Alien Invasion Short Stories Read online

  This is a FLAME TREE Book

  Publisher & Creative Director: Nick Wells

  Project Editor: Laura Bulbeck

  Editorial Board: Catherine Taylor, Josie Mitchell, Gillian Whitaker

  Thanks to Will Rough

  Publisher’s Note: Due to the historical nature of the text, we’re aware that there may be some language used which has the potential to cause offence to the modern reader. However, wishing overall to preserve the integrity of the text, rather than imposing contemporary sensibilities, we have left it unaltered.

  FLAME TREE PUBLISHING

  6 Melbray Mews, Fulham, London SW6 3NS, United Kingdom

  www.flametreepublishing.com

  First published 2018

  Copyright © 2018 Flame Tree Publishing Ltd

  Stories by modern authors are subject to international copyright law, and are licensed for publication in this volume.

  PRINT ISBN: 978-1-78664-768-9

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-78755-249-4

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  The cover image is created by Flame Tree Studio, based on artwork by Slava Gerj and Gabor Ruszkai.

  A copy of the CIP data for this book is available from the British Library.

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  Contents

  Foreword by Patrick Parrinder

  Publisher’s Note

  The Taking of Ireland

  Retold Tales from The Book of Invasions

  A House of Her Own

  Bo Balder

  Sin Nombre

  Jennifer Rachel Baumer

  The Battle of Dorking

  George Chesney

  The Thing from – ‘Outside’

  George Allan England

  The Man who Saved the Earth

  Austin Hall

  Long as I Can See the Light

  Maria Haskins

  Blind Jump

  Suo Hefu (索何夫)

  Home is a House That Loves You

  Rachael K. Jones

  Being Here

  Claude Lalumière

  Water Scorpions

  Rich Larson

  The Shadow over Innsmouth

  H.P Lovecraft

  The Shadow Out of Time

  H.P Lovecraft

  The Hunted

  Angus McIntyre

  The Metal Monster (prologue–chapter IV)

  A. Merritt

  Last Breath Day

  Stephen G. Parks

  The Merger

  Sunil Patel

  Some Things I Probably Should Have Mentioned Earlier

  Laura Pearlman

  Outvasion

  Tim Pieraccini

  The Germ Growers (preliminary–chapter II)

  Robert Potter

  Lovers at Dawn

  Eric Reitan

  Edison’s Conquest of Mars (chapters I–IV)

  Garrett P. Serviss

  Gulliver’s Travels (part III, chapters I–III)

  Jonathan Swift

  Micromégas

  Voltaire

  Dark Mirrors

  John Walters

  The War of the Worlds

  H.G. Wells

  What Survives of Us

  S.A. Westerley

  Jars for Their Eyes

  William R.D. Wood

  Biographies & Sources

  Foreword:

  Alien Invasion Short Stories

  They were the most mortifying sight I ever beheld.

  Jonathan Swift, Gulliver’s Travels, Part 3, Chapter 10

  GIANT CREEPY-CRAWLIES, groping tentacles, blobs, parasites, slimy-scaled vampires: many of us, when we think of alien invaders, will call up a host of computer-enhanced images from Hollywood cinema. The movie industry owes a big debt to the bug-eyed monsters of 1930s science-fiction magazine covers, and, before them, to the octopoid Martians of H.G. Wells’s The War of the Worlds. Wells’s Martian invaders, however stomach-churning, come to Earth in very small numbers; it is their technological firepower that turns them into a marauding army. One of Wells’s presumed sources was a highly realistic narrative of future war, George Chesney’s The Battle of Dorking. Here the invaders are the German soldiers who had swept across France in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–71. Chesney’s novel, intended as a wake-up call to the British, is unlike most of the stories in this book in that it contains nothing truly fantastic or grotesque. It does, however, remind us of the variety of meanings we attach to the term ‘alien’ and, for that matter, to the idea of invasion.

  In legal language an alien is simply an outsider, usually the citizen of another country. Yet the notion that, to be properly called alien, a thing must also be non-human is at least as old as the Roman playwright Terence, who famously declared that Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto: I am a man, and I consider nothing human alien to me. But what is it, exactly, to be human? The ‘most mortifying sight’ that Swift’s hero Lemuel Gulliver beholds on his extensive travels is that of subtly altered human beings.

  If the alien is (in some sense, at least) the non-human, then a truly alien entity is not merely different from us, but something we can barely describe, let alone understand. In the stories of H.P. Lovecraft and others, the alien is an insoluble mystery, something whose nature can only be guessed at. Often such a mystery is associated with particular, remote places on Earth, with regions that only an intrepid (and, usually, white male) explorer would be foolish enough to enter. Can these alien presences be called invaders, or is it, rather, their domains – their privacy, we might say – that we, as readers, are intruding upon? Invasion is not always a military phenomenon, however hostile the aliens may be. Austin Hall’s Martians, in ‘The Man Who Saved the Earth’, manage to devastate our planet without landing on it or, indeed, launching spaceships at all. And if super-intelligent beings do arrive here in gigantic spaceships they might have come on a diplomatic mission, or be stopping off on a much longer journey. Or could they just come here to laugh at us? In Voltaire’s satire ‘Micromegas’, the two visiting giants, confronted by human self-importance, are reduced to the ‘inextinguishable laughter’ that Homer once said belonged to the gods. We like to think of imaginary aliens as monsters and devils, but they can also be disturbingly like gods.

