Voyage through Galaxy XG#∑₲₼4a, by Penny Simpson

Year 192: orbit of StarXG#365y

Week 16: 3^rd planet.                

The 3^rd planet initially attracted our attention because of its unusual blue green colour. As we approached, we observed that, in addition to a relatively large moon, the planet has a series of rings. At first, we assumed the rings to be made up of dust and gases similar to those of two of its larger neighbours (already documented see reports from Weeks 12 &13). But closer inspection revealed that they are made up of fragments of some unknown highly reflective material that catches light from the star and reflects it causing dazzling flashes as bright as gas flares.

We also picked up radio signals from sources with coordinates inside the ring and on the surface of the planet. (but none from its silent moon). So we decided to enter the planet’s atmosphere, locate and make contact with the transmitters.

The landing team were entranced by the third planet’s beauty reporting how its surface appeared to shimmer and move as white trails and clouds of vapour veiled and then revealed its complex faces.

In the last report we received before losing contact, they had deciphered aerial images emanating from the radio waves. These images were many and varied but they identified two main types: distressing images of an unknown violent species of biped that the team have named ‘the devils’. The playful, furry quadrupeds that feature in the other type of image were known as ‘kittens’.

(This story and the three which follow are all variations on the following theme: "Imagine a report by aliens visiting Earth after humans have become extinct")

The Species, by Graham Attenborough

Interim Report on Blue Planet; Star System #**~^#**<~*: Extinction Event.

We began our survey of the Blue Planet many generations ago. Since that time much has occurred, culminating in a catastrophic extinction event, which has decimated almost all flower and fauna on land and much of the planets ocean besides.

Initially, the species responsible for this event had made little impact on the planet's Eco systems, living, more or less, in harmony with its fellow creatures. However, on subsequent visits we found that the species had multiplied exponentially; had begun to form large settlements, and was systematically destroying the environment.

Only a few generations ago, we were extremely alarmed to discover that the species had spread to such a degree that much, of what had once been a Paradise Planet, had been so badly damaged by their activity, that many of its fellow species were either extinct or surviving in captivity and small corridors of natural habitat.

A word here on the species. The species in question is a problem-solving, tool-using biped. The species is basically a scavenger. The species is highly social and in small groups is capable of living within its means. Unfortunately, it would appear that, approximately thirty thousand of the planet's years ago, an anomaly occurred in its evolution, leading to arrested development in the species. This anomaly allowed the species to believe that it was unique, in some way special, and that its immediate (and largely imagined) needs outweighed those of all others with which it shared the planet. Eventually, the species came to see themselves as a kind of god and that the Blue Planet and everything in it belonged to them to do with as they pleased.

Herein is the sorry tale of this most wonderful planet: that it spawned a creature that saw itself more important than the planet that had spawned it. There is hope however. Once the species finally recognised the irreversibility of its actions, it began to use its destructive power on itself like never before. Their final war, over what sparse resources remained, exterminated billions leaving only a few thousand of the most powerful and despicable of the species. These few have escaped the Blue Planet and are now seeking a new world to inhabit.

It is the regrettable recommendation of this report, that these survivors be sought out and destroyed before they are able to infect any other habitable planet. It is essential, for the well-being of the galaxy, that the species is completely nullified forthwith.

*#¥~<~+^#*

Translated by Graham Attenborough (2016)

Nanobot Future, by Peter Morford

They had been watching the sun for many of their own revolutions and could already see the signs of its ultimate inflation. But for now it was well worth visiting.  There had been evidence of intelligent life on its third planet and it would be in the interests of science to take a closer look.

            There were the usual arguments about finance.  How, people asked, could the Ruling Party countenance the danger, effort and expense in an enterprise which could bring no benefit for generations to come?   How long would it take to travel the 7 light years?

        The boffins did the sums and made a concession.  “We’ll not send live souls, we’ll use micro-organic robots. They are expendable.”

            “How long?” the sceptic repeated.

            “At 10% of the speed of light – 70 years.  One way.”

            On Earth, if there had been any men on it, they would have said the date was AD10,301. But Man and all the mammals and marine creatures were long gone from a planet which only supported plant life south of Capricorn and north of Cancer belts.  The rest was hot enough to melt tallow.  From the trickle of water that had been the great oceans mountains rose 7 miles high.

