INVASION
FROM THE K-T GALAXY









Prologue:
    She'd
been out here for what seemed like forever. The sun's heat bore down
on her like a self-cleaning oven. Her CRM bosses’ reports were
erroneous, clearly. She saw no fossils to get in the way of
anything. Her archaeological experiences were wasted on a wild goose
chase. She was roasting in this heat, sweat cascading down her body
like a waterfall. It seemed like she was hallucinating little Warner
Brothers characters zipping up and down the rocks around her, making
it impossible to concentrate.

    Then
she saw it. A rock-art painting, jammed into a crevasse.

She
strained, reached out towards it, trying to pick it up. Her black
hair fell across her face. The cliff she was on was treacherous
enough, and the situation’s odd angle didn't make it any better.
Finally, she managed to leverage the painting enough to be able to
grab it. She peered, and something wasn't right. Maybe her
flashlight would confirm that she was hallucinating. Surely, no
human looked like that. Its beams cascaded around her find, slowly
illuminating its gift from the darkness that ensnared it. She moved
gingerly, for she did not wish to dislodge it from the ledge around
the assemblage. Clearly, this was not the work of some simple
caveman. The flashlight confirmed her suspicion.

    It
didn't seem real. The heat had to be getting to her. Of course, it
was just one find, so there had to be other pictographs like this.
That is, of course, if she was really seeing what she thought she
was. She blinked, and leaned in for a closer view. She went down on
both knees, and tried to peer closer at the pictograph. It was
faded, a little, which tended to give credit to the possibility that
this had been here for eons. Her body shaded the image from the
heat, and her flashlight helped to pinpoint exactly what it was she
thought she was seeing.
    The
light cast away all shadowy doubt: with them removed, her eyes
perceived a reptilian warrior: scaly, claw-weapon-bearing. Its claws
were gripped around a spear, one that looked as if it was made

from
a broken horn; perhaps the same horn it was missing on its skull's
left side. The frill around its neck and the three horns it normally
had suggested it was some sort of Triceratops, but this was a
different form of Triceratops than she'd ever seen. It stood on two
legs, with its tail raised threateningly. There was scarring over
most of its face, and neck, and it seemed worn down.

    It
seemed intelligent, but to what degree she couldn't say. The ornate
designs on its clothing suggested that there were more than one of
them, wherever they'd been or were now. It suggested they were
organized, creative, and likely fierce. This went against everything
she'd ever heard about the Triceratops species to this point, and the
ramifications of that thought made her head swim. However, there
were no obvious signs of other beasts on the cave wall, so the reason
this particular wall was chosen for this scrawling was unknown.
Perhaps they were simply hidden on another level. Clearly, this
would need to be investigated further. She was allowed to
over-analyze this. While the artwork was rudimentary, it was
probable this was a labor of eons. The creature it paid homage to
supposedly had not walked this planet's lands for a millennium.

    What
she discovered was one of the most incredible finds in recorded human
history. Her mind raced with questions, with scenarios. What became
of these creatures? Why was there no trace

of
their civilization?  Or, worse, what if civilizations we thought
of as ours were actually theirs and entire historical records were
somehow inaccurate? What if remnants of them existed elsewhere on
this Earth, or another planet? What were they doing, if still alive?
Would they pose humanity a threat? She'd have to get back to a lab,
and call in pictograph specialists. She'd have to call her husband.
She'd have to call her lab partner. Hell, she might even have to
call the President.
    Gravel
and sediment moved beneath her feet. Boulders and lesser rocks
followed their brethren, and then so did she. It seemed she'd tempted
gravity's patience too far, and the world beneath her broke apart,
drifted away, and then she did. All her worries joined her body, at
the bottom of the cliff. Her spine fractured upon impact, and she
died as soon as she landed.
    The
remarkable rock painting shattered and it landed on her stomach. Its
discovery became a forgotten footnote in history, as did its
excavator. Its fragments scattered around her broken corpse.
However, the impact of both caused a few rocks to tumble a few miles
below them. This tumbling caused other rocks to move in turn, and a
small avalanche ensued. Within the body of that avalanche, other
rocks revealed other works of art relating to ancient saurian
warriors. They were predominately representations of herbivore
species, some with spears and other primitive weapons, and others
wearing regal looking robes. While primitively drawn, these too
indicated a sense of complexity within this society's social
structure. The last question to ask of course was, did humans draw
these pictures? If not, why would people like the late archaeologist
whose last moments were not in vain after all be ignorant to finds
like these? Perhaps the only ones to know this answer were the
beings that were responsible for these painted recordings, and the
inspirations that helped create them. Neither side was talking, or
was likely to talk. This mystery would probably fade into the ether,
along with its finder's soul.
    End
Prologue.
Act
I
Discovery
    Free
will, like discovery, is often a mirage. Civilizations rise and
fall, individuals fail, succeed, are born, and die, but the overall
effect these events have on their planets and universes is negligible
at best. It stands to reason, then, that these planets and universes
would grow quite bored of the drama that these smaller, short-lived
life-forms would entangle themselves in.

