Flying Saucers
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About this ebook
Every intergalactic warlord had to start somewhere.
As a recent graduate of the University of Destruction and Mayhem, Mortog Flethrax is eager to make his mark in the Xenon Empire that rules the Galaxy. Mortog's first assignment is an insignificant little planet so pathetic that even its inhabitants call it dirt: Earth. With his devoted robot soldiers and textbook from class, Mortog plans to rule the world in less than twenty-four hours. He's starting with the town of Dead Meat.
Jeffrey Foster has spent his entire life in the tiny town of Dead Meat, Illinois. He's always thought small, been afraid to take chances. His life's ambition is to get promoted to assistant manager at the convenience store where he works. All that is about to change when Mortog Flethrax comes to Earth.
When it turns out that Jeffrey's best friend Dirk is a highly trained intergalactic freedom fighter, Jeffrey will be forced to rise up and save the world.
Fans of Mystery Science Theater 3000, Douglas Adams, and Terry Pratchett will appreciateFlying Saucers. Download your copy today!
Nigel G. Mitchell
Nigel G. Mitchell was born in Brooklyn, NY. He earned a Bachelor's in English from Arizona State University in 1999. In addition to fiction, he is also a writer for the popular sci-fi blog, The Geek Twins. His work has been featured regularly in Slashfilm, Blastr, io9, CBR and Screenrant. His short stories have been published in Lost Worlds, 365 Tomorrows, and Black Hole Magazine. His latest novel is "Enter the Nexus." He currently lives in Phoenix, Arizona with his wife and three children.
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Flying Saucers - Nigel G. Mitchell
ONE
––––––––
IN THE SMALL TOWN of Dead Meat, Illinois, a young man named Jeffrey Foster lay unaware the approaching evening would be unlike any other evening in his life. He remained unaware of events unfolding at that very moment which would change his life, and the life of everyone on Earth, forever. He remained unaware of anything at all, because he worked the night shift, and slept during the day.
But like everyone else on the planet, he remained most unaware of the fact the intergalactic invasion of Earth had begun.
As Jeffrey Foster lay snoring in his bed, a red light swept over his body. The light came from a gray metal saucer about the size of a pie plate. The saucer floated in his open window, drifting slightly from a warm summer breeze. The saucer's light worked as a scanner to digitize Jeffrey's body and the entire room.
When completed, the saucer backed away from the window and puttered off into the sky. It soared high above the town and into the clouds, where it joined a stream of other tiny saucers returning from points all over the world. The saucer floated up to an even larger saucer in high orbit over the Earth.
The small saucer that scanned Jeffrey flew into the saucer's docking bay, a vast metal chamber filled with hundred of tiny slots. The saucer fit itself into one slot, where it connected to a port and proceeded to upload its data to the main computer. Jeffrey's information turned out to be the last bit fed into the computer being monitored by two extraterrestrial beings.
With the last detail, Jeffrey's shoe size, the computer program came to a decision on a question it had been given: Should We Invade the Earth?
The computer responded, Yes.
One extraterrestrial looked at the other and nodded. Send the report to Central Command. It's a go.
The other extraterrestrial scowled. Why should I do it? I had to submit the report last time.
The extraterrestrial crossed his tentacles over each other. Don't start that up again. I had to send out the scouting probes.
The second extraterrestrial flailed her tentacles. Oh, big deal. You just push one button.
So? It takes one button to send the report.
Yeah, but my name ends up on that. If anything goes wrong, it's my head on the chopping block for the bad report.
The first extraterrestrial rolled three of his eyes to the ceiling. Fine. I'll do it this time, but I'm submitting a formal complaint to Personnel. We need clearly defined roles on this ship.
The second extraterrestrial grunted as she wrapped a tentacle around her cup of coffee. That would be nice. For once.
The first extraterrestrial pushed the button, and the downfall of Earth began.
* * *
At the center of the Xenonian Empire, three sectors away from the site of the famous Zirconian Rebellion, a planet drifted around a tiny sun. Not a very big planet or even a very pretty planet. Unfortunately, all intergalactic maps had to make it their center, because the planet Xenon is home to the undisputed rulers of ninety-two percent of the Galaxy.
On the planet Xenon, in the city of Gorm, two blocks away from Weinberg's Famous Delicatessen, stood a large tower, known as Central Control, the focus of the Xenonian Empire. From its foundations, it rose as a needle of ivory-white into the sky. When the sun caught its edge, the tower burst into a thousand fingers of light. It loomed over the city, casting a shadow over its entire domain, an impressive sight to everyone who encountered it.
Well, except for the fumigation tent hanging over it. The tower had a nasty infestation of hiloki, small rat-like creatures who squeak Muzak versions of popular Broadway show tunes. Hiloki are considered by most of the Galaxy to be the most annoying creatures in the universe.
At the penthouse, in an area not covered by the tent, a green slimy creature sat behind a desk scribbling on a notepad. The creature looked up and spoke in an alien, bubbling tone. Number twenty-seven!
One of the green slimy creatures located at the far end of the chamber stood up. Uh, here, Supreme Coordinator.
The first green creature squinted at his notepad with two of his eyes. Junior Commander Mortog Flethrax?
Mortog bowed his head. Yes, that's me.
You may approach the desk.
Mortog gathered his belongings and quickly oozed across the chamber to the desk. The Supreme Coordinator tapped keys on his computer with his tentacles, calling up a file.
Let's see.
The Supreme Coordinator adjusted his glasses so they covered all six of his eyes. Mortog Flethrax, recent graduate of the Nhakon University of Destruction and Mayhem?
