June 5, 2013

From “Fail-ien Invasions” by Madelaine “Stormy” Merrill

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Psitticoids of Theta Apodis IV
Despite actually being a type of fungus, convergent evolution led these creatures to strongly resemble Earth parrots. Their psionic skills, in particular their mind control abilities, allowed the Psitticoids to carve out a modest empire and drive their rivals the Daurians to extinction. Accordingly, they dispatched a long-range infiltration cruiser to Earth, to begin controlling key subjects in preparation for all-out invasion.

The Psitticoids were defeated due to mankind’s propensity for putting parrots in cages; without direct contact, they were only able to repeat garbled fragments of human thoughts–just like Earth parrots. Their ability to lower the intelligence of nearby creatures similarly went unnoticed, as people tend to behave childishly around pets anyway. Most of the Psitticoid 112th Infiltration Unit currently resides in an illegal Manhattan pet shop specializing in exotic birds.

Capricornians from Deneb Algedi II
The harsh climate of Deneb Algedi II led to a species that can conduct and ground electricity with an insulative coating that must be periodically shed. This has the side effect of making them incredibly deadly warriors as well as highly similar in appearance to Earthborne sheep. After subduing their own homeworld and enslaving the Ovidines of HD 20644b, the Capricornians launched a full-scale invasion of Earth.

Unfortunately, their assault craft landed on a rainy day in New Zealand. Unable to use their discharge powers for fear of electrocution, they were inadvertently sheared by sheep farmers and deprived of their primary weapon. The herd was culled later that month, with all the surviving Capricornians winding up slain and mixed in with animal fodder. Their presence was only discovered after a rash of exploding wool shirts and temporarily electrified sheep.

Apids from Musca Australis Prime
Broadly resembling terrestrial insects, the Apids are highly coordinated and toxic creatures made up of hundreds of small organisms that are specialized (not unlike the Portuguese Man-o’-War). With a neural net formed of Apids and pheromones at the center of each swarm, they easily overwhelmed all comers in establishing domination over their sector.

Their scouting party on Earth met a tragic fate when a human swatted the Apid that was responsible for navigating the swarm. Without direction, it wandered through an air intake and was shredded. The incident was only noticed when the highly corrosive remains ate through the intake and the surrounding city blocks.

Aurigans from the Almaaz Dark Disc
These mysterious creatures evolved in an environment so strikingly different from Earth as to be inconceivable not only to humans but all other species on this list. Uniquely, they evolved a cylindrical layout which allowed them to roll along the surface of objects they encountered, along with a hollow core to allow interstellar debris to pass through and dark coloring to blend in with the light-absorbing matter in the Dark Disc. They communicate with bioluminescence along their outer rims, relying on a network of photoreceptor grooves on their outer surface to pick up sensory information, the pattern of which is unique to each Aurigan.

Just like their evolution, the Aurigans’ motivations are inscrutable, and they have annihilated several species nearby while leaving others untouched. What is known is that a party of Aurigans landed on Earth, undetected by the authorities. Unfortunately for them, they landed in Detroit (which even the Apids knew to avoid), touching down in an urban tire yard. Thanks to their unique morphology, the Aurigans’ corpses are still attached to the rims of a 1989 Honda Civic.

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June 4, 2013

From “The Assault on Bad Steinberg” by Marcian DuClare

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Forgotten Episodes of the First World War (Presses de l’Université du Québec, 1994): The Assault on Bad Steinberg

One of the men involved was Tobias Schiller, a young officer who had been briefly fêted as the conqueror of Neutral Moresnet during early 1915 when the German army was short on good news. It’s unknown how or why he became involved, but he requested support in January 1918. The official request bears his signature, but only makes an oblique reference to its substance, namely was wir besprochen (what we discussed). The topic of discussion was so important that a combat unit was assigned to aid Schiller.

The assigned unit was the 66th Assault Company of the Deutsches Heer, a formation of Sturmtruppen (usually known as “Stormtroopers” in English) trained in advanced Hutier tactics of infiltration and combined-arms attack. The men were armed with the very latest in Imperial equipment, including MP-18 submachine guns, “artillery-model” Luger P08 pistols modified for rapid fire, and M1918 Stahlhelm steel helmets. An arsenal requisition form that has survived contains a request for Bergmann MG15 light machine guns as well as Stahlhelm-type body armor of the sort issued to snipers and sappers on the Western Front; it’s unknown if these requests were actually fulfilled. But in any event, the men with Schiller were crack troops that were among the most potent soldiers in the world at the time.

