Shade of Red
These humans are terribly unobservant.
For years, we could not put a name to their forms, mostly because we had no interest in doing so. Their loud boot-falls and unwieldy bodies made us think they were nothing more than animals that migrated across our territory, searching for a new source of food.
It wasn't until one of our own followed them for a time that he discovered what we had all been missing: they were not from our world.
Working out the basics of their language took less than a week, and not a few of us had trouble believing that they could possibly communicate through such a simplistic set of sounds and gestures. The scientist responsible for their discovery was ridiculed for many turns, until he could finally show a pattern to their behavior and a smattering of intelligence to their actions.
Forays onto the surface became a regular event as more information about these humans was obtained, and we were stunned to discover the amount of garbage they had left on our world. Crude electronic devices, coated in dust and grit, were buried at some of our holiest sites, sites that had been the homes and temples of our ancestors. Data was collected from these relics, and we were able to get a clearer picture of just what these humans were trying to do.
Debate raged about capturing one for study, but it was impossible to know when their next capsule would touch down. Only four sightings had occurred in thirty turns, though we were confident that another was coming soon. With our own instrumentation tuned to the constant stream on information that came from the blue planet near us, we were able to learn not only about their intentions on our world, but how badly they had ruined their own.
Historians were consulted, who told us that we were once much as they were, and that it was our own hubris that set the surface aflame and drove us underground. Our planet had once been a vibrant yellow, coursing with plant life and fueled by underground springs. War between two rival families burned what we had built to ash and tarnished the surface, staining it forever red. Now, we “martians”, as the humans called us, were doomed to eke out an existence below ground, siphoning water from near the planet's core.
We were living on a doomed world.
It was this, more than anything, that drove our interest in the humans. Their planet could yet be saved, could be turned from its path, but it was too late for ours. Estimates showed oue water supply would last only another one hundred and fifty turns – a single lifetime for most of us. Our children and their children would grow up with rationed water measures in place, and would bear witness to the slow death that hubris and violence had wrought.
An impassioned plea to the Elders gave us permission to capture the next of their kind we saw, and fortunately we did not have to wait long. Interest in our world was ramping up on the blue planet as their own wars loomed, and those among them considered the most intelligent pushed for another manned mission to the “red planet”.
Seven turns later, three of their kind touched down, an improved generation of scanning tools at the ready, but ones that had no hope of detecting our helium-based structures. Their dedication to the methods of science weer admirable, but their view was limited. We were on top of them before they had any idea we had arrived.
We took all of them for good measure, but were careful to wear the green suits that our exo-scientists had developed. All indications were that our touch would be toxic to them and vice-versa, and we could not afford to lose any more of our kind. A test to see their reaction to our natural flesh would have been intriguing, but not all curiosities could be satisfied.
Unfortunately, all attempts at communication have been ineffective. Using what appears to pass for their own brand of science, all three of those that we have captured – two males and a female, if we are correct about their body makeups – are attempting to study us even as we do our best to explain our actions to them. While their speech is easy to understand, our much smaller mouths have difficulty replicating it, and we have not been able to establish a firm framework of communication.
Our next option has not been approved by the Elders, but I have volunteered to undergo the procedure nonetheless. The amount of time it takes for a decision to be made could mean the destruction of the aliens' landing craft, giving us no way to study their homeworld.
A bio-sac has been fashioned, one that I will be fitted into, and that will be mounted inside the large thoracic cavity of the tallest male. His size should give me ample room to deploy, and their crude bodily functions are easily manipulated.
There is an air of disappointment among my colleagues; our goal was knowledge, not control, but we are left with little choice. The memories of those with my host will be wiped, but a curiosity will be instilled, even greater than before, and evidence will be planted near their craft that will be speak to a potential civilization nearby. I will infiltrate their ranks on earth, and the two left free will push for another mission to return, for more of their kind to arrive.
We are not a cruel race. We have learned from our mistakes and wish only for peace, but these humans are simply below us. In several thousand years, their potential might increase to match our own, but our planet is dying, our people suffering. They must accept that their betters are coming, even if they do not wish to.
We weep, but know that the Martian invasion has begun.
- D
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