    Thus
my brother and I entered into a wager. Perhaps an unseen-in-galactic
history bet; sadly, I must apologize. I cannot reveal any more than
this, for it’ll spoil the surprise. And as fellow astronomical
bodies, I’m sure you’ll gladly spare me a few eons of

your
attention spans. Gather round, to hear my brother’s and my tale of
our offspring, and our wager.
One
    Blink,
and you’ll miss it; the fading-into-mist memory of this world’s
genocidal marches, up and down its verdant forests. My children,
they are not subtle, nor are they often kind. They've caused great
segments of their population to become extinct, thereby reducing
competition and cultural multifaceted interaction. Yet I cannot pass
judgment; my kind are so massive in comparison to them, so far
removed from their smaller life perspectives that it is not my place.
At most, all I can do is gently nudge them into directions I see
most fit for them: uncanny planet-quakes, tidal-waves, monsoons,
things of that nature are an absolutely guaranteed way to get one's
inhabitants to modify their behavior.

    As
with any smaller life-form, their lifespans begin and end; sometimes,
my children lose important leaders. Most recently, they laid to rest
the one most responsible for seeking an end to their unrest.
Proce's death came during winter's harshest cold, inexplicably.
Peace between the factions of these warring bestial creatures had
only begun; losing him threatened the cartilage-thin sociopolitical
balance they forged. Proce was the last of his kind: the others all
died out. They became victims of an evolutionary arms-race, where
talons and horns won the day over bigger brains or

more
peaceful aptitudes. Silently, I grieved with them, as he was a kind,
considerate soul. Their culture, and my soil, would both suffer
greatly from his absence. His funeral was very fitting, very
wondrous. I remember it, still.

    The
now-oldest living of my children, Xuma, cradled a newborn's egg in
his hands as he spoke. He walked up and down the path they all stood
on, and looked at each of them as he recited from memory their death
speech. All were moved, and all were silent in appreciation.
    Ã¢â‚¬Å“First,
the shell protects us. It cradles us from mother's womb, to Vorith's
soil. Then it leaves us, and we are to pursue life or perish. Then
we too leave our nests, and our parents. We find our mates, and
raise families of our own. This is the Vorith way. It is our way to
remember those who enter Vorith's soil to begin the Cycle again, and
Proce was one of the main reasons we are able to continue this way.
Proce will be a shard of every shell of every newborn in Vorith, and
we are grateful to him for his journey. We are grateful to him for
his sacrifice. We are grateful, simply, for him.” All bowed their
heads respectfully, and Xuma placed the egg on Proce's body. Proce's
body was raised to the elements, allowing for the Ethohaths and other
carnivores to replenish their needs. Certainly, while all would
remember and mourn Proce, the dead were never buried with my
children. They were too pragmatic for that.

    The
meat-eaters and plant-eaters entered into a sort of covenant, with
the dawn of The Treaty. This covenant, this armistice, entailed the
meat-eaters to a certain amount of herbivore flesh, but only once the
herbivores expired. In turn, the herbivores were entitled to
violence-free lives. This armistice was quite fragile, but these
were honor-bound creatures. My children considered matters of honor
like this to be significant.
    Indeed,
The Treaty resolved thousands of years of conflict. It was the
foundation which laid the slabs upon my children built their
society. Proce died to give it life, and so it was fitting that his
corpse was presented ceremoniously to the carnivores. They paid due
homage, and split it amongst their number evenly. Still, surely they
eyed some of the emissaries who delivered it to them with some degree
of hungry malice. A subtle reminder that these emissaries carried
root-based neurological weapons was all they needed to keep the
peace. The cargo was delivered, and the emissaries took off for more
civilized groups.
    The
Treaty was placed in one of the large caverns that documents were
kept. Only two Vorithians knew of its location, so as to protect it
against sabotage. These two were then expected to devote their lives
to keeping the document safe, and took up shifts so as to manage
that. In honor of them, the comeliest and most agile female
hatchlings, once they were of mating age, were sent to their cave.
They provided matings that were both pity and honor-bound, at the