The 66th, drawn from the men prepared for Operation Michael that was scheduled to begin on March 21, 1918, assaulted the city of Bad Steinberg beginning on February 28. Despite the fact that Bad Steinberg was a Prussian town, and had a population of approximately 3000, the operation was carried out with military precision. Eyewitness accounts, suppressed at the time, indicate that the sounds of heavy combat were audible for some distance. A battalion of artillery stationed nearby may or may not have even shelled the town.

To this day, no explanation for the attack exists, and no mention of Bad Steinberg–or its people–is found in any official record after February 1918.

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June 3, 2013

From “The Punctuation Periods” by Elizabeth Bela Lawrence

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Old Sam used to be a grammar teacher. Now he’s just an old pilcrow-popper that no rehab clinic will touch, a jittering mess of nerves looking for his next fix of ¶, ¶, ¶.

And let’s not forget about Betty, the long-haul semicolon-trucker. Time was, her ; brought order and clarity to complicated sentences with more clauses than the North Pole. Now; they speckle her; every page; like; worm; damage.

&, &, &. That’s the sound of the ampersand-storm rolling in at the behest of Chris, who became infatuated with the symbol doing old-timey graphic design. Now it’s become a mission to singlehandedly reverse its decline.

Lastly, who could forget poor A.J., who through exposure to East Asian popular culture has started ~bracketing~ ~words~ ~with~ ~tildes~ and even using them to end sentences~ A real tilde-luxe, that~

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June 2, 2013

From “That Feathery Fracas” by G. J. Meyers

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Meyers, Greg Jamison. “Defilement of Civil Rights Statue at University of Northern Mississippi Shows Racists Up to Their Old Tricks Again.” Hopewell Democrat-Tribune 2 Jun. 2013, University ed.: A1+.

The defilement of a civil rights statue on the University of Northern Mississippi campus has drawn outrage, condemnation, and concern from a wide variety of campus figures. The statue, depicting the first African-American student admitted to the university in 1966, was found vandalized by university janitorial staff in the course of their morning duties, with the face completely covered by bird excrement.

The University of Northern Mississippi became infamous during the desegregation battles of the 1960s as the very last state-funded school to admit an African-American student following the integration of major schools like the University of Mississippi (October 1962), Mississippi State University (July 1965), and what became the University of Southern Mississippi (September 1965). While the integration of the university in mid-1966 was neither the bloodbath of UM or the non-event of MSU, there was still extensive rioting and protest marches, national attention, and strong local opposition.

“The bird that vandalized this statue does not represent the values of the faculty, staff, and students of UNM as a whole,” said university president Brody in a statement. “We strongly condemn the actions of a lone individual bird in setting back issues of tolerance and diversity here.”

For many observers, though, the incident represents the latest in a troubling pattern. “Clearly, there are repressed issues deep in the university’s psyche at work here,” said Dr. Janice Soderquist-Mmbathu, vice-chair of Diversity Studies at Southern Michigan University. “UNM may have 45% non-white enrollment and generous scholarships for minority students, but ugly feelings such as those espoused by this bird in defiling the statue clearly show that there is a very, very, very long way to go.”

In response to the anonymous bird’s attack on the statue, which many have described as a hate crime, President Brody has announced the formation of a task force to investigate the incident. “Some have said that the action in question were not intended as racist,” his statement continued, “but in light of recent tweets expressing sentiments like ‘LOL’ and ‘ROTFLMAO’ about the event, we can only conclude that this must be treated with deadly, deadly seriousness.”

“It’s Mississippi, what do you expect?” said Andrew Cullingdonham, a Southern Michigan student interviewed by the Democrat-Tribune. “Everything they do is racist, no matter how much they try to hide it. The bird is only doing what everyone wants to do. I don’t care how many investigations they do or how quickly the statue is cleaned up.”

At press time, UNM had announced a full investigation, a Diversity Days festival, a visit by Winnie Mandela, a much larger statue protected by a laser grid, a moment of silence campuswide, a candlelight vigil, and a statewide bird education initiative in addition to the committee mentioned by President Brody. Critics were quick to call these moves “insubstantial,” “window dressing,” and “proof that the administration of UNM has more in common with the offending bird than it would like to be generally known.”

