Xenophobia

by Peter Cawdron

  With the sun sitting low in the sky behind them, long shadows stretched across the land, giving the Acacia trees and thorn bushes an ominous, dark feel. Ahead, the alien mothership soared high in the sky, a thousand miles above Earth, radiant in the soft pinks and yellows of the sunset.

  Fine specks of dust fell from the back of the alien craft.

  Bower felt a chill run down her spine.

  Her perception of majesty was replaced with a sense of dread as she realized debris was peeling away from the alien spacecraft. From where they were, tiny pricks of light appeared to trail behind the spaceship, falling behind the craft as it sailed on. Like dust blown from a window ledge, the flecks caught the light of the setting sun. Flashes broke in the sky like fireflies, flaring as thousands of smaller alien vessels entered the atmosphere. Like embers from a campfire, sparks trailed behind the alien mothership, stretching out for hundreds of miles as they slowly drifted to Earth.

  Elvis saw it too.

  “What the ...”

  Jameson looked up from his map. He grabbed the radio.

  “Bosco. Are you seeing this?”

  “Affirmative. What the hell is that?”

  “I don’t know,” Jameson replied.

  “If it’s the alien equivalent of a cluster bomb, we’re fucked.”

  “No shit.”

  Bower leaned forward, looking up at the sky, trying to estimate how closely overhead the craft would pass. It was difficult to tell as the distances involved were deceptive.

  The alien spaceship appeared to be moving diagonally across the sky to the north of them, but the dust trail spread out like the wake of a ship. Although the trail appeared to dissipate, Bower doubted whether the particles had disappeared, just that they’d lost sight of the smaller component parts. Several larger sections cut through the atmosphere like meteors, leaving vapor trails in the stratosphere.

  “Is it disintegrating?” Bower asked. “Maybe this is good. Maybe their ship is falling apart.”

  Elvis and Jameson both looked at her with a look that made her feel stupid.

  “How big do you think they are?” she asked.

  “Big,” Jameson replied.

  “That’s some serious shit,” Elvis said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Hey, maybe they’re sowing seeds, just like a farmer would.”

  “You think they’re seeding Earth?” Bower asked.

  “With what?” Jameson added.

  No one answered.

  No one wanted an answer.

  Bower wound the crank on the radio, giving the batteries a bit of charge before turning it on. Bosco had tried to take the radio back when they stopped for lunch, but Bower had kept it with her. Somehow, because she was a civilian her possession of the civilian band radio seemed to make sense.

  They had listened to a couple of broadcasts earlier in the afternoon, but the general apathy in the cab of the truck suggested it was time to turn it off, so she had. At that time, Bower found even her curiosity had waned. There was only so much gloom she could take. If this was the end of the world, she didn’t want to know.

  Bower stared out at the rugged landscape, watching as fine, dark pinpricks appeared in the sky, peppering the majestic blue atmosphere as they descended slowly to Earth. She wondered if everything would change from this point forward, if this was the last she’d see of this sunbaked continent that had nurtured life on Earth for hundreds of millions of years. Bower twisted the radio handle, barely aware of what she was doing, lost in thought.

  Africa wasn’t beautiful. Africa was stark. As they drove along, there were no romantic illusions to sweep them up in a sense of awe or majesty. Africa was barren, a dry husk. Driving past vultures cleaning the bones of a wildebeest kept life in perspective. Nature was cruel. And yet the harsh reality of life and death in Africa still gave relief from the unknown, the impending dread of alien contact. Now, it seemed their fears had been realized. Bower felt Jameson and Elvis silently willing her to hurry as she cranked the handle on the side of the radio.

  “ ... contact first in Iowa, with umbrella seeds spreading up through Canada and the Arctic, across Siberia, Mongolia, China and Western Australia before crossing Antarctica and into Africa. Reports have also come in of floaters, gigantic alien creatures resembling what could only be described as flying jellyfish.”

  The voice changed to that of a woman.