            The arguments were over at last. The exploration was on.

            It wasn’t much of a spectacle. In the early days a space launch was dramatic and noisy. Crowds would watch the great tube hoist itself into the sky, belching fire, dropping bits off until it disappeared into the ether.

            But now, in AD10303, a very small craft took off with the dignity of an aircraft, went into low orbit and, well out of sight of its sponsors, released a cloud of microbots which would stream away, driven by the solar wind and cyclotron radiation. They would sail separately and only reunite at their destination. Earth.

            The trillions of ‘bots, tethered to their sails, orbited Earth for several weeks before choosing a landing place near the edge of the fertile region. They discarded their sails and gathered together on a flat plain.

            Only insects would have seen them. The bigger ones picked up individual microbots, found them indigestible and cast them out.

            The microbots formed  themselves into machines; diggers, chemical laboratories, transmission devices, vehicles for both land and air. 

            They started to dig in the hard ground, looking for evidence of intelligent life.

             They were still digging and moving and digging again in AD10506.  Nothing yet, they reported.

            Mission aborted.

New Discoveries in Paleography, by Peter Shilston

The archaeological team is proud to report a major breakthrough in the excavations at building 402. Painstaking work by our experts has enabled us to transcribe some of the writing from fragments of a document which has, quite by chance, survived to destruction which overtook the settlement. Although the language of these vanished people is still wholly unknown to us, we are able to make a few tentative guesses as to the document’s nature and meaning.

   It was clearly some form of letter addressed to the resident. It would appear that his name was:

  “New Bengal Restaurant and Takeaway”

And that he lived in a street called:

   “Opening Soon!”

In the town, or possible the province, of

   “Free Delivery on Telephone Orders!”

“New”, as he was probably called by his friends and family, would have read, on the reverse of this letter, communications such as:

  

   “Lamb Samosa £4.20”,   and

   “Chicken Biryani £7.50”

There has been speculation in certain of the media that the recipient was a priest in a temple, and that these words were religious chants or magical incantations. I have even seen sensational so-called “reconstructions”, where New and his family are depicted standing in a circle to perform these rituals. I must stress that, in our opinion, there are as yet no grounds whatsoever for any such fancies. The writings could just as easily be a bill for repairs to his roof! In the meantime, I once again commend the excellent work of the palaeographers, and wait eagerly for more information about our friend New and his town of Free Delivery.

It was too early, by Steve Harrison

It was too early

It was too early on a Sunday

It was far too early on a Sunday morning for a bunch of roses..

What was he thinking: a bunch of roses so big that only his receding fringe and newly-acquired waistline were showing either side of  them! Could it be just a thank you? ..or was it a going-away gift?…or the first step in  a process of courtship?

Two dozen pink stems spreading out from the elegant gold tie. No last minute hopeful garage dash: this was planned if not predictable

Whatever; it was far too early...

She was temporarily back at the family home and this undetermined gap between jobs and relationships allowed for new thinking and new possibilities; but this potential avenue for experiences was unexpected and exciting; but worse: might awaken dad, and even worse, the suspicions of mum..

Maybe mum  could help with finding the true intentions of this suitor and would he suit her... but  the sound of fat tyres on gravel, a dog woken, unfamiliar voices in the kitchen, a hurriedly-concocted coffee were all still too early for a Sunday morning.

She had been warned... did he come with  his DNA inbred suitor suite of activities? ... her women friends observing but not participating could form an advisory alliance together, but should she just let nature flow? ... let her feelings guide her way?... embark on a new relationship to exorcise the last one?

Was she just another make in his Haynes manual to women?

An orderly male mechanical process?... the flowers, the poetry, the nature walks, the themes in common?... Was this human-mechanical-biological, or a naked-ape justification of his own behaviour: the stag enticing the does?... she was doe eyed... and young and on his patch...

The fresh petals made a new medium for her; ground in a mortar and pestle mixed with liquid; strained through muslin a new pigment was conceived.

The stems went on the compost heap..

