“Yeah.” Bronson replied, while pulling the last item out of the canister.
In a small re-sealable bag, was a little book and a note that had been folded up. Byron flipped the book over in his hands a few times and read the name, “Declaration of Independence, and Constitution of the United States of America,” before placing it back in the bag.
“What is it? What does it say?” Byron was anxious to know.
“It’s an old government book, I think. I will look at it closer in a minute.”
Bronson unfolded the paper and began reading. After just a few minutes he stopped and stared at his brother. “You are not going to believe this. This was written at the end of the last ice age.”
“Can you read it to me?”
“Yeah, it says…”
To Whoever Finds This,
The year is 2102. So much has changed in my life alone that the world I was born into looks nothing like the world where I am soon going to be laid to rest. I am sorry I do not have much more than my story to offer you. I am sorry to say that it is not a good or happy story, either. We were led to believe the greatest thing we had to fear was global warming.
“What’s global warming?”
“It’s when all the ice melted, you idiot. Now, do you want me to read this or not?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
First, the government did all but deny that this was happening. Global warming was a hoax. Once the evidence was in front of us and undeniable, the government convinced us that it was something to be feared. If we were to live, we would have to build great channels that led from the oceans to Death Valley in California and the Sahara Desert in Africa. We were all so afraid of dying from drowning, no one stopped to pay attention to what the scientists had said. It was easier to let the government think for us and take care of us.
The water rose so slowly that we had plenty of time to channel and make the great salt water lakes.
“Dad told me once that the great lakes were man made. I didn’t believe him.” Bronson added.
“How could people do that, way back then? They didn’t even have any modern tools.” Byron asked confused.
“I guess they had enough to get the job done. Plus there were tons more people back then so that may have been how they could do it.”
When the job was finished and we realized that our fears were a trumped up distraction, it was too late. The water would have only risen 200 feet in total and anyone below the flood lines would have had plenty of time to migrate to higher ground. Between 2029 and 2096 all of the world’s ice and glaciers had melted. The American’s were looking at their government as the great savior of our nation.
“Our government is the most powerful in the world. See, even back then we were great.” Byron boasted.
Bronson looked at his brother but said nothing. The heat was already making him uncomfortable and he could feel his sweat wetting the back of his t-shirt.
While many of the men and women were working away from their homes, there were great crime waves sweeping the nation. With the distraction of emanate death, we slowly began voting our rights out of existence. Fear of global warming was used as a tactic to distract us, while rights and liberties were stripped away and companies were given more power than any individual man. The forefathers did not write the constitution because they only cared if you had the right to free speech or firearms, they wanted to provide a tool that allowed people to see when they were no longer free.
“Bronson this doesn’t sound like something we should be reading. This is starting to sound like it is putting down the Honorables. We should give it to dad.”
“Hang on. I am almost to the end. Then we will take it all, to dad.”
Free thought that was in opposition to the government’s actions became an act of treason, punishable by life in prison or death. While the government was using our fear of loss through flooding to bind us together the real loss was the American people losing their will to revolt over their loss of freedom. When we finally evolved into a police state most everyone hated it, while sitting back waiting to be rescued by one of the extremist groups. Not enough braved losing what they believed they actually owned. So any movement that was formed was crushed from lack of support.
The hope is that this falls into the hands of someone living in better times. We did not leave much for our children’s children unless you count a life of modern day corporate slavery. We thought we were strong, protecting ourselves, but never once did we unite to stand against the corporate castle that purchased our government. I beg you to forgive us our ignorance, and I pray that our successors were brave enough to offer what we could not maintain.
Sincerely, Jonathan Scott
“What does all that mean, Bronson?” Byron knew speaking of the government Honorables was a crime. Even reading things that spoke out against them was treason and many books including the original constitution were illegal and banned. “We need to take it to dad.”
Bronson looked pale for as warm as it was outside. He didn’t want to explain anything more to his brother. Kids tend to talk a lot, and he didn’t want his brother to say anything to one of his friends. He needed a grown up to deal with his brother.
“Come on. Gimme that stuff back. We are taking it to dad.” Bronson snatched the items his brother was still holding and shoved them all back into the small time-capsule.
The two boys ran back to the hillside and slid most of the way down. When they got to their gate neither of them bothered to close it behind them as they ran through toward their vacation cabin to find their dad. Branson stopped a few feet before getting inside and waited for his brother to catch up.
“Don’t say anything to mom. She can’t know about this.”
“I’m not stupid.” Byron protested.
When they walked inside their mother was cleaning up, she stopped what she was doing, and somewhat surprised to see them back so soon.
“Mom, the lights are flickering.” Byron pointed out to her.
“Thank you, Byron. I did notice that, though.”
“Mom, where’s dad?” Bronson asked.
“Out in the micro fusion reactor room trying to get the lights working. What are you two doing?”
“We’re looking for dad.” Byron answered proving, he too, could point out the obvious.
