People of Earth

When the moon turned red, observers of the phenomenon naturally believed they were witnessing the defining moment of their generation, but that would come later, during a televised press conference which would reveal the depth and scope of a conspiracy that had guided humanity since prehistory, as a nation’s leader stripped to his skin in front of billions of people.

One must forgive their naïveté, though, as this was not the sky’s crimson filter of sailor’s delight, or the so-called Blood Moon of a lunar eclipse, but an alarming carmine red that evoked poisonous berries and exsanguination, a clear warning signal broadcast along the electromagnetic spectrum at a wavelength seemingly curated to induce the dangersense in any conscious biological specimen who dared gaze up at the unnaturally, constantly full moon hanging there like a beacon, heedless of its own supposedly immutable phases. Cattle went mad, trampling ranchers in their fear, and normally docile housepets bit their owners as they evacuated on the ground upon catching sight of the bloody orb in the sky. Most people thought it was a message from God, evidence of some celestial disapproval, and a harbinger of terrible things to come.

Perceived differences among populations are the source of much human discord and animosity. It is these indications of otherness, whether blatant or nuanced, around which tribal inclinations form. This defense mechanism is a leftover from the days when we lived in caves, and, before that, trees. These remnants of primitive instinct reside in us, as hardwired as the hypnic jerks that rouse us from the edge of sleep if we dream of falling, a reaction that kept our long-ago ancestors safe while we slept on branches, secured by our tails.

Likeness may be the grain of sand around which pearls of community develop, but these connections grow increasingly tenuous beyond the acknowledgment of shared bloodlines, and it is the familiar other who presents the clearest and most present dangers to any population. Predatory species with which we cohabitate necessitate vigilance and preparation, but history demonstrates that the greatest threat faced by any group of humans is other humans. Harkening back to genetic competition represented by the monkey troupe across the river, giving way to groups of knuckle-dragging proto-humans armed with sticks, to tribes, to countries, conflict has been the whetstone upon which civilization sharpens itself, or so it has always seemed.

Scarcity of resources, driven by the seemingly inevitable laws of supply and demand have been the mainsprings of pressure forcing humanity through the bottlenecks of innovation, almost always favoring the quickest, most violent solution to any problem. The spear predates the invention of the digging stick-cum-hoe by half a million years, and for every instance of swords being beaten into plowshares, are innumerable times when pitchforks have pierced human flesh during raids or defense.

Whatever cost this march of progress may have accrued, measured in blood, broken bones, and lives lost in the throes of suffering, to say nothing of the the environmental impact on the lonely biosphere in space upon which they are obligated to conduct their lives, the value of the pursuit has seemingly never been in question. The progression of perceived improvements has resulted in the near-universal sentiment that technological momentum must not only never slow, but rather must always speed up to its fullest potential, almost as if fueled by some unconscious anxiety that we are in some sort of race and time is of the essence.

The history of human progress is delineated by the prevailing components of technology, slouching with imperceptible slowness through The Stone Age, gradually gaining speed through The Metal Ages, then through several revolutions, setbacks, and quantum leaps of advancement to the so-called current Information Age, which overlaps significantly with both the Space Age and Atomic Age, resplendent with their respective auras of hope and extinction.

Through all these millennia of wary preparedness and escalation, as each dominant tribe has secured its geography, the very valid fear of other humans has been underpinned by a nagging instinctual insistence that we share this place with unknown others, whose form and function is limited only by our imaginations, and whose visages coalesce from the deepest depths of our collective nightmares. Whether supernatural, extraterrestrial, or divine they may be, most of the billions of humans alive believe their world is shared with entities who may exist at the very edges of their perception, and whose presence they would vouch for via some inexplicable critical faculties, if they could, but which they can never quite fully explain.

The suddenly blazing red beacon of the moon evidenced veracity of these notions, speaking to a clear warning from some long-perceived immaterial sentience. Possessed of an historic existential dread, humanity waited for answers from their rulers, whose press releases urged people to remain calm as the authorities investigated the phenomenon, but offered little useful information other than the inclusion of suicide helpline numbers.

At noon on the second day of the situation the American president finally took the stage, promising to address new developments. Over two billion people around the world tuned in on their televisions and devices, unaware that an era of ignorance that had gone on for millennia was about to come to an end. Many would soon discover that there is comfort in the shadows of nescience, but in the light of truth there was nowhere to hide.

