Letters from Another Galaxy

By Steven Radich

Prepare for an out-of-this-world experience in Letters from Another Galaxy. When toolmakers from an outer cluster of the Milky Way Galaxy arrive on Earth, they’re in for a surprise. Instead of the aggressive, sex-addicted species they expected to find, they encounter humans with complex emotions and desires. The Messianic aliens are on a mission to convert humanity, while the Bruin capture humans for genetic experiments and keep them as pets. But why do these alien species resemble monkeys?

Meanwhile, the Space Gypsies boast an extraordinary sense of smell, even in space, and the Nautica are seeking new habitats for their species, with plans to seed the Red Sea. As if that weren’t enough, the novel explores the story of an abandoned shipment of human slaves, dumped on a cluster planet and left to fend for themselves. Turning feral, they embark on a journey of self-discovery, exploring what it means to be human.

But the alien humanoids aren’t all benevolent. Some are bent on raping and pillaging, leaving the reader to wonder about their true motives. Letters from Another Galaxy is a gripping, thought-provoking novel that challenges our assumptions about extraterrestrial life and what it means to be human in a vast, mysterious universe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398497733

Steven Radich

Of Croatian/English descent, Steven was raised on a NZ dairy farm. After boarding school, Steven completed a double BA in Geography and Economics at Victoria University of Wellington. This was followed by a post graduate diploma in secondary teaching. Embarking on a journey of self-discovery, for nearly a decade Steven immersed himself in the practice and metaphysics of Yoga. During this period, he discovered his story telling talent while principle of an alternative Primary School in Australia. From having his school essays and poems posted by his teachers, to writing for and editing metaphysical and arts periodicals in Australia and on to numerous horticultural periodicals in New Zealand, writing has always been his calling. Back teaching, a keen fisherman, Steven developed a side-line of writing fishing reports for local newspapers and national fishing periodicals. Monthly Far North and Blokes ’n’ Boats reports in the NZ Fishing News became something of an institution. There followed his Guide to Fishing, Diving and Boating in the Bay of Islands with Halcyon Press [2002] which is now out of print. His first novel, The Water Treatment [2011] – a reimagining of a historical murder mystery was published by Copy Press of Nelson had modest sales. His current Letters from Another Galaxy is his first attempt to reach an international audience.

Book preview

About the Author

Of Croatian/English descent, Steven was raised on a NZ dairy farm. After boarding school, Steven completed a double BA in Geography and Economics at Victoria University of Wellington. This was followed by a post graduate diploma in secondary teaching.

Embarking on a journey of self-discovery, for nearly a decade Steven immersed himself in the practice and metaphysics of Yoga. During this period, he discovered his story telling talent while principle of an alternative Primary School in Australia. From having his school essays and poems posted by his teachers, to writing for and editing metaphysical and arts periodicals in Australia and on to numerous horticultural periodicals in New Zealand, writing has always been his calling.

Back teaching, a keen fisherman, Steven developed a side-line of writing fishing reports for local newspapers and national fishing periodicals. Monthly Far North and Blokes ‘n’ Boats reports in the NZ Fishing News became something of an institution. There followed his Guide to Fishing, Diving and Boating in the Bay of Islands with Halcyon Press [2002] which is now out of print. His first novel, The Water Treatment [2011] – a reimagining of a historical murder mystery was published by Copy Press of Nelson had modest sales. His current Letters from Another Galaxy is his first attempt to reach an international audience.

Dedication

I am indebted to the indigenous tribes of New Zealand whose perpetual struggle against the consequences of colonization inspired this work.

Copyright Information ©

Steven Radich 2023

The right of Steven Radich to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398497719 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398497726 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781398497733 (ePub e-book)

ISBN 9781035800728 (Audiobook)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

20240214

Acknowledgement

Apart from my loyal wife Linda, whose diligent criticisms of my work has lifted my skills level, my professional editor Sue Colson must be thanked. I have never forgotten the observation of a well-known author who once wrote that she owed her success to her editor.

Others who have been particularly encouraging on my literary journey include old university flat mates Jim Pringle and Tim Kitchen, as well as enthusiastic readers Izaak Vujcich, Michael Friedberg and Simon Dobier.

I would like to pay a heart-felt tribute to my cousin Nancy Radich for her unfailing belief in my writing.

And then there’s Andy McEwan – another old friend who never fails to encourage with humour and wit.

Apart from that, if it hadn’t been for the lockdown of New Zealand during the beginning of the Covid crisis, I may never have found the time in my busy little life to write this novel.

Dear Reader

You are challenged to take the approach of a detective by sifting through the evidence provided and coming to your own conclusions as to the veracity of this record of an alien visit. While it is recommended that you approach this work in the order presented, there is no reason why you shouldn’t read each chronicle in the order of your choosing.

At the far end of our Milky Way Galaxy exists a cluster of adjacent solar systems [Home Cluster] with planets occupying a much-fabled Goldilocks’ Zone. Where the porridge is not too hot and not too cold, it’s just right!

Some of the advanced tool-maker, sentient, civilizations that evolved in Home Cluster have been flying for more than 1,000 of our Earth years.

Some have mastered the technology required to fly around/through space-time quite quickly.

F.T.L technologies may encounter any of the random anomalies characteristic of sub-atomic particles.

Like us, since they learned to fly, the Home Cluster of civilizations have been searching for signs of extra-terrestrial life.

Like us, they had been surprised by the emptiness of our shared galaxy. One day they encountered some of our earliest radio and TV signals.

The Home Cluster FTL Club decided to mount a series of joint expeditions to check out the source of the data.

They found us……

The reliability of information reporting on these events may have been contaminated in a number of ways, not least of which is the act of translation of data that may have already been degraded by passage across time/space.

This novel, derived from a blend of real time Earth-based events plus communications received from the distant cluster, is a modest and incomplete account of these events.

Preface

Five species of advanced toolmakers from the far reaches of our Milky Way Galaxy join forces to colonise Earth.