She smiled catching on to him. “Get your dirty shoes out of this house.”
The boys turned and ran to the reactor room, where they found their dad messing with a pipe.
“Dad, I need you to stop what you’re doing and look at this.”
Bronson’s dad caught the serious tone in his son’s voice and walked over to him. Bronson held his dad’s gaze the whole way, making his father look a bit worried. He pulled the letter and the book out of the canister and handed them over to his dad. He watched as his dad’s eyes widened as he read the same letter he had, stupidly, read to his younger brother. When his dad finished reading he looked at the little book, then closed it. He stared back into Bronson’s eyes with the same expression Bronson had when looking at him.
“I didn’t know what it was. We were excited, thinking we found something great. I’m sorry, dad, but I read it, the letter, out loud to Byron.”
Bronson watched as his dad get those tight wrinkles around his eyes when he was mad but understood. He grabbed the letter and the book and threw them both into the burner. Bronson watched out of the side of his eye, as the treasure they had found went up in flames.
Bronson’s dad grabbed both him and his brother by the front of their shirts and pulled them up to face him. This was the first time he had ever laid a hand on either of them, and they were terrified.
“You listen, you hear me, neither one of you will ever repeat anything you read, nor what happened today, ever! You never found nothing! You don’t talk to each other about it, you don’t talk to me about it. In fact, you forget you ever saw any of this!”
Bronson’s dad shook them both once to make sure t
hey were hearing him, but mostly so that they were scared. His dad knew the penalty for this and Byron and he did, too. His dad stared deep into both of their eyes before letting them go, and then snatched the canister out of his hands. Bronson relinquished the canister and masked the thoughts running through his head with an expression of fear that his dad seemed to be wanting. When he finally turned and went outside, he knew he did not promise his father to keep silent, and he knew someday he wouldn’t. He knew he needed to find another copy of that book, somehow. He wanted the freedoms back that the people in Jonathan Scott’s era had lost.
VESSEL by Travis Gruber
At first it was an invasion.
Then it was a resistance.
Then it was wholesale slaughter.
* * *
We, as a society, didn’t care about space anymore. We were too caught up in terrestrial matters. Mundane terrestrial matters. Debt ceilings, presidential elections, fame, gossip. We had gone the minimal distance in the space race and that was just good enough to make us feel proud, as a nation and a species. We had put men on The Moon. We had established a permanent outpost outside the boundaries of our own planet. We had placed a sophisticated camera out in the ether to take pictures of our ignorance. And that was good enough.
Good enough to appease the scientifically minded.
Good enough to appease the politicians.
Good enough for the people.
It wasn’t enough.
Space should have been out newest Manifest Destiny. We should have not been satisfied with merely putting our fingerprints on the cosmic surroundings of our planet. We should have seen our first footprints as the beginning of a journey and not the end of race. But we were naïve, stupid, arrogant little ants. We were an annoyance. We couldn’t even dominate our own planet and yet we thought that because we had dipped our toes in the tide of eternity we were its equals.
We were not.
You are not.
* * *
It was an average day. A day like every other that came before it. It bore no greater significance than anything; until they came. After that it would forever be a day that divided linear existence. The timeline would be comprised of two very distinct entities: before this day and after it. All things would be compared to the scope of that day.
They came from the sky, raining down upon our planet like locusts. All of the people of power and influence were divided on the subject. Some were penitent. Some were angry. All of them were scared. They demanded calm from the populace yet they gathered in their houses of government to discuss and decide how to act via committee. Each of them had their chance to speak.
“We should act with foresight and forbearance. We cannot let our first act of interaction with an extraterrestrial entity be one of aggression,” one said with the promise of dignity.
“We cannot appear submissive to what is, obviously, a hostile act. We cannot go quietly into the night,” said another hoping that no one would catch the fact that he was quoting a movie that canonized his xenocidal fervor.
“We should wait,” said the weakest one.
While the politicians debated; the houses of worship began to brim with true believers and the newly converted. They prostrated themselves before their deities. They prayed for forgiveness, for absolution, for deliverance. They prayed for everything; and while it gave them calm and repose the one thing that it didn’t give them was answers.
They did this for days. Deliberating about the right course of action that would have the greatest effect, the minimalist effect, the pacifistic effect. They talked on end while the world they were supposed to be leading crumbled around them. All the power they were given and the last thing that they could do was to be decisive and powerful. While they preached and debated from their thrones the people speculated and theorized. By the time they were ready for action it was already too late.
Their targets were not of any particular importance. They were not necessarily of any tactical or political significance. Our enemies didn’t come as an advancing army. They were a swarm. A plague. They did not come to fight us. They came to consume us.
* * *
The black pods that fell from the sky were both their ships and their incubators; shepherding them across the cold, light-less void of space. Some of them were as small as dogs. Others the size of small cars. What crawled out of them were the things that nightmares are made out of.