Marty, by Anthony Bloor

Marty

(In memory of Rik Mayall)

 The circumstances were most odd. It was just like the day when Marty had a fit. Someone had given him a retro kettle a year ago and, instead of whistling as intended, the thing had started belching. The back door was swollen with the rains and needed a yank to shut properly. We were in the lounge discussing the news, Marty was standing by the door smoking a cigarette, and the kettle was on the boil. Marty finished his cigarette just as the kettle started to spit. He danced inside with a flurry, heaving the door with almighty yanks, but it still wouldn’t shut and the kettle was belching and farting like a volcano. “Oh God!” he said. “Nothing… bloody… works!” And he fell to the floor, beat the carpet with both fists, and died. Just like that. We all laughed at the time. He was such a drama queen.

The Rope-Slider's Wife, by Graham Attenborough

He was a fool for flight. It was, she knew, his true love and always would be.

His father had taken him to the heights when Robert was but a small boy; he had told her how scared he had been at first but fear was soon replaced by rapture.

As a boy, Robert had taken to the towers and spires with such enthusiasm that his steeple jack father's initial delight had soon been replaced with foreboding. A healthy respect for danger and a clear awareness of certain death, if mistakes were made, was essential for such a trade. Young Robert seemed oblivious to his father's concerns and was soon performing daring tricks for the people who aways stood watching in the churchyards below. He would sit or lie on the edge of the curtain walls of the tower tops waving. He would stand on one leg, dance, pretend to lose his footing and cling precariously with one hand from weathercocks. Gradually, he became famous for these antics and money quickly came his way. Encouraged, his father gave up admonishing his son and began to assist him, devising ways for Robert to delight the growing crowds whilst, at the same time, doing so in relative safety.

Ironically, it was his father and not Robert who lost his life in a needless fall. It was on the day that young Robert Cadman married his sweetheart Lucy. Thanks to Robert, the family had prospered. They had bought a fine house in Candle Lane Shrewsbury and, on the the day of the wedding, the elder Cadman decided to hang celebratory bunting from the upper casements. Full of ale, he had climbed out onto the sill, the better to sing and banter with his neighbours in the street. He lost his footing, fell, dashing out his brains on the cobbles below.

His heartbroken widow soon followed her husband to the grave and it fell to the pragmatist Lucy to take charge. Lucy had been a serving-girl at The Lion. Like everyone in the town she knew of its famous son Robert Cadman and had watched the rope slider perform his tricks up on the steeples. When first she met him, whilst walking beside the river on summer evenings, she discovered a young man who lived for the thrill of the moment, a man bursting with enthusiasm to please others, a loving and loveable man but one without an ounce of business sense.

Lucy took control. She it was who designed and made his costume. She who had bills and posters printed well in advance of a performance, and she it was who worked the crowds with her winning smile and a large hat within which she collected the monies due, just reward for the risks her husband took for the pleasure of others.       

They did well. They had a child. A girl whom they christened Susan. They extended their property, became known and well respected about the town. They owned their own wagon and two fine mares who pulled them around the countryside. They traveled far and wide.

And then... And then Robert set up his act to fly across the frozen river Severn from St. Mary's spire into the Gay Meadow; a performance he had given many times before.

The frost fair was in full swing on the morning of the 2nd of February 1740 and the crowds began to swell as Robert walked up the rope from the meadow performing daredevil tricks as he went. Lucy worked the crowd collecting money and explaining that, once at the steeples summit, her husband would slid back down at such speed that the friction would cause his wooden breastplate to heat up and billow out smoke behind him. Within the hour he had reached the top of the steeple and begun his descent. He had even fired off his pistols but something was clearly wrong because he began to signal that the rope was pulled too taut. Lucy stiffened as she watched. Suddenly the crowd gasped and she saw Robert fall away. The rope sprang out across St. Mary's Friars its snapped end aglow with flame. Even from the opposite bank of the river she heard the collective scream from the horrified onlookers as Robert's body hit the iron-hard ground below.

As Lucy Cadman began to run wildly down the bank towards the frozen river she dropped her hat, almost full of money, upon the frosty grass where eagle-eyed beggar boys quickly swooped to claim their share.

The rope sliders wife saw nothing of this. As she ran, she disappeared from history.

Robert Cadman was twenty eight years old.

The rope sliders wife's name is not recorded. Her existence remains a short footnote in her husband's story.