This narrative is the account of their colonisation. Bill’s Diary 1.0 is an account of the Xerox mass capture of human prisoners, the Brahman Annals 1.0 are an account of the Brahman arrival at an Australian farm homestead. Missionary Zeal 1.0 is a bird’s eye view of the initial Zealot arrival in China, while Nautica Log 1.0 introduces us to the Nautical Mission in the USA.

The four Chronicles account for the stages of colonization:

1. Invasion and Occupation

2. Colonization and Subjugation

3. Rebellion and cooperation.

4. Marooned humans create a novel civilisation.

Cluster Geography

Home Cluster:

A brace of adjacent solar systems in the Milky Way Galaxy with several attendant Goldilocks Planets occupied by at least four exotic, high-tech, tool-maker civilizations.

The Enigma:

This Home Cluster phenomenon appears to behave in a manner akin to the human theory of black holes.

Xerox: [Planet X]

Occupied by highly intuitive badger-like [Bruin] burrowing creatures. Responsible for abducting ship-loads of humans from Earth’s prisons. Starting a settlement in Australia.

Nautica:

A Water planet on which genetic engineering is celebrated as the special skill of their dominant species. On their first recorded visit to Earth, they landed in New York.

Brahman:

Home to the most advanced creatures of the Home Cluster. Classic bipedal aliens, of human dimensions, they have landed in Australia. Seek trade and knowledge.

Zealotia: [Planet Z]

A planet dominated by primates that resemble the Lemur of Madagascar. They are deeply and zealously religious.

Haiku:

A planet dominated by an insect-like, swarming creature, about the size of a large dog. Aiming for Africa, they lead the first Joint Cluster Expedition to Planet Earth.

Dead Planet:

Once the site of an advanced civilization, now a nuclear wasteland.

Planet A:

A no tech biologically active planet within the Home Cluster which is used to accommodate experimental shipments of humans.

Planet B:

A second no tech biologically active planet said to be occupied by very primitive plants and animals.

holes.

Main Characters

Space Gypsies:

Possibly of Haiku origins, these insect-like creatures can live in a vacuum. Reputed to be able to hear or smell in space.

The Invisible Ones:

As yet unsighted by human eye, a class of advanced sentient being residing on Planet A.

The Sisterhood:

A secretive Planet Xerox organization responsible for the management of Bruin reproduction.

Madam Bo:

Liaison personality and chief negotiator /chairperson representing the Chinese Government in exile.

Ray Yun Chen:

Inadvertently, this teenage High School girl was trapped on the first Zealot spaceship to land in China.

Daniel Chen:

Was watching out the window of his high-rise student flat as the first Zealot ship touched down in China.

Bill:

Author of the Xerox Diaries, kidnapped during an early Bruin expedition to Earth.

Sarah:

The female of the giant Bruin species who kept Bill as a sex toy.

T1 and T2:

A pair of mutants befriended on Planet A by Bill Gulbransen and his fellow Earthlings. Recorded as each having three heads, three bodies, six pairs each of legs and arms and 60 toes and fingers.

Julie

One of the products of Nautica’s first human bio-engineering programme, Julie helps Bill record these historic events.

John:

Kept hostage against Nautica’s demands for small animals, he was kidnapped in New York by the first exploratory Nautica visit to Earth.

Michelle:

A New Yorker appointed by the city to negotiate with the Nautica Occupation.

Lisa:

A teenage girl [daughter of Michelle] taken from New York as further collateral by Nautica.

Carolyne:

The first rape victim of a dominant male humanoid aboard the Nautica ship that settled over New York’s Central Park.

Lara:

One among several hundred Brazilian woman taken with a prison-lot in an early Bruin voyage to Earth.

Abandoned on Planet B as part of an experiment to see how humans survived.

Max and Cilla:

A farming couple in outback Australia first visited by the Brahman.

Paulette:

Their daughter, she becomes deeply enmeshed in the Brahman cause.

Jimmy Cutler:

Reputed to be the first human being to meet the Brahman expedition to Earth.

Frank:

Master Navigator of the first Brahman expedition to Earth.

Humanoids:

Raised by Bruin and Brahman civilizations, these sentient beings were built by Nautica geneticists from the remnants of dead humans.

Bionics:

With or without mechanical enhancements, these living creatures are generally built by Home Cluster genetic engineers for their own purposes.

Robots:

As on Earth – primarily a machine, that may or may not have biological enhancements.

Mutants:

A generic classification for a diverse plethora of beings that fall outside the bounds of the other named creatures or have been abandoned by Cluster genetic engineers. Generally found abandoned on Planet A.

NB:

The variety of permutations and combinations of machine with living creature produced within Home Cluster is so diverse, that this classification can, on occasion, be little more than a good guess.

1st Chronicles

The Invasion of Earth

Julie’s Journal 1.0

Ed’s note: One of the first Home Cluster documents to be translated into English, this recording was taken from the diary kept by the named author. Her existence is corroborated by several of Bill Gulbransen’s letters, published here as part of ‘The Xerox Reports.’ Julie and Bill appear to have been lovers. The latter’s historical bona fides as one of the first convicts transported from Melbourne prison have been well proven.

I was fortunate to be an early recipient of news that contact had been made with an alien civilisation. Following the first official announcement, the plethora of news and data services that inform our Home Cluster were soon awash with a tantalising salad of fact and speculation. Not only was the way the information had come to hand being doubted, but the very existence of the advanced toolmakers said to have been discovered was also being doubted. Some even viewed the whole story as either fake news, or an example of a sophisticated conspiracy theory.

A Warlike Species, Obsessed with Procreation and Drugs was the headline that grabbed my attention. The story was accompanied by images of creatures that looked just like me. Those few of us who later came to be labelled humanoids, were all spellbound by the news. That we might yet have kith and kin, even warlike and, like us: sex-obsessed, from the far end of our known galaxy, was a source of unbridled hope for me.