The population centers were lost first. Those places where humanity huddled together hoping that by sheer numbers they would forestall the inevitable. Like herds of animals on an exposed an open plain their mass did not make them safer; it just made them easier to pick off. The aliens ate the organic matter closest to where they birthed themselves from their pods. They made no distinction. To them there was no Man, no Tree, and no Pet. To them there was only food. The hope of for salvation was soon dashed as our numbers became less of a fortification for Us and more sustainability for Them.
In those first few precious days we made vain and conceited attempts at self-preservation. At defense. We pressed with the might of our entire military, industrial complex against our imminent demise. They had no weapons. They were feral beasts in a hostile and alien world. We levied the full weight of our technological warfare machine against savages from outside of our world. And it was thrown right back at us.
And we slinked away.
We had hopes of regrouping. Of retribution.
We were foolish.
* * *
We ran to the hidden corners of our planet. The places furthest from where they were. Into recesses where we hoped we could not be found. We, as a species, had been through many great generations of war. It was what defined us as a life-form attempting to dominate our environment. Our little land mass on this infinitesimally small marble orbiting an infant star. We were not prepared for an enemy that didn’t rest, didn’t falter, and didn’t stop. Our leaders had since hidden themselves in their secret basements. Removing themselves even further from those whom they were supposed to protect and instill confidence in. And while they worked to analyze our predicament; to attempt to strategize a resistance scenario. The world crumbled.
They rebuilt and repurposed our world to suit their needs. When they had devoured everything around them that could be considered ‘living’ they began to overtake our self-made environment. They broke down the structures that stood as the greatest accomplishments of our civil engineering and rebuilt them, atom by atom, to suit their needs. They worked meticulously, tirelessly, to tear down our Pantheons and turn them into cathedrals of our own destruction.
This is how they survived. They traveled amongst the stars like a virus. Conceived in the darkness. Born into the light of alien worlds that would serve as their host. They consumed and devoured and when they were ready, they began building their monuments. They consumed life, and environment, and structures, and resources and turned them all into the fuel of the perpetual motion machine that makes up the entities that become the dominant force of the universe.
Quickly, methodically, they stripped our cities to the ground. From the rubble and blood slick detritus rose their technology. They did not build infrastructure. They did not mean to stay and terraform our world. They were not going to make it their home. They meant to strip our planet of everything of value and move on to the next. They built weapons. They built organic canons that would be capable of firing them out into space. They built machines capable of coreing the planet and leaving it empty and hollow. They made our attempts at planetary symbiosis look like a child’s fumblings with tools beyond their comprehension. Our billions of years of evolution, our slow gradual race to being the dominant species on a planet brimming with life and purpose and potential; was turned into a joke in a matter of days.
* * *
The second great defense of humanity was organized hastily and with much teeth gnashing and fist clenching. Never before had we been defeated so abruptly and without recourse. Throughout our ex
istence we had been involved skirmishes. We had fought, and killed, and won, and lost. We had done these things on a local scale, a religious scale, a philosophical scale. These things we were accustomed to. From our microcosm of petty differences and hand wringing we had been thrust into the macrocosm and found ourselves severely lacking. Our arrogance would not allow this.
From their covert installations our gathered leaders from across the globe mobilized their forces. They strategized with the lives of their fellow man like testosterone throbbing adolescents.
“We must hit them as one great offense,” said the one who had one the most wars in modern memory, “We should hit them hard, and fast. We must throw a surge of humanity against and them and take out as many as we can.” He was full of bravado and arrogance. The other world leaders nodded their heads. They would pit the full might of humanity against the oncoming storm of their destruction. This they were united in. With tooth, and claw, and fist, and bullet, and tactical bunker buster they would strike at the heart of the great threat. What they proposed was asymmetrical warfare. Violence on all fronts. A great wave of their greatest warriors, seconded by as many capable warriors, backed up by any man, woman and child willing to sacrifice themselves to save their species.
They rallied. They gave speeches. They stood in front of their flags, monuments to their fallen empires, and bolstered their bravest and fiercest for what was to come. This was to be humanity’s last stand. This was to be their finest moment. For even though legions of them would die in their vainglorious attempts; they would live on through the stories of their triumph. Theirs would be the stories told through history. The ones who stood at the breakpoint of eternity and refused to move. They would die glorious deaths so others could live. They would be the saviors of humanity.
They were not.
They died quickly. Violently. They were ill prepared for the onslaught that they faced. The forces numbering in the millions across the globe, advancing and fighting at an attempt of an overwhelming and coordinated assault found themselves pushed back by the cities they had once called home. They could not process what they saw; landscapes once as known and comforting to them as their own mother’s breasts had been turned into deadly alien landscapes, all sharp edges and mutated fortifications.
Science Fiction Short Stories Books 1 & 2: Twelve Engaging Sci-Fi Tales (One Mind, Different Voices Series) Page 10
