Autumn 2020
Prologue Part 2
Kevin Doole, staff
“Buetragalian Wompomm-a-linchkey Danstraumba Romalia Sooganchant Rontonosky Daniels,” said Buetragalian Wompomm-a-linchkey Danstraumba Romalia Sooganchant Rontonosky Daniels. “Most people just call me Beutra, though.” This was how most Sivdians broke the ice when meeting new people.
His companion started a smile and then stopped. Looking questioningly at Beutra, he opened his mouth a little as if to speak but then didn’t. He looked away and then back, reached to scratch his shoulder, and finally just said “Hi.” This was a response that Beutra would eventually grow to loathe.
Within the intergalactic community, Beutra’s species, the Cvblkmnsksjqdians, had by far the longest names of anyone. The rest of the intergalactic community had nonverbally decided that the Cvblkmnsqdians, or the Sivdians as they had somehow become known, were patriotically (and thus irksomely) proud of their long names. When they joined the intergalactic community, other species demanded (as though they too had all done so themselves at one point) that the Sivdians names be shortened for ease of use. Tolerant to a fault, the Sivdians agreed it would be for the best and designated special offices — for they were, and are, unyielding lovers of officialdom — to facilitate a new standard of nicknames. It was then that the intergalactic community learned the customary naiveté that personified the Sivdians, who researched “nicknames” in the galactic database to develop their system of naming. Beutra was one of the lucky ones.
It had been three weeks since he had signed on to be the Intergalactic Liaison Officer for the planet Earth. His mission was to deal with inter-species complaints, arbitrate local discussions, and, most importantly, try to better integrate Earth, which had always been an ill at ease outcast of the international community. Earth didn’t quite understand what it was to be a planet yet. Then again, it had only been seven years since Humans had managed to devise faster-than-light travel and only six years since discovering other life in the galaxy. Earth was, as it were, going through a stage of prolonged adolescence. Other planets for the most part didn’t really pay attention to Earth, but the current Liaison Ambassador felt that Earth was a special case with a particularly frustrating strain of awkwardness and was fast becoming what Humans might call a problem child.
“My name’s Keith,” said Beutra’s newfound companion.
“A pleasure,” replied Beutra, getting himself settled. They were on a small hyper-jet, moon-bound, and Beutra was exploring the various creature comforts that charmed his seat. Among a host of other morsels was an austere digital display ahead of him whose knobs he twiddled. It came on smoothly to demonstrate the most crystal clear image he had yet to see on a digital display. The colour was quite lavish but the real treat was the depth. It looked less like a digital image than it did a tiny little world in which miniature actors performed tirelessly. He said aloud “Wow” and turned the knobs further to explore some other channels. Looking over to Keith in the seat next to his he said it again. “Wow!” Keith looked up from his book, first at Beutra and then at the display.
“Well if that isn’t the most lifelike image I have ever seen!” remarked Beutra. He knew he sounded juvenile, but was determined to be amiable as all hell. He had just come from a training camp and it was as if it all came down to this, his first real interaction with a human.
“Yes, it’s quite something,” said Keith. His tone seemed ostensibly humble and Beutra thought for a brief moment that Keith had perhaps invented these displays. “It’s a ‘Vantage,’” he continued. “They use bifocal fields of light to create the illusion of three dimensions. It’s the latest in electronics.”
“It’s fantastic,” replied Beutra, unsure of how to follow up this comment. He bought some time taking a sip of water and thinking back to the training program the week before, reminding himself that many humans “break the ice” (as they say) by asking “What do you do?” to new acquaintances. He turned, ready to pose the question, excited to break it in, but Keith had already resumed reading.
It had been eight months since Beutra had arrived and still he remembered the words his best friend Steve had given instead of congratulations. “Do not go to Earth,” said Steve.
At the time, Beutra was still tingling – or maybe more suitably, stinging – from the realization that his hitherto walk of life had become little more than an ephemeral duty, now finished. He tried (in vain) to compose his response on as gracious terms as possible, ineptly saying the word “but,” pausing . . . and that was that.
