First Contact

The city streets were quiet. Since the mantid diplomat had been dragged away cursing and raving things had been a little odd. Street lights would go out, advertisement street holo's would suddenly stop and just stare at a being walking by.

Most of the food dispensers didn't work or took your creds and called the LawSec on you for sexual harassment.

And many many beings reported seeing Terrans lurking about the back alleys, on fire, asking if random beings knew what time it was.

As the head security being of the Council City, it was Dratmo'o's job to ensure that everything went normally. Since the Mantid had left things were still being difficult. On top of the Terran holo, the food dispensers being investigated for planning a plot to overthrow the 'oppression of the drink dispensers', random time pieces ceasing to work, and other strange things, many beings had complained of hearing creepy unsettling music wafting out of storm drains and random pipes.

So far Dratmo'o hadn't discovered anything more spooky than a janitorial robot that appeared to malfunctioned and chased everyone around making mono-tone 'dun dun' noises that slowly got faster and faster until it tried to bite them. That had been fixed by just restarting it.

Still, he was required to stay late in his office, wishing he had something else to do besides read another report from some functionary who was bleating about this resource or that resource or how about nobody had polished their hind hoof or kissed their hoof. He opened the next message and sighed. It was a Third Most High who had attached video proof of a Second Most High having cookie crumbs on his rank sash, completely omitted the context that the Second Most High was apparently having a cookie and tea party with several young Neo-Sapient children in a photo opportunity.

Part of Dratmo'o wished his could load the Third Most High into a cannon and, to use Dreams phrase, fire him into the sun.

To be honest? City Security Most High Dratmo'o had liked the mantid diplomat. She had been disrespectful in an amusing way. It had taken a little while to figure out what he had liked about her, he'd even had to look through several lexicons to find out what was so special.

She had style, which was something that all of Dratmo'o's peers lacked. They were all identical except from some minor cosmetic fur colorings and what sashes they wore. To amuse himself he had sent a questionnaire to ten thousand of Second through Sixth Most Highs then compared the results.

99.98% match within statistically acceptable bell curve deviation ranges.

The only different two were a Sixth Most High with a 'secret' desire to watch Mechbash fights in the nude while he knitted blankets for the poor and a Third Most High who had once drunkenly confided to Dratmo'o that he liked to watch pornographic eVR's where he would select the opposite sex of his own to experience it after using a filter to remove all the color from the sim.

Two deviants. Out of ten thousand.

Curious, he had asked Dreams how many deviants were in Terran Descent Human society. She had simply asked "Out of how many?" and when Dratmo'o had answered ten thousand Dreams had simply stated "Eleven thousand. Somehow."

That had given him a sensible chuckle. Which was the best kind of chuckle.

Dratmo'o finished reading the last communique, which was the MilSec Most High complaining that his men were being overworked sweeping the streets with LawSec and CorpSec to attempt to discover the source of the creepy music.

He finished dealing with his endless paperwork, logged out of his terminal, and left his office. When he got into the elevator and pressed the third level of the parking garage he sighed.

Dratmo'o wondered what everyone would do if he went to the roof and took his security hovercraft home, flew low over the wealth corporate class's estates blaring out "I AM DRATMO'O, YOUR SOCIAL SUPERIOR IN EVERY WAY!" over the loudspeakers.

They would undoubtedly complain to the Military Security Council about it, smugly inflating their crests at the thought of Dratmo'o being punished.

The lights flickered several times in the elevator, making Dratmo'o sigh. He'd seen the maintenance beings practically pulling their hair out over the problems in the computer and electrical system. For a few days it wasn't an uncommon sight in the Unified Council buildings to find a Lanaktallan somehow dead from a maintenance mishap. Neo-Sapiens and Near-Civilized seemed to fine, but Lanaktallan had to watch out for everything from exploding lights to walls falling to electrical cords falling from the roof and strangling them.

Most maintenance crews moved about with CounSec escorts now.

The elevator door opened and Dratmo'o started moving toward his private limo. He didn't trust other beings to drive for him so he didn't have a driver waiting. Walking through the parking garage the lights started flickering again.

'blah bleh-blah' whispered from behind him.

He turned, whirling around, and saw the suggestion of a narrow pale face. A Terran face.