For a few days, my wildest imaginings kept sleep at bay, a heightened anxiety dulling my appetite. Even during normal waking time, I found myself walking about like such a befuddled Zombie that my keeper family felt bound to take turns at keeping me under intuitive observation. Their calming sing-song mind talk helped me survive those first few days of incredulity. It was the mixture of hope and fear that was the most difficult to manage – hope that I might yet meet the gene pool of my source species and produce a family, fear that the story could be a grand hoax.

Peppered lightly throughout the planets of Home Cluster, all of us humanoids, the progeny of the Water People’s fabled genetic experiments, hung onto the news with a quiet desperation. To discover how our species should behave was a hope we all shared. And the chance to bond, to mate, to reproduce, was something we all felt the pull of, but weren’t quite sure if the impulse was authentic. Those of us who had proven fertile had all been taken to a specially designed, EG congruent human habitat of unknown location. A strategy to maximise our biological viability, was what we had been told. And having never been treated with anything other than consideration and kindliness, I had no reason not to believe them.

Despite my own best efforts and the close attention of my family, I still found the heady prospects too much to cope with. So, I took refuge in the narcotic that had kept me in good spirits for much of my short adult life. ‘Am I being true to my species?’ I wondered as I viewed my circumstances from a chemically enhanced distance.

Raised by the senior matriarch of my family, I had only been recognised as mature a few solar cycles earlier. I was subsequently advised that my longings for sexual intimacy with my own kind were sure to soon wane. This was despite the many solar cycles during which I had been used as a sex toy by my family before finally being chosen as a companion for our most senior matriarch.

Although I missed the sex play, being of a kindly disposition, my mother encouraged interaction with the few fellow girl humanoids that resided in our family hamlet. We all dreamed of real male humanoids, and often imagined what they might be like. I imagined them as being short and stocky, furry, with barrel chests and a special sheath to carry their huge penises. Little did we imagine at the time, that the highly managed, and very seasonal reproductive cycles of our hosts, was far from the norm of the chaos and anarchy that characterised our fellow human reproductive behaviour.

At the time I made this recording, Home Cluster media were running vids about a multi-species, Cluster-wide, Expeditionary Force designed to visit the data source. Local media and entertainment milieu reported on the debate covering the engineering and scientific challenges ahead; of the need to design, to build, and to test suitable vehicles; as well as to develop the protocols required for travelling such vast distances.

All species within our Home Cluster were well versed in the methods of short-haul, Faster-Than-Light travel. After all, according to historical archives, they had been invading, visiting, fighting, and trading with one another for at least 20 Bruin generations. However, the distances being considered for the joint visit to Earth, my planet of origin, were off the scale of what was then considered biologically safe. The transmission of anything that could be rendered virtual had long been common practice. But for 100% biological living creatures, it was feared that the distance might prove too much of a stretch. The random outcomes of FTL * had never been fully resolved, so it was expected that bionics, robots, mutants, and other, expendable crew, such as my fellow humanoids, would most likely be deployed.

*Ed’s note: Apart from the civilisation here known as Brahman, which possess a quite unique flight mode.

Despite my family’s heartfelt entreaties, I volunteered as crew, but was turned down. Too valuable, our boffins explained; your family can’t do without you. Being so important did give me a much-needed fillip. Little did I fully appreciate at the time, that a shortage of crew was never going to be a significant obstacle. The Cluster-wide tradition of kidnapping crew from off-world and other politically neutered sites would be employed to make up for any shortage.

During the time I spent combing through Bruin historic archives, I had discovered Xerox civilisation had already visited my home planet, Earth. And when I really thought about it, where else could we humanoids have come from but a planet of humans such as Earth? On that occasion, the loss of life, of crew and live cargo, was such an embarrassment to our scientific reputation, that apart from the genetic leftovers from which we humanoids were crafted, most references to, and records of this initial trip, were deliberately buried or lost. Just as the planetary re-alignment experiment that vented half our atmosphere to space damaged the credibility of our science community, so too did the failures of that FTL expedition to my home planet further erode trust in our science community.

Overcoming a widely held public cynicism towards both scientific and political decision making was recognised as the biggest challenge that faced our planet’s capacity to participate in the proposed joint expedition. Most news sources, however, suggested that we wouldn’t be able to resist the challenge. The prospect that other civilisations in our Home Cluster might gain any kind of technological ascendancy was such a sure craw to the throat of our citizenry, that it was certain any debate would be short-lived.

The Xerox Report

Bill’s Diary 1.0

Jailbreak

Like the long, slow, rumble of thunder; throughout the night, fights had been erupting between normally placid prisoners and cellmates. Even the guards had been arguing and scrapping over the smallest of things. We had a classic case of the full moon blues with a moon that was but a shard of light in the night sky. Nevertheless, Melbourne’s maximum-security prison was on full-moon notice.

Another boring, grey fucking day, I thought as I peeked out from under my bedsheets. Roll call, breakfast, ablutions, room service, exercise, talk-fest, lunch – it just went on and on, the same every boring, fucking day. But it wasn’t to be the same this day. Morning found me and some of my fellow inmates reeling from the worst nightmares of our lives. Despite the raw fear I felt as I recalled those bleak, fractured night visions, I still found more pleasure in recalling my dark dreams than contemplating the humdrum routines of prison life.

By mid-morning, the prison exercise yards were chocka with the lost – a sea of blue, woe-begone inmates. It was a typical all-round grim day for most of us.

From my cell window, I had a good view of the yard. As on most mornings, I passed the time away looking out through the bars. So, I was one of the few who saw it all unfold.

Because of low clouds, the arrival of a hovering, flying fortress, with a circumference beyond the borders of the prison, went unheralded by any shadow. With most inmates’ eyes more downcast than upcast; the sports-stadium-size visitor was near stationary by the time anyone noticed its ominous presence.

Surreal.

An apparition.

Holography.

AR.

They’ve drugged us all.

