Mabel & Vinzi

The teal-colored eyes of a genetically modified hominoid named Mabel fixate on the unfamiliar planets, stars, and three nearby moons twinkling in the dusk alien sky. Tan patches of skin on his round face and long-fingered hands reflect a rainbow of colors triggered by the three moonlights. The pudgy hominoid also bears tiny, equidistant holes around his head. Mabel looks down at the perfectly manicured purple grass, clutching blades with his long, bare toes.

Hominoids of various shapes, colors, and sizes play or lounge barefoot on the purple field either alone, in pairs, or small groups. They, too, sport tiny, equidistant holes around their heads. Their attire is a variation of Mabel’s one-piece with unique Lorian symbols above their right breast and back to differentiate.

For the uninitiated, the Lorians are an intergalactic force to be reckoned with. These giant four-armed creatures exhibit a level of strength and intelligence previously incomprehensible to Terrans. And although interspecies communication has been virtually nonexistent, their message was loud and clear.

We came.

We saw.

We conquered.

Unbeknownst to most of the planet, those first two actions took place long before man’s fall. Not that it makes much of a difference if it were known.

A gentle breeze carries faint, haunting sounds through the air. An elongated hand with dark patches of skin and tiny, sharp nails gently rests on Mabel’s shoulder.

“My mate appears troubled,” Vinzi says in their native alien tongue.

Mabel turns to the taller, more muscular female hominoid with big, gray eyes and long, red hair smiling at him. He caresses her flat stomach as she gently rubs his fuzzy head.

“I worry for the offspring,” she says.

“No harm will come to him,” Mabel promises. “Or you.”

Vinzi caresses the Lorian symbols on Mabel’s right breast and says, “You speak with confidence.”

“As we were bred,” Mabel replies.

Another haunting breeze blows through, attracting more attention from those around them. Mabel and Vinzi observe two pairs of hominoids watching their respective children playing together. Waving an extra arm, a three-armed hominoid smiles as she jogs past them.

“The unknowing stresses me,” Vinzi says.

“Try to remain calm.”

The two embrace when they hear the sound of wind chimes.

“Wake,” a female voice calmly repeats.

Both wearing their respective one-pieces, Mabel and Vinzi rest beside each other in two sleeper tubes as their translucent halos lower and stop around the miniscule, equidistant holes around their heads, forming a semi-transparent headband. The sleeper tubes open as Mabel and Vinzi wake to the sounds of heavy machinery. Mabel exits his sleeper tube first, then helps his mate out of hers. They look around their modern studio apartment designed like a luxury prison cell. There’s a small sink a few feet from the toilet in a corner of the room. Mabel heads for the sink. Vinzi, the waterless toilet. Both also have implants embedded in their necks.

Mabel presses a button beside the sink, then drinks water dribbling from the tap.

“I look forward to leaving this place,” Vinzi confides as she sits on the toilet.

“As do I.”

Vinzi swaps places with Mabel, rising herself and drinking from the sink faucet. Mabel takes his turn on the toilet. Vinzi then walks over to the double reclining sofa. Mabel approaches and lifts Vinzi’s feet so her side of the sofa reclines back.

Mechanical noises from outside shake the room. The walls and ceiling become transparent, revealing Mabel and Vinzi occupants in one of many similar transport cubes stacked in a gigantic Lorian cargo bay. The other transport cubes house the same hominoids Mabel and Vinzi observed on the virtual alien planet with three moons. A cool breeze mercifully dilutes the accumulating smell of sweat, urine and feces permeating the air. On one side of the bay are large windows that display magnificent views of gigantic starcruisers floating beside them with Lorian Empire logos and symbols.

The transport cubes, with a floor and thin, metallic rods along its edges, are rearranged into a single file which snakes like an amusement park line. Two drones hover above the line of transport cubes. The first, and smaller of the two, scans the digital barcodes outside each cube. Carrying a smaller cube, a mechanical claw lowers from the ceiling and connects the smaller cube to a transport cube containing a female hominoid. Covered in yellow polka dots, she sits in the middle of her cell, cradling a lifeless, hairless, adult male hominoid with green scales. She sobs. Lights blink on the drone, triggering the female hominoid’s halo to blink. She involuntarily rises and helplessly stares at her mate on the ground. Her face strains with futility as she slowly backs herself against the back wall opposite the smaller cube.

A portal opens between the cubes. The second drone attaches itself to the transparent wall of the smaller cube opposite the portal. It activates a metallic disc that sucks the lifeless hominoid by his halo into the smaller cube. The portal closes and the second drone detaches itself from the smaller cube. The mechanical claw carries the smaller cube away. The polka-dotted, female hominoid finally lets out a heartbreaking scream.