  “At this point, the State Department is refusing to consider this an attack or an invasion, saying they are waiting on NASA to provide more information on the nature of these alien artifacts and the intrusion of alien craft into our atmosphere.

  “The US Air force has circled and followed several of the so-called floaters in a variety of military aircraft, from helicopters to a C130 Hercules. These intercepts have been undertaken for the purpose of photographing and observing the floaters, relaying the information to NASA. There have been no hostile acts undertaken by either party.”

  There was stunned silence within the cab of the truck. Bower wanted to grab the speaker on the radio and shake her, how could they not see this as an invasion? For all her posturing with Elvis, she secretly shared his fears. Somehow, in siding with him mentally in that moment she felt safer, as though she were aligning with someone stronger, someone better able to defend her. It was a fleeting thought, but in those few seconds the notion was overwhelming.

  “A spokesman for the United Nations has noted that the alien mother ship is showing no consideration for international boundaries or geographical countries, either as we recognize them, or as they exist in the form of landmasses. The seeding, as it is being called, is following an orbital pattern that bisects rather than comprehensively covers various countries. Congress has issued a statement calling for calm, urging citizens not to panic. And - just a moment - we’re crossing live to Capitol Hill where senior NASA scientist, Dr. Frederick Enrado is addressing the House.”

  Dr. Enrado had a slight twang in his accent, indicating English wasn’t his native tongue. Bower couldn’t place his Spanish-like pronunciation, but she didn’t think he was from Mexico. She wasn’t sure why, but she got the feeling he originated from one of the countries in Central America.

  “I appreciate that there is an overwhelming amount of interest in the activities of the alien spacecraft and what the media has labeled the seedlings, but I must stress that conjecture and guesswork will only inflame a sense of fear. At this time it is important that we remain composed and do not react. We are in a time of transition, a time of initial contact. It is important that we maintain a sense of order until the situation becomes clearer.

  “We have established a coarse form of dialogue with the alien entity. As you can appreciate, like any two people from different cultures with different languages, without any common ground between them, communication is limited.

  “In an attempt to quell the uncertainty and sense of fear, NASA, ESA and SETI are providing transcripts and the raw feed through the various member agency websites. Please remember, the point of this transparency is to counteract the conspiracy theories circulating on the Internet and in the media. At this point, we caution the general public not to read anything into the discussion beyond what is officially stated by NASA.

  “We have to take our extraterrestrial visitors at face value when they say they come in peace, even if we don’t understand their methods. To react with hostility would be to act without any basis or design.

  “At this point, our dialogue is limited to basic concepts, the exchange of simple identifiers such as Earth, stars, moon, spaceship, etc. If you’ve seen the transcripts already, you’ll know it is much like talking to a preschooler. In that regard, NASA is developing a primer, a means of exchange that will grow in complexity over time.

  “Reading from one of the transcripts, an example of one exchange is: We come in peace. We come for life. We come in peace. We come from a star. We come in peace. We come from afar.”

  Elvis couldn’t help himself, blurting out, “It’s
fucking Dr. Seuss! The goddamn Cat in the Hat is back.”

  As funny as that observation was, Bower felt irritated. She wanted to hear what was being said, not some wise-crack from a grunt.

  The radio broadcast continued.

  “As you can appreciate, the consistent theme in these early messages is to reinforce peaceful intentions. For us to assume anything else would be foolish.”

  “I am asked what we know about the seedlings that have landed throughout the world. Unfortunately, we do not know much more than you do. Until we can establish field research efforts, media reports are the best sources of information we have, and NASA is working with several news crews on location to document the alien phenomena in detail so we can begin to draw some scientific conclusions. So what do we know?”

  He paused, and they could hear the sound of paper being shuffled.

  “I am reading to you directly from field reports. These have been subject only to initial oversight by our contact science team, so any points made here this afternoon are subject to revision as more information comes to hand.”

  Elvis snapped, yelling at the radio. “For fuck’s sake, man. Spit it out.”