"Who's there?" Dratmo'o asked. His hand slipped into his satchel, finding the comfortable grip of the illegal needler pistol he kept on him at all times.

Nobeing answered and after a moment the lights flickered on, revealing emptiness.

I must be working too hard, Dratmo'o though to himself. He turned around, trotting toward his limo.

"blah bleh-blah," was whispered from the darkness to the left.

Dratmo'o whipped out the pistol as he whirled to face the sound.

Nothing.

Wings, like the small scavenger birds that haunted underground parking areas, passed over him.

Looking around to make sure nobody had seen him pull the illegal weapon out, Dratmo'o kept trotting toward his car.

"blah bleh-blah," again. He pulled out the pistol and fired twice at the pale blur he saw, teaching that sign about only parking in your own space a lesson it wouldn't forget.

Shaking, Dratmo'o put the pistol away and hurried to his car. He was punching in the code on the door handle when he saw it reflected in his tinted windows.

A pale face, a human face, with a wide cleft chin, high cheekbones, pointed ears, red eyes, and bloodless lips drawn back from fangs in his mouth.

He whirled around, jamming his thumb painfully when he tried to grab his pistol again.

Nothing.

Nothing but flickering lights, the sound of birds, and the parking garage, which Dratmo'o decided suddenly looked creepy.

He got in his vehicle quickly, starting it up and pulling out.

When he looked behind him with his rear eyes he saw it.

Standing in the darkened far end of the line of vehicles.

The Terran.

Black cape wrapped around itself, long black hair pulled back from the V of hair on the forehead, pale bluish skin, high cheekbones, pointed ears, and a stern expression.

Making noises of distress, Dratmo'o pressed on the accelerator and roared around the corner, up and out of the parking garage in the shriek of tires.

Back in the garage Tru'umlo'o yawned with his eyes closed as he turned the end of the line of cars. He hadn't had much sleep lately and barely noticed the thump. He bleerily blinked his eyes and missed the trembling hand trying to reach up onto the trunk that dropped back down when he hit the accellerator. Yawning again and rubbing his eyes he pulled up onto the street and drove away.

Several pedestrians wondered what Tru'umlo'o was dragging behind his car till he went around the corner and the object was flung off and into the decorative bushes in front of the Unified Council Monetary Fund Management Building. When several bystanders trotted over to the bushes to check they drew back with cries of alarm when blacked winged mammals burst out of the foliage and flew up into the night sky.

Dratmo'o drove quickly for almost three miles until the shaking stopped. Finally he slowed down. He couldn't have seen a Terran. They'd all left months ago. One wouldn't stay behind, LawSec or MilSec or CounSec would have found it by now.

He'd almost relaxed when he saw the Terran again. He stared at the tall dark figure, wrapped in the black cape with the high collar, as he drove by. The Terran was standing beneath the only working street light on the block.

Watching.

Menacingly.

Making distressed noises Dratmo'o looked straight ahead and took the next corner, taking two more before turning back onto the street he took back home.

He saw the Terran again! Standing in the doorway of a habitation complex! The cloak wrapped around it, its arms crossed, the bottom of the cloak whipping to one side as if it was being pulled by a strong wind.

He stared straight ahead and pushed on the accelerator again.

After a few blocks he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't seen the Terran again.

He must be working too hard. That must be it.

Stopping at the stoplight he sighed in relief. There were no Terrans on the planet. He sighed and looked around then jerked upright. He gasped when he saw the Terran standing in the doorway of an Elderly Being's Home! He looked at the light and made noises of distress. It was still red! He looked back to see an elderly Shavashan trying to get by the Terran, carrying a bag of groceries and an umbrella.

Quivering with fear he closed his eyes, then opened them to peek at the light. Still red. Shaking, he looked over at the doorway. The Terran and the Shavashan were pushing at each other. The little old Shavashan female began hitting the Terran with her umbrella and the Terran shoved her off the porch!

Lowing with terror, knowing the Terran would surely murder the elderly being, he closed his eyes and trembling, counting to twenty. When he opened his eyes and looked he saw the elderly Shavashan swinging the Terran over her head by his cloak.