These were the typical first responses I heard as I watched in awe. Before those in the a.m. exercise regime – inmates, prison staff, and two whole Aussie Rules teams – could regain their composure, they were caught in a shimmering vortex of dust and debris and were being sucked into the ship’s pulsing ultra-violet maw. In less than ten minutes, 150 terrified, silently screaming humans had been drawn up. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. Even so, I couldn’t make head nor tail of what I’d just witnessed. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on your point of view – I was rostered on the p.m. exercise regime.

Alarms rang, humans howled, guards were overwhelmed, keys were taken, and doors opened. A total dislocation of all security procedures ensued. Even the guards in charge of the remote surveillance and security systems succumbed in thrall to the sense of foreboding and fear that accompanied the abduction.

I was one of the first to join the stampede. Like a herd of frightened beasts, all remaining able-bodied prison personnel ran off down the street. The screams, yells, wails – the looks of absolute terror in the eyes of my fellow inmates, the directionless-ness of their momentum, the madness of it all, would have been immediately apparent to any tower-top observer. Yet not a shot was fired.

Any motor vehicle that tried to pass was immediately mobbed, climbed on, climbed in – commandeered. Our one purpose in common was to flee – to get as far away as quickly as possible. If the crew of the squatting vessel had looked down, they would have witnessed an unruly mob of madmen on a mindless rampage. And when they did look, what they saw was likely eye candy, for it meant more easy pickings for them.

Along with a few cowering stragglers, I had been watching the lowering monstrosity suck up our runaway rabble. The abduction seemed to be sparing those in vehicles, so I was making a mad, lame dash for a van when I too was finally swallowed. Me and my laggard mates were likely among the very last victims.

On board the vessel, we were placed in virtual crates of ten to a dozen humans. Prodding, poking and asking after our welfare, our excited captors showed a keen interest in their fresh human cargo. Uncannily, they spoke American English with a pronounced Texan drawl. Despite being a late arrival, I couldn’t resist attempting conversation.

In answer to a first question, I explained how on Earth, I’d been convicted as a fraudster; how I’d designed one of the first successful cryptocurrency Ponzi schemes – that I’d lived the high life for a full ten years before the authorities caught up with me. Once behind bars, I’d hacked the in-house IT system on behalf of my fellow prisoners. This had kept me safe, while reading science fiction had helped me stay sane. When it came to understanding my new post-abduction circumstances, I was at a considerable advantage compared to the general prison population. For one thing, the possibilities of such a close encounter were a dream-come-true for any sci-fi fan or cosmologist.

How come you all sound like Americans? I asked one of the more attentive aliens.

Dallas, it replied. The gender of our captors was not yet apparent. At the time, most of us prisoners were likely still of the view that the whole event was a hoax, or some kind of massive theatrical occasion.

English lessons, the alien continued. We watched it over and over on the way here – quite a few other Hollywood shows too. We’ve been receiving signs of life from your part of the Milky Way for quite a while.

Bugger me days! You’ve been watchin’ our soapies. I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all. What a hoot!

The engaged alien grimaced in such a way that I figured it too may have been amused.

Took us a while to decode the mass of data. You lot have been advertising your existence for close on a hundred of your years. It’s as if you’ve been saying, ‘Come ’n get us.’ You guys have sure been churning out some data – blasting it through the universe like a dying breath.

Wow! I replied.

The entity replied with a shrug – a gesture I reckoned was equivalent to an expression of wonder. I couldn’t get over how we were communicating so much more effectively than might have been considered likely.

Thought we’d better have a look – our whole region of the galaxy is on the lookout for colonies. Some of us want land for expansion, some for resources, like food. Some prefer slaves to domestic robots. But all are on the lookout for fresh gene pools to enrich and invigorate their own. Only time will tell whether this place and you people are worth the effort. The entity paused – it seemed lost in thought for a moment or two.

I’m amazed, I continued with a smirk, that we can not only recognise one another, but actually communicate. There you are, almost normal, with a head, arms ’n legs – and is that a tail curled up your back?

Yes. You humans have yet to discover the universality of our common genetic blueprint. No matter where in the galaxy we’ve gotten to, so far, we’ve found it’s the same DNA being expressed in life.

I was now ravenously curious. Tell me more, I pleaded. Some of my cubicle of humans were also showing an interest in our unique conversation.

"Obviously, our masters have become proficient in the exploration of deep space. I’m not much of an expert, I’m just a part of general crew. But they know how to move machines from one place to another, more or less instantly. Best I’ve heard it explained is that they’ve discovered ways to blur the boundaries between the little stuff and the big stuff – you know, atomic and sub-atomic. Although they’ve known how to transmit information for several millennia, it seems they have only recently mastered how to project living habitats.

According to what I’ve heard, most life forms died during our early experimental transmissions. Now they do it in a staged manner – a step-by-step process that enables living organisms to recover and recalibrate between steps. Although they claim that, in theory, they could jump from our solar system to yours in the blink of an eye, it still took us six of your months to reach your planet. We will take our time returning – one step at a time, since we have yet to discover how you lot cope. Might take even more than one of your years to get home.

So, we’re a kind of trial shipment, eh?

Correct, replied the entity. And by the way, it added, I’m a boy … they breed us to crew their spaceships. And you can call me Charlie.

Charlie poked his nose through the virtual bars and gave a sniff and licked my face and genital regions. I responded with a reciprocal face sniff but couldn’t get into the rest. Yuk!

Brahman Annals 1.0

Outback Visitors AU

Jimmy Cutler is recorded as the first to observe the outback arrival. There may well have been other pre-cursor arrivals, unseen by most, for at some later date more than a few humans would clamour, either to be recognised as having been the first to encounter the visitors, or, equally enthusiastically, to deny all knowledge. For such was the ambivalence with which the alien visitors were to be viewed. It all depended on the extent to which your interests were advanced by the uninvited missionaries, traders, plunderers, food gatherers, scientists, treasure hunters, and good old-fashioned, wide-eyed adventurers.