same
time. They gave of their birthing canals, because the two guardians
gave of their lives. And all involved considered it a fairly viable
tradeoff.
    This
was not to say that attempts were not made to steal it, and shatter
the precious rock it was scrawled on. Chuath, who was disliked by
nearly all who knew him, launched a frontal assault one terrible
night on its keepers. The cavern's internal light had failed, and
they never saw him coming. He was able to pick up on their sleeping
with his advanced hearing ability, and the relatively small,
talon-bearing living weapon eased his way into the hole and set about
trying to erase history.
    The
little clawed terror slit the throat of the first guard as easily as
it could slice an egg's shell, and he mocked the dying saur as he
fell to the ground. “You serve us well, Ozoha.” He stood on his
victim's torso, slashing at it with his foot claw, and tried to reach
for The Treaty. His night-vision was superior to the two guards, and
this surely wouldn't be a--
    The
other guard tackled him, and both toppled to the ground. Ozoha
gasped “Stop him...”, and then raggedly spat out the blood that
was his last breath. Ovavi, the other guard, slammed Chuath into the
ground with her tail. She kept him there, because she couldn't see
him very well. But she could feel him, and that was enough.
    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Move,
and I crush your windpipe, Caelud.”
    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I
have a name, Emegho.”
    Ã¢â‚¬Å“You're
trying to destroy the first peace we've ever had. You don't deserve
a name. You deserve
the Omada.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“They'll never sentence me to
that, you foolish root-eater. That's a custom your society came up
with, that we agreed to, because we don't have to work as hard for
food.”
    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Please.
They'll come up with something better
for you, you thief. You're trying to destroy everyone, just because
you don't like that your side lost the war.”
    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Oh,
get over yourself. They won't do anything to me. They just signed
your
precious
Treaty. I'll get, what, banished from this realm? I've suffered
worse. It's not like there's anything worth hanging around here for,
anyway.”
    Ovavi
got off of her prey, holding her staff at his throat. “Oh, I
disagree. I think you'll be hanging from many things. For all
Vorithians to see.” In the light-less dark, he couldn't see her
vengeful smirk. He didn't need to.
    Nor
could she see him skitter out from under the staff, and slap her in
the face with his tail. He bolted from the cavern like the Annulhi's
yolk-suckers were after him, and didn't stop running until he was out
of the settlement's safety range.

    He'd
failed, and they'd hunt him until the end of his days for it. He'd
likely never get any mercenary or scouting work again, and that meant
he'd die of starvation. Chuath was never one for strategic planning,
and his impulsive, predatory nature led him to

being
very prone to pacing. It was this pacing, while panicked, that led
him to a mostly-underground volcano (me and my kind consider that to
be akin to a pimple), and that's where he discovered one of my
greatest secrets.
    Chuath
opened his eyes to find himself in a completely different
environment. Nothing was as it seemed, as everything around him was
comprised of odd, rectangular and square constructions that seemed to
be wooden or of some other structure he'd never seen before. Of
course, I only know this because of what I learned later.

                            ***
    My
brother's children weren't something I ever expected to meet. The
one on my surface in particular was everything my brother would have
been proud of. Self-sufficient, aggressive, and absolutely
unapologetic about any of it. Nevertheless, he was panicking,
because he was choking and unable to breathe, because he couldn't
handle the differences in atmosphere between my brother and I.
    Chuath
ran into the closest forest he could find. It was much sparser than
he remembered from my brother's terrain, but it would do, for now.
The displaced Vorithian didn't know where he was, or what he could
eat, but these were matters that had to be settled soon. The heat,
and the pollution, and the travel all took their toll. He sniffed
the area around him, and the scaly living weapon settled on curious,
prowling fur-covered beasts that walked on four legs and roared at
him. Chuath's eyes widened with delight. “Oh, so you're
challenging me, are you?” The beast roared again, and charged
forth. Right before the black-furred, four-legged marauding
death-distributor managed to swipe at him with its massive claws, or
snap at him with its vice-like jaws, Chuath alighted onto its
shoulder with agility that could only come from years of a hunter's
lifestyle. Chuath swiped again, and again, and again, at its massive
mammalian transport's neck and jugular. These were not penetrating
slashes, but enough to let out blood.

    The
beast, in response, tried everything it could to remove Chuath from
its neck. At one point, the panicking bear even rolled onto its
back, to try to crush Chuath, but Chuath anticipated that, and ducked
and rolled away. Once on its stomach, the bear opened its greatest
anatomical weakness, and all Chuath had to do was choose where to
bite down first. He lost a few teeth, he lost a claw, but Chuath
could successfully say he was now the first Vorithian to enjoy a meal
on my surface. He greedily gobbled chunks of meat from the bear's
carcass, suspicious of any predators nearby.