Mabel and Vinzi silently turn to each other.

“Another one bites the dust,” someone quips.

Vinzi and Mabel turn to a neighboring cell to see O’Brien, an older Irishman sitting in the middle of his cell playing a solitary game of chess. Although O’Brien has an implant like the others, he doesn’t wear a halo and bears no marks on his head.

“Mabel,” Vinzi whispers. “Is he…”

“What do they call you, archaic?” Mabel asks.

“A lot worse than archaic,” O’Brien chuckles. “I can tell you that.”

His wrinkly hand makes a defensive move on the chessboard.

“He speaks in our tongue,” Mabel says.

“Correction,” O’Brien replies, tapping his implant. “These convert our tongues.”

“Who is your master?” Vinzi asks.

“Big guy - or girl. Four arms. Oozing yellow puss,” O’Brien answers as he continues his solo chess match. “Ring a bell?”

“Is he or she important?” Vinzi asks.

“My dear, sweet, pets, look around,” O’Brien counters. “We all belong to someone important.”

“Do not aggravate my mate,” Mabel respectfully requests.

“I mean no disrespect,” O’Brien replies, turning to Mabel. “Merely pointing out this ain’t a processing ship.”

“They call me Mabel. My mate is Vinzi.”

“May-bell, Vin-zee, O’Brien’s the name.”

“We are with child, O’Brien,” Vinzi adds.

“Sorry to hear that,” O’Brien responds.

“Do you know where they are taking us?” Mabel asks.

O’Brien continues his solo chess game and answers, “All I know is that they love to travel. Among other things not suitable for human audiences.”

“How long have you been among us?” Vinzi asks.

O’Brien pauses mid-chess move.

“Seems like yesterday I wanted to see the world,” O’Brien laments.

“You have no halo,” Mabel says. “How did you get here?”

“I escaped my original masters,” O’Brien responds. “You call them procreators.”

He coughs, resuming his solo chess play.

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“Where are they now?” Mabel asks.

“Long gone, I imagine.”

“Did you have a mate?” Vinzi asks.

“I’ve had many mates,” O’Brien replies. “My greatest contribution to humanity-you’re welcome.”

Mabel and Vinzi exchange confused glares.

“Archaics are a strange breed,” Mabel whispers.

“Agreed,” Vinzi whispers back.

Heavy footsteps echo throughout the cargo bay. All of the prisoners look up at the ginormous shadows lurking around them. A metallic claw grabs a cage packed with naked humans and places it on a conveyor belt. The cage slides away and enters a portal leading to another part of the ship. The portal closes, and the conveyor belt stops. Loud banging ricochets off the ship’s metal haul, eliciting fear among all the sapien captives except O’Brien.

Vinzi and Mabel hug each other.

“Bon appetit, assholes,” O’Brien mumbles as he finishes his solo chess match. “And checkmate.”

Terralunopolis

A large shadow looms over the light side of the moon. Above, two more Lorian starships break from the much larger mothership, while dozens more remain idly attached. The ginormous floating fortress slowly descends toward the lunar surface and extends its landing pads. It gently rests atop the remnants of a sprawling lunar American base with lifeless astronauts floating around it. The landing vessel grounds both metal and bone into lunar dust. A few feet away, a tall metal pole lays on the lunar floor as the large purple light on its tip dims out.

Portals along the mothership’s metallic shell slide open, and solar panels extend, plugging the holes as it docks. Inside the mothership, four-armed Lorians wearing military mechsuits unload cargo using machinery that gracefully levitates it about two feet above the ground. The lack of friction allows for transporting cargo with relative ease.

Wearing his military mechsuit, the Lorian known as Nooz navigates the mothership’s organized chaos. The Lorian looks up at display screens displaying their planetary invasion. A malfunctioning maintenance drone floating above the mothership explodes. Backup drones rush to capture any metal fragments deemed recyclable.

Lorian symbols light up on Nooz’s visor display as he ignores the long line of alien comrades waiting at the main checkpoint. Nooz and a group of fellow soldiers approach a smaller checkpoint. They remotely beam their credentials to Customs who grant them immediate access. Nooz walks through a short hallway that opens into a large claiming hall packed with military personnel waiting to collect their baggage on a carousel. Nooz’s visor directs him to a marked spot on the floor. He stands over it and waits for his personal items to arrive.

A short Lorian wearing a mechsuit with random laser burns waits behind Nooz.