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June 1, 2013

From “War of the Bug Juice” by Greg Rolls Wetherbee

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This post is part of the June 2013 Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s prompt is “Bugs.”

The S’lvn-L’vs descended upon us, a terrible insectoid scourge from the stars, and all mankind’s technologies and spacefleets were in vain against their inexorable approach. With the last of our great starships lost in the battle off Pluto’s orbit, it was inevitable that the S’lvn-L’vs would attempt a landing on Earth. For it was Earth they coveted, a green and verdant planet to sweep over like the locusts they so resembled. Their technology, so far in advance of our own, and their swarm intelligence made this inevitable.

So it was with little surprise but much horror that the ships of the infernal space bugs appeared in our skies. One of the S’lvn-L’vs dreadnaughts, city-sized, touched down on the broad plains south of Topeka while another moved toward the Mongolian steppe. Military resistance was an impossibility, as precision strikes by the S’lvn-L’vs had devastated Earth’s global defense network. Instead, they were met at the landing site by a delegation of Earth politicians, religious leaders, and common folk selected by lottery to plead on behalf of humanity.

When the great doors opened and the S’lvn-L’vs emerged, none knew what to expect, for their communication with humans up to that point had been exclusively aggressive or disinterested. Nevertheless, it seemed that the S’lvn-L’vs to emerge might engage with the delegation. The great insectoid at the head of the emerging group approached the humans, its compound eyes and mandibles expressionless and unreadable.

Before the humans could say a word, they listened as the seven-foot-tall bug gasped, choked, and exploded under its own weight, coating everyone present with viscous green goo.

For so it had come about, as indeed I and many men might have foreseen had not terror and disaster blinded our minds: the twin terrors of lower oxygen content in the atmosphere and high gravity had taken their toll on Earthly life since the beginning of things–taken their toll on our evolutionary precursors since life began here. But by virtue of this natural selection humans have developed resisting power: to gravity–that which causes exoskeletoned beings above a certain size to explode under their own weight–our living frames are altogether immune. We do not succumb to lack of oxygen as spiracle-breathing bugs do, with our 20% oxygen mix being sufficient where 35% or 40% is necessary for creatures the size of the S’lvn-L’vs.

Already when the delegates watched them they were irrevocably doomed; our gravitational and atmospheric allies had begun to work their overthrow. It was inevitable. By the toll of a billion Barcaloungers and breathless runs man has bought his birthright to his size and oxygenation capacity, and it is his against all comers; it would still be his were the S’lvn-L’vs ten times as buggy as they are. For neither do men lounge nor breathe in vain.

With apologies to H. G. Wells.

Check out this month’s other bloggers, all of whom have posted or will post their own responses:
Diem_Allen
Ralph Pines
articshark
Lady Cat
U2Girl
MsLaylaCakes
SuzanneSeese
robynmackenzie
milkweed

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May 31, 2013

From “The Infernal Tome” by F. Lucinda Martin

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I found that I could not rid myself of the horrid book, no matter how hard I tried. It continued to record my every action, thought, and word upon its pages as they occurred, in a hand and tone not unlike what I used for my diary. The librarian had warned me of this, but my curiosity and foolishness were now manifest…and I could not bring the text back without angering the Hexagon Library, which is most unwise.

Seeing my entire life’s activity laid out is both intoxicating and horrifying. Perhaps I find myself unable to part with the book because I keep hoping to look forward in its diabolical pages, to see what has yet to happen. I have never been able to do so, but the tantalizing prospect is astonishingly seductive.

But I must have succeeded. I must have, if you are reading this. For I kept no diary, and these words can only be read between the covers of that most dire tome. So I must have rid myself of it for you to be able to read it now.

And that can only mean that my future is laid out for you to read pages on.

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May 30, 2013

From “The Ripostery” by May Anh Nguyen

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Some people say “Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.”

Some people need to shut up.

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May 29, 2013

From “Genre’d” by Debrah Shein

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“Aw, man,” said Chrissy. “I thought this was supposed to be a contemporary romance story.”

“Nope,” said the man in the steampunk hat and goggles that had just tunneled up through a concrete sidewalk slab. “This is a dark fantasy story, and you’re headed into the Vale of Pnath in the underworld to find purpose in life amongst the ghasts, gugs, and night-gaunts of eldritch legend.”