    Gorged
nearly to the brim, the outcast saur skittered off into the
underbrush, wanting to distance himself from the smells of the bear's
corpse. He kept wandering until he chanced upon a cave, and
discovered it to be abandoned. Clearly, he'd have to fight in order
to keep it, but he smelled a river, or at least a water source,
nearby. He could make do, for a while here. He just had to figure

out
a means of getting back home, of getting off my surface.
Unfortunately, he had no idea how he even got here, so that would
prove to be a complex endeavor.
    He
closed his eyes, ready to nap. A sudden series of noises jolted him
from his near-slumber, and he crawled closer to the edge of the cave.
What he saw flabbergasted him.

    There
was a small cluster of beings walking on two legs, clothed in some
sort of fur that looked much like the bear he'd just eaten. They
carried weapons made of bone, stone, or wood, and seemed to
communicate with each other in some primitive language he didn't
understand. They continued past his cave, and Chuath considered his
options.
    Clearly,
he couldn't try to attack the group as it was, right now. There were
more of them, and he knew nothing about their ability to defend
themselves. Furthermore, he didn't know if they carried any
sicknesses that he wasn't biologically prepared to handle. Vorithian
science doesn't work the same way as my children's, but they're
cognizant enough to know that other species sometimes have diseases
that're fatal to beings who've never carried the virus or bacteria
that causes it.
    Instead,
the living weapon stealthily escaped his cave, marking it with his
scent in the process, and proceeded to study his competition from the
safety of nearby bushes. Obviously, he'd have to learn their habits,
their weaknesses, and determine the best time

to
remove them all as possible competition.

    He
followed the slowest moving, most lethargic member of the procession
from a safe distance. He controlled his breathing as much as
possible, doing so slowly, carefully, and deeply, so as to make as
little noise as possible. He kept to the shade, and trees and
grasses taller than him. All the while, he noted how the one he
followed kept limping, and how the pack leader seemed to control the
group from its middle, presumably so that it would always be
protected from the flank, and the front.
    Chuath
felt confident about what he'd discovered enough that he felt he
could launch an attack in the future, but he was getting exhausted.
He headed back to the cave, to try to rest and further plan his best
course of action.
    What
he didn't know was that while he was sneaking away, the elder human
he'd been following had turned around,and noticed the odd
lizard-looking creature following them. He made animated, excited
noises and gesticulations towards his leader, and the clan
immediately stopped. They listened to what the old man had to say,
and the leader decided it was best to not follow the mysterious
creature at that time. Instead, everyone was warned to keep their
eyes open,and they'd deal with the creature the next time they
encountered it. The small band of warriors even set aside more time
in their day to fashion weapons, and position a couple more scouts so
as to further protect themselves.
    Meanwhile,
Chuath was nestled in the cave, snoring lightly and unaware that any
of this was happening. Fortunately, he was a light sleeper. That
trait would help him with what would transpire in the moments to
come.
    ###
    Ovavi
didn't have the nose of a predator, but she had the eyes of a
scientist. Observation of Chuath's tracks led her to a peculiar
volcano. It didn't happen immediately, sure, but the destination was
the most important aspect of the journey. She knelt down, to get a
closer look as to where the claw-tracks ended.

    The
volcano's hole looked to contain an odd liquid in it that she'd never
heard of before. The volcanic specialists amongst her Settlement
certainly never spoke of a liquid like this, and it befuddled her.
She got closer and closer, curiosity taking over her better judgment.
Ovavi balanced herself with her tail, and nearly fell in. However,
there didn't seem to be any internal trace of the little clawed
fiend, and she didn't really want to spend any more time searching
for him.    
    She
backed down from the hole, and resolved to tell someone as soon as
she reached her Settlement. Hopefully, one of the volcanic
specialists would be able to figure out what went wrong as soon as
possible, so as to minimize the chance of Chuath either escaping
wherever he'd fled to, or another Vorithian getting trapped. A few
footfalls later, the volcano was out of sight, yet not out of mind.
    Still,
the young Emegho wondered where her adversary had disappeared so
suddenly. If only her and her kind could communicate with me, could
become aware of what I know. So much of their impending future could
be avoided.
    Upon
entering her Settlement, she approached one of her superiors. “Good
cycle, Irajho. I've made a discovery that I'd like to pass on to
you.”
    He
blinked, as she was generally not used for field-work. “Go on.”
He shifted the weight on his four limbs to distribute it evenly.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“It
seems I've encountered an odd volcano. It doesn't behave like any
other I've ever found.”