“Loria’s fortunes continue,” he whispers to Nooz.

Nooz turns to the short Lorian and studies the symbols on his laser—charred armor.

“As do yours,” Nooz whispers back.

“Agreed. However, too many lives lost and far less resources available.”

“That is why we are here, yes?”

“I hope my fortunes continue here has well. I am known as Jirij.”

“Gee-Ridge, I am known as Noose.”

Two items arrive in front of Nooz: a large gear pack and a drone pack.

“And what is your assignment, fellow warrior Noose?”

“Research,” Nooz answers. “Yours?”

“Administrative,” the short Lorian proudly exclaims. “A less stressful occupation.”

“And a valued contribution, nonetheless.”

A similar pair of items arrive in front of the short Lorian. A bell chimes as multiple holographic images of a Customs official appear overhead.

“I commend your sacrifice and dedication to our successful campaign,” the official begins. “Despite the relatively moderate resistance encountered, we urge caution as you acclimate to this new environment. For Loria!”

“For Loria!” everyone, including Nooz and the short Lorian, shouts back as the overhead holograms morph into the Lorian Empire logo.

A large door in the front of the room slides open. Authorization lights blink on their mechsuits. As they exit, alarms blare. Customs agents swarm the claiming hall and escort a few unfortunate aliens-of-interest to an undisclosed location for further processing. Nooz receives his electronic clearance and walks toward the large door at the end of a long hallway. However, the short Lorian receives his digital instructions to venture down a separate corridor.

“Good fortune, soldier.”

“Good fortune, soldier,” Nooz replies as he walks through another checkpoint.

Nooz enters a smaller room occupied by a handful of Lorian soldiers. He’s directed to another marked spot and waits for instructions. Nooz looks through the large window to his right to see the mothership’s magnificently lit skyline through the protective dome. Smaller transport ships glide across the bustling metallic landscape when one of his six oculars locks in on something. The lone ocular zooms in to focus on two Lorians piloting a space trailer hauling stacked transport cubes filled with hominoid pets of various shapes, colors, and sizes.

The halo-wearing hominoids observe their surroundings, enamored by the size of the mothership.

Nooz’s visor lights up. A timer on Nooz’s mechsuit visor initiates a thirty-rotation countdown.

“Soldier WX93854DN, your estimated departure time is one lunar cycle,” a Lorian military officer grunts. “Prepare to download instructions.”

Following the visual prompts on his visor, Nooz exits the room and makes his way to an exterior courtyard. He studies the mothership’s landscape before turning his attention upward. His oculars focus past the line of space vessels waiting for clearance to dock. He spots a group of starcruisers racing toward the lunar horizon while another group of support ships shadow the starcruisers from a safe distance. An incoming encrypted transmission icon appears on his visor. Nooz puts his helmet on and uses his oculars to control a digital mouse that clicks on the accept message icon. The message prompt requests a code and Nooz enters a set of Lorian symbols. Visual instructions appear, directing Nooz to a waiting transport. He places his personal items in the transport’s cargo hold before boarding.

Prodigal Sun

The light side of the moon rotates toward darkness, dropping the surface temperature by tens of degrees per second. Steam rises from the mothership as the lunar shade approaches. Larger panels on the ship slide open, exposing windows to the neighboring planet and the surrounding stars.

A cargo bay wall slides open to reveal a window exposing a fleet of military, commercial, and support starships above. Those on one side of the Lorian mothership have ringside seats to the tail end of a global slaughter.

Aliens and sapiens alike gasp as an impressively fast projectile launched from the nearby planet speeds toward the mothership. However, a lightning-fast Lorian starcruiser slams into it. The ensuing nuclear explosion briefly lights up the dark horizon as the mothership rotates out of view.

The starfreighter bay rumbles with activity as it cruises through space. A large panel on one side of the bay opens, revealing a force field protected, breathtaking view of a shrinking, red dot among a sea of twinkling stars. A picturesque backdrop for an alien armada determined to accomplish their prime objective.

Mabel and Vinzi observe their oppressors’ massive space fleet. Vinzi observes a military starcruiser when her attention diverts toward the moon reflecting from her eyes. She smiles.

“Such beauty,” Mabel mumbles.

“Beauty can deceive,” Vinzi replies.

O’Brien continues another game of solitary chess. His eyes wander toward the window, catching a glimpse of the planet before returning his attention to the chessboard. He sighs heavily, then whips his head back toward the window again as a passing starcruiser obstructs his view. O’Brien shakes his head, stretches, rises, and gingerly walks over to his toilet. He sits and relieves himself as the ship rumbles.