  As if in reply, Dr. Enrado continued. “The pods or seeds as they’re called do not pose an immediate, active threat. Although we do not know their exact composition or their purpose, they appear to be made of some kind of biodegradable resin. They are not directly harmful to humans in that they do not pose a physical threat such as a poison. Having said this, it is the recommendation of NASA that you do not touch or move any pods you may find. Please, leave them where they fall, and remain well away from them until we can determine a subsequent course of action.

  “The umbrella-like parachutes the pods descend on are flimsy and fragile, deteriorating rapidly in what appears to be some form of oxidation. We have taken samples which are en-route to our labs for analysis, but it will take time to investigate this phenomenon properly at a microscopic level so we ask for patience and understanding.”

  From the background noise on the radio, Bower got the distinct impression no one in Washington DC watching the briefing live was any more patient than Elvis.

  “The floating entities that have been described as jellyfish appear to be related to the appearance of the pods. Their frequency is far less, appearing only once every couple of hundred square miles, while the pods are spread with a frequency of anywhere from a few hundred feet to a couple of miles.

  “The floaters appear to be living organisms resembling a squid or a jellyfish. The large dark purple, bladder-like structure at its head appears to provide buoyancy in much the same way as an airship or a zeppelin. The trailing tentacles have not been observed making contact with the ground. I must repeat that. There have been no confirmed cases of any contact with the ground from a floater. Also, from what we can determine, the tentacles are not involved in propulsion. They have been observed streaming in front of floaters moving with the prevailing winds, and drifting behind them when these alien creatures head into the wind.

  “As I mentioned earlier, the air-force has approached these creatures, circling within a couple of hundred meters of them in fighter craft, and the floaters have remained inert, ignoring our presence.

  “At this point, the prevailing wisdom is not to provoke a military conflict, but rather to pursue peaceful means, opening dialogue before entering into hostilities. I’m aware there is considerable opposition to this approach, but I must emphasize, any potential conflict is likely to be one-sided and very much against mankind.”

  “MOTHER FUCKER,” yelled Elvis, clearly not agreeing. “What the hell is everyone so goddamn afraid of ... show them a little muscle, earn some respect.”

  And with that, Bower mentally shifted sides away from Elvis again.

  “Please,” Dr. Enrado continued. “Do not fire upon either the seeds or the floaters. We’ve had reports of one downed floater in Michigan, apparently in a suicide attack using a light plane. There have also been reports of people gathering seeds, sometimes with the intent of destroying them in a bonfire, at other times with the intent of collecting or worshiping them. NASA urges restraint. Please, give us time for diplomacy. The last thing we need is for this situation to escalate out of hand.”

  “Out of hand,” cried Elvis. “Has he taken a look out the goddamn window?”

  Elvis gestured ahead of the truck, his fingers pointing at the parachute-like descent of hundreds of resin pods drifting on the breeze. Rather than one per square mile, they were coming down no more than ten to twenty feet apart, catching in bushes and trees, landing on the road among the refugees.

  One of the pods drifted in front of the truck and Bower got a good look at it. The seed, if it could be called that, was oblong and somewhat transparent. Like thick glass, there was a smokey, golden color to the resin, and it seemed hollow, but with the sun setting behind them she couldn’t be sure.

  “FUCK.”

  Elvis swore as he pulled hard to one side on the steering wheel, causing the truck to swerve out of a sandy rut in the track and onto the hard shoulder.

  The first thing that ran through Bower’s mind was the possibility they’d hit someone. As the truck bounced up over the rocks she had a mental picture of someone being crushed beneath the wheels. Bower was already thinking about what she could and couldn’t do medically on the roadside as Elvis slammed on the brakes.

  Jameson braced as the truck came shuddering to a stop.

  Ahead of them, the Hummer pulled to one side as well.

  “What the -” Jameson cried.

  “Bosco ran over one of those bloody things,” Elvis said, pulling on the handbrake. And Bower found her heart ease a little. She could see the crushed seed in the tire tracks of the Hummer. An amber liquid oozed out onto the sand.