It was a typical blustery autumn day in the middle latitudes of the southern hemisphere when it happened. And what better landing strip than central Australia? An airstrip large enough for even the greatest behemoths ever conceived. There we have a vessel – or should we call it a ship – about the size of one of planet Earth’s largest aircraft carriers or super tankers. And it has landed on Earth, but we’re still not sure if it has really grounded, i.e. touched terra firma.

We humans were really caught with our trousers down. Astronomers, futurists, astrophysicists, planetologists, philosophers and science-fiction aficionados, all suffered from the same affliction: the conviction that a viable, faster-than-the-speed-of-light vehicle was considered contrary to the laws of physics – until we discovered the diabolical ways in which subatomic particles can behave. Since then, all bets have been off.

There it was, in all its glory, shimmering in the afternoon sun. The nature of the shimmer was mirage-like – a vague object floating in the air.

First indication of the event was a massive sandstorm – not expected at that time of year, but not unknown. With the Earth stuttering through a major climatic re-programming, what was normal and what was not normal remained unclear to the many humans for whom the weather played a decisive role in their lives.

Initially, Jimmy couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He kept riding around in circles, alternatively casting and averting his eyes. Have I inadvertently consumed a psychotropic substance, he wondered, or Am I dreaming? or Am I totally out of my mind? Add to the visual mix a crew of human-like critters and robot-like machines kicking up the dust, and you get the full picture.

The way the vessel never appeared to be fully substantial was the most confusing. The notion that the ships were an illusion of some kind came to be recognised as the hallmark of many of the visitors’ vehicles. So it wasn’t until the first encounter was made – flesh to flesh, face to face – that Jimmy began to accept the experience as more real than imagined. And they spoke American English. That didn’t help at all!

Because of the Texan drawl, Jimmy was quickly convinced that he must have stumbled upon a Hollywood movie set – and he was impressed – and it was with this conviction in mind that he finally allowed himself to engage with the cast of the film set.

Didn’t know what to make of youse all at first, he stammered, as he made first eye contact. Thought I must’a been dreaming or summit. He spat the umber juice from a well-chewed roll-your-own at his feet, shuffling, eyes downcast. The cigarette was now a sodden spittle-laden twist of tobacco and paper. Since the first moments of the shock encounter, he’d been in such mental disarray that he hadn’t managed to light his durry.

Hi there, said the approaching visitor. We’re looking for someone in charge out here … Interested in some of your animals. Jimmy’s mouth dropped open, the fag fell out; for a moment his world swam.

Uh …? OK … wanna few for your film – is that it?

Nah – wanna eat them!

Jimmy fell about laughing. With tears in his eyes, he replied, Yah got me mate – bullseye – almost believed ya for a sec.

The man from the film set looked heavily made up. A bit on the gangly side – scaly outfit – or was it skin? Ugly, with a big furry egg for a head. Probably taking a break, thought Jimmy, enjoying a giggle.

Mah name is Frank, offered the character, extending a long, skinny arm.

Pleased ta meet you, said Jimmy as they shook hands. Although he wasn’t quite sure if it was a hand he was shaking – more like a claw.

Pretty convincing outfit ya got on there, he remarked. And the way you make that ship-thing out there shiver in the air is very tricky, he added with a grin. My name is Jimmy, he concluded.

Seriously interested in your animals, though, continued Frank. Who makes the decisions in that regard? Interested in quite a few of them … which I know you may not believe.

You sure got me, Frank, you’re really busting my balls. Is this all – you know – even me ‘n you – bein’ filmed? For some kind a reality TV show or summit? Gotta be. Jimmy spat. You’re on candid camera! he snickered, pirouetting on the spot in a mock bow.

OK, buddy, replied Frank, gesturing frustration. Guess ah gotta give you a reality check don’t I? Or we’re gunna continue goin’ round ‘n’ round in circles, aren’t we? Get mah drift?

Frank presented a pen-like device and shot Jimmy with a pencil of violet light. He reeled and fell to the ground, a crumpled wreck of pain. He could taste blood in his mouth; every part of his body felt as if it was on fire, nothing worked.

Standing over the fallen fencer, as Jimmy recovered from the shock, Frank explained, clearly and precisely, that he had no interest in causing any further discomfort, but that he really did want some animals and would take some, one way or another.

Take me to your boss, Frank insisted, now!

As the pain subsided, Jimmy staggered back to a near-vertical stance and took a full-blooded swing at his adversary with his fencing pliers. While the alien carried the deadlier weapon, his reflexes left a lot to be desired, so he took a jagged blow to the left shoulder from the hook end of the pliers. Screeching in pain, Frank fell back. Before further damage could be done by either side, growling and gesturing menacingly, several of Frank’s mixed humanoid/robot-like crew rushed in with even larger and more intimidating weapon-like devices in hand.

Jimmy backed off. You guys for real? he hollered. Whaa the faarck is goin’ on?

In response, Jimmy was firmly collared by a virtual device that cut his air flow every time he tried to holler and gave him a demobilising electric shock whenever he tried to run for it.

While Frank received medical attention, one of his Bionic crew assumed control.

OK, human, how’s this gonna be? You wanna be part of this or be the victim? Eh? ‘Cause we intend to take some o’ these critters, one way or ’nother. Either you co-operate, or we’ll truss you like a turkey and take all your sheep. We really would prefer to do a trade. We’ve got some baubles you might like; you’ve got the animals we want – fair exchange?

Still unsteady on his feet, following release from his restraints, Jimmy nodded in understanding and motioned for one of the crew to hop on the back of his quad bike.

I’ll take you to meet my boss – he’s the only one can do a trade around these parts, he explained. Half an hour away.