    He
waited, pointedly.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“...and
it appears that it's full of some sort of liquid, and that pest
Chuath vanished in it. I tracked his claw-prints there,and that's
where I lost him.”
    Irajho
roared in laughter, his massive body trembling with the exertion.
“Oh, young Ovavi; it appears Mother Vorith has done us the greatest
favor of all. It appears she's enacted the Omada without our ever
having to lift a paw. Chuath doesn't need to be searched for,
because he's done for.” He walked away, continuing to shake his
head and laugh.
    Ovavi
opened her mouth to protest, but decided against it. Why protest
something, when you can prove it? I've always admired that

trait
in my children: their ability to become singly focused on a task,
putting aside all distraction until that task is completed. Ovavi was
one of the best at that: now that her discovery was treated with
such grave disrespect, she swore to find out what was happening. It
took her a few mini-cycles to get back to the volcano, and the heat
made her stop and drink water at every opportunity. If nothing else,
the expedition should fortify her outdoor adrenaline.
    It
became apparent, quickly, that upon reaching the volcano, she was on
to something. Its internal liquid seemed to be alternating colors,
on a scale she couldn't really comprehend. What that meant, or why
it was doing it, she had no idea. She did the first thing that came
to mind, which was peer over the cavernous hole, into the cryptic
dealings below. She took one step, and then another. Unfortunately,
this proved to be unwise, and she fell into the hole. Like Chuath,
she too inexplicably vanished from the only world she'd ever known,
and her perception of the journey was that she simply was on Vorith
one second, in utter blackness the next, and then a slightly smaller,
more primitive world.
    Ovavi
opened her eyes, settled her four legs as best she could, and tried
to look around at her surroundings. The heat was unbearable, and she
had to run for the nearest cave she could find. This proved arduous,
for black-furred beasts nearly as large as she was kept charging
after her,and she had to dislodge entire trees to get them to leave
her alone. Finally, she was free to lower herself

into
a cave, and she tried to relax and plan her next move.
    ###
    A
hush grew over the crowd. Xuma was pacing, irritated, stressed, and
anxious. “You mean to tell me Chuath assaulted two guards, one of
them is missing, the other dead, and no one can tell me anything
about where he is?”
    The
crowd all pretended to know nothing or have anything to do with it.
This didn't exactly improve Xuma's mood, so he grabbed a tree trunk
cane and shattered it. The crowd twittered nervously, and backed off
from him, but still said nothing.
    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well,
I should think the next step is fairly obvious, everyone. We're
going to send a contingent of three groups of five to try to find
them. And no one is sleeping tonight until they are. If you're not
on a shift, you're on guard duty. Understood? The search party
begins, and it begins right now.” Xuma stormed off, collecting the
nearest saurs to him, and began the process himself.
    Others
followed suit, and never more have I wished I could speak to my
children, to help them in their pursuit, for I knew what was likely
to happen. It was the nature of my brother's and my wager: that
we'd pit our children against each other, one day, and whichever
group won would forever have bragging rights against the other
brother. We'd be considered the mightiest planet in the galaxy. But
I looked at my children, in their panic, and realized I was not
acting in accordance to their wishes.

    My
seas, my lakes, foretold of the coming war. Of the unspeakable
atrocities about to be inflicted on both of our offspring, on both of
our lands, our atmospheres, our very souls themselves. I unleashed
mild seismic spasms in the least inhabited parts of my soil, to try
to release some of the stress I felt about the situation. It didn't
change anything.
    I
would be responsible for the deaths of millions of my children, and
of my brother's children, and it seemed I was the only one who cared.
The one mankind calls Earth is often a violent, angry consciousness,
and at times gets great joy in causing pain to others. I wanted to
try to beat him at his own methodology, to try to teach him that this
was not an acceptable way to live.
    Now
all I have left, in spite of my honor, in spite of my dignity, is to
be trapped in the headlights of an advancing annihilation. I'm the
one who ensared myself into this mess, and all I can do is watch.
    ###
GLOSSARY
OF TERMS
Emegho:
four-legged, long-necked Vorithian caste.
Caelud:
clawed, smaller, raptor predator caste.
Omada:
A death-ceremony where the elderly, weak, or convicted-of-treason
members of Vorithian society are given to one of the carnivorous
castes, and ritually eaten.Annulhi:  the deceased Vorithians, or what we'd call ancestors.