it out of use. Even the slightest bit of damage would be good, as long as the machine was temporarily crippled. Because our machinery, I hate to sound bigheaded here, but it’s relevant to my argument, is far superior to theirs. It would probably take them a hundred years, well, maybe less than that actually, to build a Smoov. A hundred years, by my reckoning, to get to a technological state that could bring them even close to understanding our technology. But with one of our machines right in front of them, it would probably only take them five, maybe ten years to be able to work out the physics and the mechanics. In short, they could copy us technologically, gaining an understanding that way, and help them to repair the machine. 

However, by my reasoning, in five or ten years time we would more than have established control and could easily prevent or aid their understanding as we wish. We would certainly have got whatever it was that remained from them by that point. But that’s all relative. The fact is we haven’t touched it and it’s more than likely going to touch us right now. Another voice is heard at the back of my mind. Mocking, teasing, insulting, humiliating, demeaning, negative, abusive. It has my attention and I do not hear Skernajj swear again, though it is much more blatant this time. 

You know, I’m concerned. I’m not sure if these voices are ‘Voices’ or just my conscious/unconscious insulting me in a disguised form. Whether I believe that I could like myself and that it is the ‘voices’, i.e., not me, that is insulting me, or whether I hate myself that much that it actually is my conscious telling me what a wanker I am. This is not the time.

If there is an opportunity to find out who is in that craft, it is now. “Find out who is in that control of that craft, and what the hell they are doing.”

“It’s got to be one of our pilots.” 

“How can it be? The humans captured it, remember? Now hurry up, before we get destroyed.”

“Yes, yes. I’ll get onto it right now.”

“Hurry up!”

Skernajj hurries to try and contact the craft. When there is no answer, he tries again. He tries a number of times and I’m sitting here getting very, very nervous. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Yes I do. Our race is not invincible. One human has done it. Even if he fails again, there is always the potential for a better human to step into the ring. When Skernajj feels, independently, I might add, that there is going to be no reply, he gives up.

“There’s no answer, Sire William.” 

I am really worried now. I had never, at any point counted on the humans having such a powerful weapon. And who gave it to them? Us! Ha ha!

“Well, let’s just get out of here. Now!” I manage to scream!

Skernajj is relieved. He is just as scared as me, but looks dependent on me, as if I have some kind of a major plan.

“On our way, Sire William.”

Human-fuck fires at our craft. The little missile target device starts recording it as little dots heading towards slightly bigger dots, but the representations are enough for any fool to understand what is going on. I see it, but I don’t think Skernajj has. Whack! Goes my arm, hitting his, which is holding the trigger-joystick. Push, goes his leg, which is supporting his arm. Press, goes his foot, which is connected to his leg as determined by biology. Up, go we in the craft, which has responded to the electrical signals transported from the pedal into the computer, processed and converted into upward motion after further electrical message travelling into the uppy-motor thing. And zoom, goes the missile, missing us. Exhilarated, I go, having enjoyed the sense of my own doom, but deciding to act against it, knowing that a better, more controlled death is to come. A small segment of one of your roads gets blown away. “Good dodge,” says I.

“Thank you, Sire. I spent ten years as a fighter pilot.”

“Did you,” I say in a way that if Skernajj didn’t shut up, he would die. Flattery will take you so far. If you indulge it, it may take you to another plane of existence. 

“But why exactly are we going back? Why can’t we just fight back?” he asks. Well, duh!

“Because we are not here to fight,” obviously, you fucking …!

“So, what do we do now, then?” Get you to quit your fucking useless questions.

We are flying towards the atmosphere by this point. I cannot resist a look behind me, wondering when I will be back.

“Go back and organise a large fleet. We’re going to get those puny humans until there’s none left to get. They had their chance. They could have just been mere slaves to us. But not any more. They will die,” I say, casually, ignoring the remarks about Skernajj that are still flooding through my head.

“Righty ho then, Sire William.”

This is too much. I am able to accept only being addressed to as ‘Sire’, but ‘Sire William’ is just pushing it. And he’s used it, tell me, how many times already? It’s as if he thinks we are friends. The thought disgusts me. Pure lack of respect for such an obvious superior being.

“Ahem. Not Sire William.”

Apparently, he thinks that it is about time to start majorly sucking up.

“Sorry, O Magnificently Magnificent Magnificence of All that is Truly Magnificently Magnificent.”

“That’s better.” Flattery will get you nowhere.