The president began his speech with an uncharacteristic greeting, addressing the audience not as “My fellow Americans,” but as “People of Earth.” As he spoke, he pulled his wedding ring from his finger and placed it on the lectern. He explained that what he was about to reveal would be difficult to accept, and that hard times were certainly ahead, but failure to follow his instructions over the coming days would result in horrors beyond comprehension befalling each person watching. As he loosened and removed his tie, then unbuttoned the dress shirt beneath his coat jacket, he told them that they were not alone on Earth, and had not been since refugees arrived on their planet some 8,000 years ago. The president punctuated this statement by unclasping the cross necklace he’d taken to wearing following an assassination attempt during his first term, then placing it alongside his ring.

These were not extraterrestrials in the traditional sense, he explained, but rather beings from higher dimensions who had escaped to Earth seeking refuge. The mechanism of their travel allowed them to arrive with only their physical bodies, leaving all their technologies and the trappings of their culture in a place that was now denied to them. He said that only a few thousand had survived the journey, and that coming here had required contortions of form and spirit that were akin to a human being being forced to adapt to life on a two-dimensional page. He described this feeling as a crushing “flatness” and inescapable sense of “incompleteness.” As he went on, he removed his jacket, followed by his button down and passed them to an aide off camera.

Continuing his speech in his tank-top, he explained that the refugees had selected Earth because its oceans were suited to supporting the form of life they had been forced to assume, but it was not to be a permanent settlement, merely a stepping stone to pause on for a moment. Remaining for too long was out of the question, as the beings that had driven them from their home were still in pursuit, and it was only a matter of time before they were followed. He said that the refugees were long lived, but not immortal, and while the original arrivals had passed on, the third generation continued their work.

The dominant species on the planet they found themselves on was a bipedal animal whose highest technological achievement was agriculture made possible with stone tools, though most were still at the hunter/gatherer stage of development. It was quickly recognized that these creatures were the planet’s greatest exploitable resource, and so the refugees hatched a plan: they would guide these animals to build them a starship with which to flee their pursuers. The vast void of these dimensions offered them an opportunity to escape their fate. This was their Plan A. The president took off his pants as two aides removed the lectern and the camera zoomed out to show the whole of him.

Standing in his underwear, the president said that the refugees were experts at camouflage, not out of natural adeptness, but rather due to the ease with which higher-dimensional beings could mimic aspects of their environment by “redrawing” themselves. Assuming the form of the bipeds, the boldest and most capable among them set out to influence the course of history, pounding out a drumbeat of progress that started when humans were taught to work copper, pounding the russet metal flat with mallets, and continuing to this day as 3D printers tapped out beads of bleeding-edge high-tech polymers.

This was a slow process, hampered not just by human limitations, but by the way the crushing physicality of existence within Newtonian physics sapped the newcomers. Despite all this, said the president as he removed his undershirt and boxer shorts, they had almost achieved their goals. The refugees had calculated that they only needed 500 more years of development before their starship would be ready. Unfortunately, he went on to say, time had run out. The odd behavior of the moon presaged the arrival of the pursuers. Stripped to his skin, the president sagged with middle-agedness, dangling biologically, exposed completely to viewers around the world.

With that, the naked president redrew himself, exposing his true form to the billions tuned in. His edges and features rippled, then settled into a translucent shape, roughly human sized, that sheened with iridescence. Despite the otherworldliness of the entity on screen, it inevitably evoked a sense of the aquatic, cosmic kin to the creatures of Earth’s deepest depths. When it spoke again with its human voice, it was undercut by burbling, watery exhalations.

Plan A would not come to pass, and so the creature spoke of Plan B. It explained that as well as fostering the development of technologies humanity was unlikely to discover on their own, the refugees had also fostered conflict since they had arrived, their machinations encouraging the warlike instincts of their bipedal thralls. They had bred humans to be violent, innovative combatants with hair-trigger tempers and an inclination to strike first, because they might have need of an effective army. Fortunately, the small-minded creatures were easy to control.

The president-thing was unapologetic as it explained that when the extradimensional invasion began, likely in a matter of days, every person on earth would find themselves in a fight to the death against an existential threat. It clarified that none of its kind alive had ever seen these tormentors, but stories passed down by those who had escaped millennia ago were nightmare-fuel, telling of ravenous monsters who fed on the consciousnesses of sentient beings.

Despite all this, the thing continued, there may still be hope. Adapting to the Newtonian physics of these dimensions may bottleneck the enemy’s onslaught, and so the residents of Earth may drive them back with an early counteroffensive. It said that with a total-war approach using nuclear weapons, its people had projected victory at the cost of only five billion human lives. It ended its speech by saying, “This can be done, if each of you stand your ground and fight like you were made to do,” finishing its speech without any mention of God.