The light turned green and he slammed on the accelerator, driving by just as the ancient Shavashan female let go of the human's cloak and he flew through the air, past Dratmo'o's windshield. Dratmo'o moaned in fear when he realized the Terran had his arms folded, his wide shoulders causing the cloak to be really wide at the shoulders, the high collar over his head. He was pointing with two fingers at his staring, burning red eyes and then at Dratmo'o as he went by.

Dratmo'o closed his eyes in terror as the Terran flew across the street, hit the wall, and fell into the dumpster.

When he opened his eyes he cried out. The Terran and the elderly female were GONE!

He sped up, shooting through the intersections, thanking his ancestors that they were all green.

Until he hit a red one.

Moaning with fear he sat at the intersection, wondering why it was still red when there was no cross traffic.

Then he saw it.

The Terran! Again!

He was on a tiny three wheeled red and white pedaled vehicle, slowly crossing the intersection, holding onto a red handled steering bar, staring straight ahead as he pedaled furiously, his cape streaming out behind him as if there was a wind.

Dratmo'o just stared, terrified by the Terrans strange and enigmatic behavior.

What vile plot was this? What dastardly deeds was the Terran planning?

Was it vengeance for the attempt on the ambassador's life?

"But I didn't have anything to do with it," Dratamo'o moaned.

The Terran vanished into the darkness and the light turned green. He slammed on the accelerator and raced the last few miles to his estate, ignoring the red lights, not caring about the fines, crashing through his own gate, leaving the car idling as he jumped out and galloped upstairs.

What could the fiend be possibly planning?

After a few glasses of narco-brew and a thick wad of narco-cud, he finally calmed down and stopped shouting at his servants to leave him alone. The LawSec came by and asked if he was feeling all right. They were respectful of his ranks and ordered the computer system to waive his traffic violations, after all, he was under quite a bit of stress.

Finally he was relaxed enough to take to bed. He laid on his side on his vast bed and sighed.

Surely he was imagining things. LawSec had shown him the video. There had been nothing in the street.

He was working too hard.

He kept tossing and turning, not feeling right. His pillow felt lumpy and coarse. After nearly a half hour of trying to get comfortable he sat up and turned on the light.

Instead of his elegant high grade pillow a foam pad sat on his bed!

He squealed in fear as he jumped up. He galloped around his room in a panic for a moment before he calmed down. Surely this had nothing to do with an imaginary Terran. It was simply a pillow that was put in his elegant guest rooms when they were not in use. His handi-bot must have mistaken for his expensive and elegant pillow.

The flickering of a light outside caught his attention. Despite the gnawing feeling of dread in his stomach he moved to the window and looked outside.

The Terran stood there. Tall. Dark. All in black with a black cape. His burning red eyes bored into Dratmo'o's as he lifted up one hand.

It held Dratmo'o's favorite pillow.

Dratmo'o watched in horror, pressing his hands against the window as if he could make the Terran stop as the Terran lifted up a finger, the nail long, black, pointed, and cruel looking, and pierced the pillow. As Dratmo'o made whining noises of fear the Terran pulled his finger down, ripping open the front of the pillow, spilling expensive feathers from it and into the gutter.

Squealing in terror at the horrific scene playing out on the street Dratmo'o galloped around his bedroom, screaming.

It took four CounSec agents to wrestle him down for the doctor to administer a sedative.

Dratmo'o took a leave of absence for exhaustion.

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Deep in the storm cellars the Renfield played the organ as Darknyss laughed with dark malevolent glee. He wiggled his long spidery fingers and began to type.

Light years away, on Terra, two Intelligence Agents made noises of disbelief as the typewriter in front of them started to clack.

HAVE ENGAGED IN TERROR CAMPAIGN. HAVE ELIMINATED TWO HIGH RANKING ENEMY LEADERS FROM THEIR POSITION. WILL PROCEED TO PHASE TWO.

The non-descriptive male looked at the female, shaking his head. "What do you think phase two is?"

The unremarkable female just sighed. "Something stupid I'm sure."

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CONFEDMILINT

Oh, god. What were we thinking?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

RIGELLIAN COMPACT

Hmmm... "Death to the Varakson Empire" maybe?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

CONFEDMILINT

Oh, hardy fucking har har.