You go Frank – you’re in charge, said the Bionic. And you’ve already made a start with this human. We’ll load the sheep. Show his boss what we got, and if he don’t want anything … You know what to do! Explain that while we don’t really have to negotiate, we would prefer a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Jimmy was surprised that his initial adversary was now following orders, for he had seemed in charge. He was also more than a little surprised that the wound he had made with his fencing pliers had completely healed. Little did he appreciate that his scrawny pillion passenger was a Brahman Master Navigator, solely responsible for bringing the unearthly vessel to Australia from the other end of the Milky Way. Although he was the chief honcho, his Bionics were tasked to immediately fill any leadership void. As Frank hopped on behind, the Bionic spokesperson produced a facial grimace that Jimmy took to be an attempt to smile. Come to think of it, Jimmy thought as they rode off, that’s the first time I seen anything resembling a bit of reciprocal goodwill.

Missionary Zeal 1.0

Touchdown

Information recovered from the swarms of nanobot sensors that had been systematically distributed throughout the entire inner galactic arm was quite conclusive: the new planet was heavily populated with advanced toolmakers. With the prospect of new converts in mind, the Zealot High Council sent its first missionary probe to join the Intra-Galactic Expeditionary Force [I.G.E.F].

For Cluster code-crackers, translating the novel data hadn’t proved easy, but once the logic of the codes had been broken, rapid progress followed. Curiously, no sooner had one form of data been decoded than other forms of data were found to be both accompanying and eventually, displacing the original. The shift from analogue to digital had taken a while to negotiate, but over time, digital gradually became dominant. Though Cluster code-breakers had been well employed translating Earth’s data for more than one hundred Earth years, some enigmatic clusters of data still remained to be cracked.

Information gleaned by the High Council had indicated that the Middle Kingdom of China might prove the ripest. The Yellow River Valley’s very high population density was confirmed by infrared thermal readings: ‘The more people, the more efficient our crusade should be,’ had reasoned the Z.H.C leadership.

A strategic landing site was chosen amidst the highest concentrations of humans in the south-east coastal region. A touchdown beside a river also made technical sense, a moving mass of water being the most efficient way to dissipate the heat generated by the exotic energy systems of the mother ship. Initial probes had discovered a pattern of population concentrations along rivers and at river mouths. It had been assumed subsequently, that Earthlings were likely semi-aquatic.

Overnight landings had been decided on as the preferred method of arrival for all members of the Expeditionary Force. While not expected to avoid detection by some of Earth’s military sensors, humans had generally been observed to sleep between sunset and sunrise.

It was a misty morning, as the citizens of the Yellow River Valley set about their tasks for that auspicious day. Rather than workers on foot, it was the workers in cars and on public transport that first noticed the novel structure. Not unlike many of the architectural extravaganzas that had erupted along the Chinese skyline over the past decade, many drivers and passengers assumed the alien ship to be a new structure built at meteoric speed. Some even wondered if they just hadn’t noticed it before.

From the ship, crews were instructed to observe, mix ‘n’ mingle and establish personal contact where possible, and several exploratory shuttles were sent forth. It had been decided that following the course of rivers in from the sea was the surest way to access the massive urban concentrations identified from orbit. Closer observation found the pattern of high population density along river valleys to be mirrored by even higher concentrations along the planet’s coastal fringes. This further strengthened the alien assumption that Earthlings were likely to be at least, semi-aquatic.

Once again, given the rapid pace of development in China, along with the wide-spread phenomenon of experimental high-tech vehicles, the subsequent touchdown of alien shuttles in urban centres went almost unnoticed. It was the gait of the crew rather than their lemur-like appearance that attracted attention.

By midday, both the formal state media and the informal social media were replete with stories of escaped zoo animals or alien invaders. Enterprising locals that hadn’t run off in fear, used their smart phones to record their encounters to share on social media. Some had the courage to get up close and managed to make conversation of a kind. The main problem was that the Chinese language had only reached the Cluster in the latter half of the century and had not been considered worthy of translation. Though the extra-terrestrial crew had learned English on the voyage, they hadn’t encountered much Mandarin.

With communications limited to facial, hand and oral gestures, some of the more daring humans took the opportunity on offer to explore the transporter. Despite the massive cultural, biological, and linguistic barriers, several hundred Chinese, mostly children, managed to develop an easy rapport with the visitors. The exchange of food gifts was confirmed to be not only the universal gesture of goodwill on Earth, but throughout the Milky Way.

Meanwhile, the People’s Liberation Army was manoeuvring both soldiers and military vehicles into position. Heavily armed assault helicopters were the first to take up station, both in the air and on the ground. It took longer to locate and target the smaller transporters, but by late afternoon that same day, all transporters were also under surveillance. A decision to capture the main invasion vessel was made.

Initial attempts to gain entry by foot soldiers were repulsed by invisible force fields. The P.L.A.’s attempt to force entry triggered the recall of all ten transporters, their cargos of curious humans intact. A barrage of exploratory small-arms fire directed at the returning transporters caused injury to all shooters as shuttle force fields reflected projectiles back to their source. Under attack, both the returning transporters and the mother ship seemed to flux in and out of human focus, as much illusion as real.

Daniel Chen had been watching the action from his dormitory window all morning. A normally disciplined university student, he had exploited his vantage point since first light. Hadn’t eaten any breakfast, hadn’t made his classes, and even peed out the window; such was the magnetism of the events unfolding before his eyes.

When the shooting started, he noted that the vessels under attack seemed to flicker on and off. Just before he’d hear the shots, the ship he presumed to be the one under fire, would light up the late afternoon sky. It was as if they were absorbing some of the energy of the projectiles. And right before the first helicopter gunship exploded, the mother ship flashed a giant splash of light across the countryside.

As the dusk of early evening was illumined by exploding helicopters and a brilliantly pulsing spaceship, a massive firework display followed. It was obvious to Daniel that each pulse was followed, milli-fractions of a second later, with the demolition of a P.L.A. chopper. ‘It would appear,’ he later reasoned, ‘that the alien vessel had the capacity to shield itself from attack by first absorbing and then reflecting the projectile or explosive device.’