That's right.
Mortog sat down, eying the computer, nervously.
Hmm, good grades. Very good scoring on planetary management.
Thank you, Supreme Coordinator. I thought it was an interesting class.
Um. Well, I take it you're here for your first assignment.
Yes, sir.
Mortog wrung his tentacles, trying to hold back his excitement.
The Supreme Coordinator leaned back in his chair. Right. Well, for amateur warlords such as yourself, we usually start you off on a simple planet, and then gradually build you up to the major civilizations.
He tapped a few keys on his computer. A holographic stellar map swirled into view over the terminal. The map grew until one planet filled the beam.
The Supreme Coordinator shuffled papers on his desk. We've been meaning to get to this one for a while. Bit of a mess, all sorts of things cropping up at the last minute. Then a black hole opened up in sector B9, the uprising on Rangi Four. Ah, here we go.
The Supreme Coordinator peered at a coffee-stained slip of paper in his tentacle. Right. Planetoid 345-Zeta-Gral-Ackta. The inhabitants call it Arf. No, sorry. Misprint. Earth.
Mortog frowned. Earth. What's it mean?
In their language? Dirt. It's a bit of a backwards planet. They're still trying to figure out how to reach the planets in their own solar system. Our most generous figures say they won't reach hyperspace technology for another three hundred cycles. It shouldn't be too much of a problem. There's only one sentient species on the whole planet. Call themselves humans. They're too busy trying to blow each other up to deflect a full extraterrestrial assault. Weapons technology is barely atomic. Ever take over a planet before?
I've done a few simulations.
How'd they turn out?
Mortog squirmed in his seat. Uh, they all ended in revolt. But I think the simulator was set to Zirconian level.
The Supreme Coordinator grunted in sympathy. I heard those professors are ruthless. Well, this should go a lot smoother. Here's all the information we have on the planet.
Mortog took the info-crystal and slipped the crystal into his folder. Thank you, sir.
The Supreme Coordinator opened a drawer in his desk. We'll set you up with the basic package. As you progress in rank, you'll get better and better equipment.
He set a rainbow-colored card down in front of Mortog. Here's the key to your ship. It's a basic M56, Asteroid-Class model. Internal tractor beams, hyperdrive, the usual. I think it's got ion cannons, I'm not sure.
Yes, sir.
The Supreme Coordinator hoisted a small box onto the desk. And this is your basic Level One World Domination Kit. It's got everything you'll need to get started. Unfortunately, we're low on warbots, thanks to that riot on Yorkon Nine, so you'll have to build your own.
Mortog stared at him. Build my own?
Yes. It's all in the kit, the plans and everything. Shouldn't be too difficult. You'll be operating the classic Deflection Maneuver.
Mortog nodded. Ahh. Yes, I see.
The Supreme Coordinator handed him a second info-crystal. And this is the program for your assistant. This one's a robot, but once you move up a level, you'll be getting live assistants. This one's numbered 59-KOZ. Call him Kayoz for short.
Mortog nodded. Yes, sir.
The Supreme Coordinator rubbed his tentacles together. Well, you're all set. Oh, one more thing. In a Level One case like this, it's standard procedure to issue the rookie a dark matter bomb.
Mortog caught his breath at the name. A dark matter bomb.
"Yes. Just in case, you know. If it doesn't work out, we don't want those pesky Earthlings to go signaling other planets, warning them about the Empire. Simplest thing's just to blow them all up. Easy to operate, they've narrowed it down to the push of a button. A miracle of design, never thought I'd see the day. I remember when it took a whole fleet of ships to blow up a planet."
I'm sure.
Right, you're all set.
The Supreme Coordinator held up a tentacle. Destruction and mayhem.
Mortog held up a tentacle to return the salute. Destruction and mayhem.
The Supreme Coordinator sighed. Ah, it does my old heart good to see a young one such as yourself going out into the universe. This Galaxy could use more warmongers. Make me proud, son.
Mortog puffed out his chest. I will, Supreme Coordinator. Thank you, Supreme Coordinator.
The Supreme Coordinator yelled, Number twenty-eight!
Mortog gathered his bags and made his way to the turbo-lift, leaving a delicate trail of slime in his wake.
TWO
––––––––
MORTOG SAT IN the shuttle as it rode up into orbit, grateful he had managed to snag a window seat. Looking out the window allowed him to see the planet Xenon falling away. He shifted his gaze to the floating metal disk that the shuttle headed towards, the space station Total Carnage that served as the hub for every intergalactic port in the Empire.
Mortog glanced over at the others in the passenger cabin with him. All of them had just left Central Control just like him, and the other world conquerors chatted about their assignments.
One of them, who Mortog recognized from his class as Levuggna, waved a rainbow-colored key card in her tentacle. My assignment is Drundlikki Four. Can you believe it? This will be the third attempt to conquer them in the last century. They gave me ten battleships, but I think this assignment really needs twenty.
The conqueror next to her nodded (he heard Levuggna call him Ornox) as he scooped up a handful of peanuts. I agree. That planet is a cesspool of resistance. I've been assigned to conquer Daymon in the Stalling System. This would be the first attempt, but I've been told their weapons technology is above galladium. They gave me eight battleships, and a destroyer.
Mortog had tried to keep his head down, but Levuggna looked over at him. How about you?
Mortog forced a smile. Oh, uh, I've been assigned to conquer Earth.
Levuggna frowned. Earth? Never heard of it.
"Oh, you will soon. I understand its conquest is vital to the Empire's expansion into the