“Are you sure?” asked Trenton. “I was sure that this was going to be an action comedy. I mean, I ‘m pretty sure I saw terrorists getting ready to take over campus, and me and Chrissy are vapid and adversarial enough that you know we’ll bump uglies even in the heat of combat.”

“I didn’t sign on for that,” Chrissy pouted, folding her arms.

“And I’m not equipped to fight anything that isn’t a Lovecraftian monstrosity,” said the steampunk, shrugging.

An androgynous princeling happened by at that very moment, holding a beatbox. “Yo! Anyone call for Tolkienesque poetry to halt this story dead for a few pages?”

“And that’s the final straw,” Chrissy said, stalking off. “I’m not going to be in this story until it decides what it’s about. If you need me, I’ll be having a hard drink in a Western.”

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May 28, 2013

From “The Fugue Note” by Constans Dimitriou

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It was something that we had trained for extensively. In the result of capture and torture, disassociation was the greatest weapon in our arsenal: in the world of the mind, an inward-looking world of hallucinations and detachment from the physical, we could hold our resolve. The information we carried would be safe from prying eyes, and our training built in a psychological marker for us to realize what was going on even in our fugue state: a note, to ourselves, signed, informing us that we were dreaming away the horror of captivity.

I’d always been a little disappointed that I never got to use the techniques, being posted Stateside by the Agency.

But that was before I discovered a note from myself on my kitchen table at home.

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May 27, 2013

From “Garden Implements Girl Triumphant” by Hazel Pace Santiago

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Jennie stumbled backwards, the flower pot making up her left shin shattering noisily. Her hastily-constructed body was a vessel for her disembodied spirit, not a tool for combat. In the far corners of her mind, she mused that it must have seemed quite a sight: an American girl battling what could only be described as a reproduction of herself made from stray gardening tools.

The Zaar sneered back at her. Jennie had never seen her own features so contorted with hatred and malice, and shuddered to think what that malevolent spirit might do if it possessed her body any longer. “I eliminated your feeble friends like babes in the woods, one by one, despite the limitations of this pitiful husk,” it snarled. “You think you can do better when you’re nothing but a mound of garbage?”

Jennie kept playing the simple melody on the tanbura she’d been given. Play the song, forgive the sin, reclaim the body…that was the mantra, after all. Hadn’t the Abdaar told her as much?

“Silence your pathetic stringing,” the Zaar continued. Jennie’s possessed hand reached out with a speed that she’d never have been able to muster and snatched the instrument from the garden-glove fingers that held it. With a motion worthy of the minor lagues, the Zaar smashed the tanbura onto the hard stone floor.

“No!” Jennie cried despairingly. She’d gotten the song out completely one and a half times, maybe two. Why wasn’t it working?

“I thought that disembodiment, and the rare opportunity to watch your body participate as my master ripped the soul out of every one of your ancestors back five generations, would be punishment enough for your meddling,” said the Zaar. “But to see you here attempting this Abdaar ritual…I think it will be much more convenient to simply snuff you out here and now.”

Jennie’s Zaar-possessed hands closed around the throat her disembodied life-essence had constructed out of an old garden hose, hefting the makeshift form into the air. Though it was essentially hands gripping trash that should have slid right through them, Jennie found herself unable to escape.

“Play the song, forgive the sin, reclaim the body…” she rasped. Play the song, forgive the sin, reclaim the body…

“Silence.” Her body’s eyes were glowing, literally glowing, as Jennie felt her spirit being torn to pieces. “Foolish girl. I shall make your soul an offering to my master.”

“Play the song, forgive the sin, reclaim the body…” Jennie’s makeshift eyes widened. Of course…it wasn’t a single step, but rather two…could she summon the willpower needed to do it, even after all the Zaar had done?

Jennie’s garden-glove fingers flopped at her sides, rose, and encircled the Zaar. Not in a stranglehold, but an embrace. “I…I forgive you,” she whispered. “After all that you’ve done, all the people you’ve hurt…you’re still a hollow shell without a body or a friend in the world.”

“Quiet! You know nothing!”

“You’ve got nobody, not even your beloved master, in the entire world…while my friends and family will be with me forever, even if they die. I forgive you, and I feel sorry for you.”

The Zaan shrieked, Jennie’s possessed mouth loosing an inhuman sound into the world. But it was the sound of a mortally wounded beast.

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