“You know, a little potpourri couldn’t hurt!” O’Brien sarcastically yells at the oblivious alien crew.

“What is this pah…poori?” Vinzi inquires.

“The archaic finds our scent unpleasant,” a feminine voice responds.

Mabel and Vinzi look toward another wall to see a slender female hybreed with shiny skin.

“What the hell do you know about potpourri?” O’Brien asks as he walks toward the sink.

“My mother was an archaic,” the female hybreed replies. “They call me Cassya.”

Vinzi points to Mabel.

“Mabel, my mate,” Vinzi says. “I am called Vinzi.”

O’Brien drinks from the sink until water stops running.

Mabel points to O’Brien and says, “O’Brien the Archaic.”

O’Brien shuffles back to his chessboard. Vinzi and the female hybreed giggle. Vinzi reads the Lorian markings on her female neighbor’s cage.

“Your master’s a warrior,” Vinzi comments.

“He teaches others to fight.”

“So did my father,” O’Brien interjects. “I’ve got the scars to prove it!”

“I was birthed on a planet of opulence,” the female hybreed says. “However, diversion of planetary resources led to our departure.”

“Welcome to the clan, sister,” O’Brien says.

“Have you seen the home world?” Vinzi asks.

“So I’ve been told,” the female hybreed replies with a nod. “But, too young to recall.”

O’Brien continues where he left off on the chessboard.

Mabel turns to O’Brien.

“O’Brien, have you seen many worlds?” Mabel asks.

“A few,” O’Brien responds. “Mostly from a distance.”

“You two have procreated?” the shiny hybreed asks.

“Correct,” Mabel answers. “We will call him Gun-”

A blaring horn startles them and the other captives. The neighboring starcruiser pulls away, offering another spectacular view of space. Vinzi’s eyes light up. She points outside.

Lorians scramble throughout the bay. Their loud grunts send chills up some prisoners’ spines. Everyone watches as the Lorians and their drones work feverishly to retrieve or secure some type of weapon or machinery stored in the bay. Doors slide open and slam shut with ferocity. Lights blink or change color. Some of the prisoners scream, cry, or whimper like the scared pets they were bred to be. Mabel and Vinzi embrace. Some captives, like O’Brien and the shiny hybreed, remain unfazed. Mabel makes eye contact with O’Brien.

“You have no fear, archaic?” Mabel inquires.

“Air Bud, I shit everything out a long time ago,” O’Brien says.

“Our destination approaches,” the shiny hybreed explains.

“Poor fuckers don’t stand a chance,” O’Brien says.

“Fuh-kerr?” Vinzi asks.

More alarms blare. More Lorians scramble. More sapien captives scream. The cargo bay rumbles. Lorians roar. Another starship races past them.

“Vinzi!” Mabel calls out while pointing.

“I see, mate. It’s beautiful.”

O’Brien ignores them and focuses on his solo chess match. Mabel, Vinzi, and the shiny hybreed focus on a bright planet just beyond the sun reflecting from their eyes.

While starcruisers continue toward the planet, their ship veers toward the moon.

“That is not our destination?” Vinzi asks in a defeated tone.

“I have seen it on my master’s display many times,” the shiny hybreed answers. “Perhaps it is not yet safe.”

Their eyes reflect an exploding starcruiser near the planet.

“Pour souls,” Vinzi laments.

Mabel turns and asks, “O’Brien, fucker means soul, correct?”

Chuckling, O’Brien turns to Mabel and replies, “I guess you could say…”

O’Brien’s attention diverts to the bright planet just beyond the moon as it reflects on his widening eyes.

“What the f…,” he murmurs.

The old Terran stands and walks over to his transparent cage wall, pressing up against it. Tears swell and trickle down O’Brien’s wrinkled face. He stares intensely until his knees buckle. Using the wall for support, O’Brien drops to his knees.

Outside, the Lorian armada puts the finishing touches on their planetary conquest of the bright blue planet just beyond the moon. Military starcruisers continue to bombard the devastated planet. A few supersonic projectiles from the planet inflict relatively minimal damage to the superior alien fleet. Lorian starcruisers descend into the planet’s atmosphere.

For whatever reason, the gigantic starships appear to ignore a few operational satellites and an unarmed space station orbiting helplessly around the planet.

Mabel turns to see O’Brien sobbing.

“O’Brien, what is it?” she asks.

“Home,” O’Brien answers.

The shiny hybreed also stares at the planet’s bombardment.

“Welcome home, archaic,” she says.