During the melee, the P.L.A. command discovered that the only way to penetrate the aliens’ defensive shields was with laser beams. Every particle or projectile fired so far, had been returned with an uncanny precision to the weapon responsible. With Chinese beam technology still in its infancy, the P.L.A. decided not to risk a high-powered trial. Further, High Command reasoned that the modest level of retaliation so far may have been a decision made by the aliens to respond in proportion to the attack. For the P.L.A., there was no guarantee that their exploratory laser probes hadn’t been detected, or that a more powerful beam may well have generated a proportional response. From Daniel’s perspective, since firing at the aliens was clearly suicidal, he dearly hoped his beloved P.L.A. would learn sooner rather than later.

The Xerox Report

Bill’s Diary 1.1

The Haj

Our journey from Earth was a manic experience. Following some preliminary exchanges with the more curious members of the human-like crew, before being connected to an umbilical cord, we prisoners were all sedated. After further sorting, decontamination, and inoculation, we were then stacked into a honeycomb of individual life-support modules. The way they moulded to the shape of our bodies convinced me that the modules were living things – an ultra-sophisticated, live placenta.

The bottomless pit of suspended animation was punctuated by short periods of intensive stimulation. The best indication of the passage of time might be the mammoth beards we men had grown or the length of our curling toenails and fingernails. The toenails shocked me – I’d had no idea they could grow so long! Maybe we all had half a year’s growth?

According to what I’ve heard since arriving at the Home Cluster, there were too many of us to fit the purpose-built human habitat. A roster was designed whereby we were rotated systematically through the three different environments available on the ship. I can clearly recall the rotation process, being shifted from a simulation of Earth’s environment through two alternatives; all with good air, but one on a paltry 50% G while the other felt like a brutal 2G. During a pause in the rotation, one of the senior crew explained to me that the first was an ideal habitat for the non-robot crew, press-ganged, as was he, from one of a host planet’s moons. Co-opted from an innovative Xerox deep space habitat, the robots functioned best in the 2G habitat of the ship.

After our final jump, we passed within clear view of Xerox’s radical organic station. From my observation deck, the way it caught the light made it look like a luminous pink blob with a myriad of soft, blue, wispy strands wafting about in space – more jellyfish than machine. The best way I can describe how they work, as was explained to me, is that the strands feed like the root hairs of Earth’s plant communities – by ionic exchange. Remarkably, our captors know how to grow living organisms in a vacuum. And over millennia of trial and error, this technology has been improved upon until they can now grow complex space habitats rather than build them. Depending for energy on captured light and harvested minerals and water molecules from space nebulae, while the habitat’s growth-rate may be slow in human terms, it’s meteoric in geological time.

Chatter on the ship during the final intra-solar leg was that the need to rotate us human cargo between habitats may have been a blessing. Between cycles we were woken fully, medically probed, fed, scrubbed, exercised, and given some mental stimulation. The latter came from the modest interaction between prisoners that was allowed during each interlude, the chance to watch home sports shows still playing from Earth TV, and a few sets of compulsory video-style games that required sharp mental and physical reflexes.

If the era of the TV we watched can be taken as a fair measure of time, each jump seemed to take us about twenty years into the past. After the final jump, space waves were dominated by ’60s rock music. And, weird as it might sound, I reckon I felt younger at the end than at the start of the trip.

The exercise regime included compulsory treadmills, compression suits and a gym where, with a smart breathing helmet locked in place, we were buried in a tube of a silicon-like viscous goo that provided resistance in all directions: the harder one struggled, the firmer the resistance. The prize of an alcoholic beverage was promised if one could get through to the end of the tunnel. As far as I know, we all made it to the drink reward. Tasted terrible though! Bizarrely, the feeling of disappointment with the flavour of the prize beer is my strongest memory of the whole trip!

I also recall the stab of pain, both when the umbilical cord was installed and when it was withdrawn. The second most memorable experience of the trip after the terrible beer, was the way the cribs we were provided with seemed to embrace us like they were living things. They were surprisingly comforting – perhaps even womb-like.

The Xerox Report

Julie’s Journal 1.1

Conference Call

Following the return of a vessel from the first Intra Galactic Expeditionary Force to Earth, I was fortunate enough to be present at their first joint meeting. The meeting took place in a centrally located space habitat that had been built by the Brahman Master Navigators’ Association. The habitat’s function was to facilitate goodwill and understanding and to enable co-operation between the budding Home Cluster Planetary Alliance.

From general conversation, I learned that the habitat could be programmed to produce a range of G readings and atmospheres according to the preferences of its residents. The habitat had three independent residential modules that could produce anything from 0.5 Earth G to 3 x Earth G. For the benefit of the majority, the default setting was half a G. Having grown up in the high G world of Xerox’s giant planet, I found the sudden change to a light G setting, alarmingly uncomfortable.

Because it was conducted in English, though through the delightfully numbing haze of my favourite narcotic, at the feet of my Xerox Mistress, I was privy to the whole proceedings. Remarkably, a clear majority of the half dozen planets involved had found English amusing, so relished the challenge to master a totally alien language. Choosing such a new language as the diplomatic language for a new era of intra-planetary exploration and co-operation was deemed appropriate. A scattering of discrete translator bots silently hovered above eye level for use, as and if required.

We couldn’t be happier with the humans we recovered from two of planet Earth’s jails. They seem to view their current situation as a big improvement, crowed Xerox’s representative, to break the ice. We’ve relocated half of each male and female shipment to planet ‘A’ to see how they adapt – an experiment still unfolding as we speak.

So, this hairless critter you’ve got with you is one of them? asked a curious Nautical Bionic.

She’s just like mine! hooted another of Xero’s agents. They make such great pets, she added, even when totally built from scratch … we weren’t sure about the build of that first crop of humans until our latest live shipment arrived. Then, with a nod of acknowledgement towards the Nautical mission, We now reckon your genetic engineers did one galaxy of a job! Who would have thought? she concluded, as a second Nautical Bionic flashed sodium yellow to get the attention he wanted.

Are they good for anything? he asked, with a flashing luminosity that suggested annoyance. I thought you were looking for space to expand, for labour and for new gene pools, but you end up with useless house pets?