  Elvis and Jameson dropped down out of the truck and onto the ground. Bower followed a little less gracefully.

  “Smithy,” Jameson called out. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

  Smithy hadn’t looked back from where she was perched in the gun-turret of the Hummer. She turned slightly, scanning out in front of them with the machine gun mounted on the vehicle.

  Jameson was more concerned with the Hummer than he was the crushed alien pod. He was looking at the tires, trying to see if there had been any damage to them.

  “Damn,” Elvis said, crouching down and looking at the crushed amber pod. He had a stick and was poking at the torn umbrella-shaped parachute attached to the pod. The webbing within the chute was no more than a foot in diameter. It disintegrated as he poked at it, with fine flecks trailing into the air like ash.

  “Leave that alone, you dumb fuck,” cried Bosco.

  “Nice driving,” Elvis replied, dropping the stick as he stood up. “So, were you stupid enough to aim for this thing on purpose, or were you asleep at the wheel again.”

  Bosco laughed. “I was too busy trying not to leave your sorry-ass behind.”

  Bower ignored them. She crouched down and looked at the viscous fluid seeping out of the shattered resin casing.

  “What are you thinking?” Jameson asked her. “Ever seen anything like this before?”

  “No.”

  “So, is it a seed?” Elvis asked. “Are they planting alien marijuana on Earth or something?”

  Bower wasn’t sure if Elvis was trying to be funny or just showing off, but his joke fell flat.

  “I have no more idea than you,” she replied. “It’s certainly not a machine, at least not as we would understand one. There’s no moving parts, no sections, no joints, screws or pins. To understand what this is, you’d probably have to look at it under a microscope, and a scanning electron microscope at that.”

  Bower picked up the stick Elvis had been holding. Carefully, she positioned the stick so it slid inside the shattered remains of the resin pod.

  “Oh, man,” cried Bosco. “Don’t touch that shit. Haven’t you ever seen one of these movies?”

  Bower looked up at him without sa
ying anything.

  “This is what always happens,” he continued. “People go sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong instead of leaving well enough alone. It always starts out all innocent and like, but then some badass alien invades the movie theatre or climbs out of the sea and there’s running and screaming.”

  “Give it a rest,” Jameson said. Bower appreciated his level head.

  Slowly, Bower used the stick to pick up the broken, hollow seed, if that’s what it was, and looked closely at the construction.

  “I’m telling you,” Bosco said. “This can only end badly.”

  “I hate to tell you this,” Bower replied. “But if this thing contains a pathogen then we’re already exposed.”

  “Oh great,” Bosco replied. “That’s just fucking great.”

  “You shouldn’t have run over it, you dumb shit,” cried Elvis, slapping Bosco on the chest.

  “Hey, cut it out,” Jameson said, finishing their banter. “What do you make of it, Doc?”

  Although it looked like a glass cylinder at first, on inspection Bower could see it was either an elongated hexagon or an octagon. Pointing at it, she began counting the different faces. There were six sides, making it an elongated, hexagonal cylinder similar to the inside of a honeycomb cell.

  In the back of her mind, Bower vaguely remembered something from her university biology lectures. Bees and wasps used hexagonal shapes incidentally and not by deliberate design, they were an emergent property, a byproduct of maximizing every possible space. Pack regular cylinders together and there was a massive amount of wasted space between them. Flex the walls of the cylinders a little and they naturally formed a hexagon, filling up all the available room. Hexagons were nature’s little space savers.

  Bower went to say something, but in the quiet of the moment she kept that observation to herself. She didn’t want to sound stupid, or worse, seem to be babbling about something inconsequential. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have worried what others thought of her, but there was something about the hierarchy within the troop that made her feel like she had to maintain a sense of dignity. They looked up to her as a qualified doctor, at least she thought they did. Or perhaps she was sensing their deference to her as a woman. Either way, she figured she’d only speak up if she had something concrete to contribute.