Steve paused hesitantly, staring down at his mug as if it was trying to tell him something. He brought it to his mouth and sipped slowly in the manner of someone quite accustomed to explaining things to people who could not possibly digest his wisdom. Then: “I – well, it just wouldn’t be a positive career move. Earth is a dead end. Very little opportunity.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, I mean, it’s fine if that’s what you’re looking to get yourself into, right? You know, so long as you realize what you’re up against.”
“It’s not like I’ve got a choice here,” said Beutra. “I’m not going to call them up and tell them thanks for the offer but I’d really prefer somewhere nicer, right?” Beutra sat motionless, inundated by second thoughts.
“No, I’ve got to go,” he continued. “Good or bad, it’s the path I’ve laid out for myself.”
Steve sighed. He knew going to Earth would result only in detriment, but had no expressible reason for telling Beutra not to go.
I suppose, for the purpose of smooth reading, I should explain myself. My name is Coque-Peupeu of the Beutropeaens. Of course, reader, you have never heard of my people, or me, though it may interest you to know that your planet – Earth – was momentarily instrumental in our creation. You see, the stories I am passing on are in fact legendary tails. They are the secret ingredients of what caused the universe to align, to fall into place. There is a great mythology among my people, one that makes your bible seem but a mere children’s fairy tale. It is a legend of the greatest proportions. The sad truth is that none of it, save for a few of the slightest details (names, places, etc), has managed to escape the grasping claws of embellishment endowed to the supreme author, the common man.
We have a so-called “old testament” that tells the tale of Steve and his work as an astronomer. You see, he discovered Earth and he put a great deal of research into determining why it had gone undiscovered for such a long time. In the interest of hanging onto the probable small handful of readers still with me, I will skip through the minute details. That story ends where this one began; Beutra discovers he is to go to Earth, and Steve tells him not to, one of the minor developments that have remained unharmed through the years of telling and retelling the tail.
In any case, you may now wonder how I know the true story. You may think I am making it up just as countless bedside dramatists have done in the past. Well, as it happens, since you are wondering, I will tell you.
I was there.
Back on the hyper-jet, a pleasant ping sounded on the intercom and a woman’s voice recommended that the passengers have a look out the left side of the craft to see Earth in all its glory. Beutra looked outside as Earth came into view from the bottom of the window and couldn’t help himself thinking it might look nicer on the display. As he watched he noticed a small beam of blue light come into focus from somewhere behind the ship. It got brighter as it focused on the Earth ahead of him. “What’s that?” he asked Keith, whom he assumed, based on their relationship thus far, was up-to-date on science and technology this side of the galaxy.
“It’s a —” Keith paused to get a closer look. “Well, it must be some kind of a signal beam or a communication field of some kind. With the types of technology they’re coming up with these days, there’s really no way of saying for sure.” They continued to watch. Keith squinted.
“It’s rather lovely,” said Beutra, but Keith had returned to his book.
Several moments passed while Beutra watched the lightshow unfold before him. As the beam intensified, it turned violet and at its end, closest to the planet, it turned a deep red. He glanced around the jet to find he was the only one still looking. By the time he looked back, the planet itself had developed a scarlet hue.
Of course you will not appreciate the good that came from what I will now tell you, reader. And I take no joy from exposing to you your legacy as a world; but for the story to go on, it must be revealed.
That evening, as Beutra looked out the window, the Earth vanished. “Where did it go?” he asked Keith, who had just enough time to look up from his book to see the planet suddenly reappear. The two watched as it wobbled and stretched at length and eventually became still. A pink ball came into view, arching and slowly getting smaller as it neared the planet. As Beutra pondered what might be the appropriate thing to say, the pink ball hit the Earth, which promptly ruptured, glurping apart in a saucy array of weightless splashes, not unlike a yogurt filled balloon bursting in slow motion. In any case, the planet was, without a doubt, annihilated.