The others at the tabled chorused their agreement amidst rumbled or flashed signs of amusement.

Sure – sure, you all might be right … conceded the second of Xero’s representatives. Yet they sure can entertain! Would you like to watch a couple fighting or rutting? It could be quite easily arranged. Remarkably, their genetic code is not too unlike both our own and it’s almost identical to our Brahmin cousins, and they can perform a useful range of menial tasks under a reasonable range of Gs.

Maybe I’ll watch a live feed on my way home, replied the lone Brahman agent to the offer. I think we all need to give this whole business time, he added. Planet Z hasn’t heard anything of their expeditionary force, and the Haiku think they may have lost theirs … vanished without a trace, so they’ve said. Our expedition is still in transit – travelling home faster than coms … as best we can tell.

As we might do well to recall, we all have quite different objectives, commented the leader of planet Z’s delegation. Our messiah is looking for an opportunity to gain new converts, and if I remember correctly, both planets B and N are looking for protein. And, he asked emphatically, isn’t this the most exciting development in this part of our galaxy for a thousand millennia?

A chorus of contented rumblings and benign flashes ensued.

Early days – eh? conceded Haiku’s representative solemnly. Even though our lost ship was manned by an expendable mix of robots and Bionics, we are quite perplexed at present. We do have another ship ready. I think the news from this meeting might tip the balance in favour of lift-off, though, continued the pensive Haiku rep. Our coffers aren’t the best at the moment, and we desperately need real prospects of a payday sufficient to justify the expense of these undertakings. Another chorus of agreeable rumblings and benign flashes followed as Brahman domestic bots set up tables of unique interplanetary refreshments.

Aquariums of live fish and live arthropod-like critters occupied pride of place for those who preferred fresh au naturel. A live sheep-size slug provided a popular liquid refreshment from a mammary-like gland. Adjacent to a colourful array of each planet’s breads ‘n’ pickles, a further range of live and harvested plants and plant products was on display. Liquid refreshments were almost as diverse as the breads in colour, flavour, and packaging.

As one of several hundred souls genetically rebuilt from the DNA of the first failed human shipment, since being roused from my artificial womb, I have been the house pet of a prominent Xerox family. However, I’ve been taught that had it not been for Nautica’s astonishing bio-engineering skills, none of my kind would be here today. We are all encouraged to note the debt of gratitude we should carry. And how else can one feel but a profound reverence for one’s creators?

I have no memory wisps of any previous life on Earth, and due to the uncommon nature of my creation, my sense of identity has always been problematic. Xerox is the only home I know and so are its foods, most of which are derived from subterranean plants and animals. During my life on Xerox, I have found the breads and pickles most to my liking. And though you human readers on Earth may be shocked, I have also developed a taste for a living critter about the size of one of your small freshwater crayfish – crunchy and savoury all at the same time! It lives in our underground streams. As you might imagine, food choices on joint space stations are pretty much down to what’s common fare for the host planet, with a little tweaking to fit the unique digestive system of each major species.

The Nautica Log 1.0

Central Park (i)

Above Central Park, New York, in the US of A, a menacing shadow hung over the reservoir. As a multitude of yelping dogs broke free of their masters and raced for cover, the sinister presence witnessed a bevy of bewildered joggers tripping over their own feet while enthralled early morning Tai Chi practitioners appeared rooted to the spot. Cowering amidst the deepest, darkest thickets they could find, the several hundred runaway dogs hid in fear of their lives. And their canine instincts proved to be more well-founded than the phantasmagorical variety of the first human responses.

A few, either more resolute, or maybe just plain drunk humans; regular nocturnal occupants of park benches and sheltered reaches, gave the floating mechanical monster little more than a cursory look. After all, either they’d seen it all before, or they were too intoxicated for the presence to register. Amidst the plethora of indigenous park residents, hysteria would best describe the more typical reaction of the early morning walkers and joggers.

A cacophony of duck, geese and sundry waterfowl cries was the first sound to greet the arrival. And like the dogs, in fear of their lives, those that couldn’t find shelter under water or amongst the reeds and rushes, flew off into the distance. Meanwhile, several trolley-bus-size ovoid ships glided to the ground and began to suck the dogs out of hiding. With loads of dogs on board, the machines were then seen returning to the mother ship. Bench residents swear they saw human-like creatures aboard the dogcatchers, and reckon they saw activity around an under-belly door from which the dog catchers were seen to come and go. The whole of the belly hatch glowed with a translucent rainbow haze that proved uncannily attractive to women in the park, some of whom appeared mesmerised by the glow.

The second phase of the operation took on an even more sinister tone: several shuttles disgorged humanoid men to systematically rape all enthralled women. Captured by unseen forces, few of these women managed more than a weak protest before succumbing to the almost medical procedure to which they were subjected.

A dishevelled Caroline Young was one of the first victims. According to her story, she’d been jogging with her poodle when the dog began to act out of character.

He seemed confused at first … kept looking around, sniffing the air, and pulling against me. Halfway through our jog, his hackles rose, and he began to snarl and drag on his leash. Next thing I know, he’s howling and pulling against me so hard that I had to let go. Without a backward glance, Fluffy made a beeline for the trees … I lost sight of him.

So, how long did this all take – from when you lost the dog to … the sexual violation?

I wouldn’t have a clue, Caroline sobbed, her hands over her eyes. It was just all so unbelievable. I mean, even now, I-I … did … did it really happen?

It’s a bit unreal for all of us too, my dear, suggested the ambulance officer, part of the first response medical team now occupying the park beneath the quietly thrumming shadow.

With more than 50 ambulances now located within and around the park, most human victims were being comforted and counselled as best as possible under the circumstances. Law enforcement, too, were quickly in evidence, with some of their para-military resources to the fore; for every ambulance, there was a mean-looking armoured vehicle in attendance.

Despite the prospect of an alien visit never having been on the agenda of any planning meetings, having experienced more than its fair share of surprise attacks in recent decades, New York was