  Patrick Parrinder

  President, H.G. Wells Society

  Publisher’s Note

  Visitors from other planets have long fascinated us. H.G. Wells’s The War of the Worlds spawned a huge wave of speculative fiction, but the roots of such fears run deep in our literature, with themes of invasion stretching back to writers such as Voltaire and Jonathan Swift. Of course not all invaders are ‘extra-terrestrial’ even if they might still be described as alien. In searching back through the origins of the alien invasion genre, we have chosen to include George Chesney’s The Battle of Dorking (in which Britain is invaded by a German-speaking country), an alarmist novella which had clear influences on later SF stories; as well as a couple of tales from the Irish Book of Invasions – just one example we could have included from various cu
ltures’ mythological traditions, which show just how much fear of the ‘other’ has always pervaded. Of course there’s some good old traditional interplanetary invasions in here too – from some lesser known early pulp stories to the ever-masterful Wells and Lovecraft.

  We had a fantastic number of contemporary submissions, and have thoroughly enjoyed delving into authors’ imaginations of just how the discovery of another species might go. From acts of aggression to silent infiltration or peaceful interactions, each story reminds us we’re a tiny speck in this gargantuan universe. We’re also thrilled to be extending our own horizons, including our first story from a modern Chinese author, courtesy of the popular Chinese monthly SFWorld. Making the final selection is always a tough decision, but ultimately we chose a collection of stories we hope sit alongside each other and with the classic fiction, to provide a fantastic Alien Invasion book for all to enjoy.

  The Taking of Ireland

  Retold Tales from The Book of Invasions

  Introduction

  Tales of the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Early Milesians

  The stories included here are based on tales selected from the Book of Invasions, otherwise known as Lebor Gabála Érenn (The Book of the Taking of Ireland). The tale below begins after the conquest of the Fir Bolg by the Tuatha Dé Danann, the god-like race, whose name translates as ‘the people of the god whose mother is Dana’. Two of the most outstanding stories have been chosen here, each of which has an especially powerful narrative impact.

  The Tuatha Dé Danann are recorded as having originally travelled to Erin from the northern islands of Greece around 2000 BC. They possessed great gifts of magic and druidism and they ruled the country until their defeat by the Milesians, when they were forced to establish an underground kingdom known as the Otherworld or the Sidhe, meaning Hollow Hills.

  Lugh (pronounced ‘Lu’, ‘gh’ is silent, as in English) of the Long Arm, who also appears later in the Ulster Cycle as Cúchulainn’s divine father, emerges as one of the principal heroes of the Tuatha Dé Danann who rescues his people from the tyranny of the Fomorians. The Quest of the Children of Tuirenn, together with the sorrowful account of Lir’s children, are undoubtedly two of the great epic tales of this cycle.

  The Quest of the Children of Tuirenn

  Nuada of the silver hand rose to become King of the Tuatha Dé Danann during the most savage days of the early invasions. The Fomorians, a repulsive band of sea-pirates, were the fiercest of opponents who swept through the country destroying cattle and property and imposing tribute on the people of the land. Every man of the Tuatha Dé Danann, no matter how rich or poor, was required to pay one ounce of gold to the Fomorians and those who neglected to pay this tax at the annual assembly on the Hill of Uisneach were maimed or murdered without compassion. Balor of the Evil Eye was leader of these brutal invaders, and it was well known that when he turned his one glaring eyeball on his foes they immediately fell dead as if struck by a thunderbolt. Everyone lived in mortal fear of Balor, for no weapon had yet been discovered that could slay or even injure him. Times were bleak for the Tuatha Dé Danann and the people had little faith in King Nuada who appeared powerless to resist Balor’s tyranny and oppression. As the days passed by, they yearned for a courageous leader who would rescue them from their life of wretched servitude.

  The appalling misery of the Tuatha Dé Danann became known far and wide and, after a time, it reached the ears of Lugh of the Long Arm of the fairymounds, whose father was Cian, son of Cainte. As soon as he had grown to manhood, Lugh had proven his reputation as one of the most fearless warriors and was so revered by the elders of Fairyland that they had placed in his charge the wondrous magical gifts of Manannan the sea-god which had protected their people for countless generations. Lugh rode the magnificent white steed of Manannan, known as Aenbarr, a horse as fleet of foot as the wailing gusts of winter whose charm was such that no rider was ever wounded while seated astride her. He had the boat of Manannan, which could read a man’s thoughts and travel in whatever direction its keeper demanded. He also wore Manannan’s breast-plate and body armour which no weapon could ever pierce, and he carried the mighty sword known as ‘The Retaliator’ that could cut through any battle shield.

  The day approached once more for the People of Dana to pay their annual taxes to the Fomorians and they gathered together, as was customary, on the Hill of Uisneach to await the arrival of Balor’s men. As they stood fearful and terrified in the chill morning air, several among them noticed a strange cavalry coming over the plain from the east towards them. At the head of this impressive group, seated high in command above the rest, was Lugh of the Long Arm, whose proud and noble countenance mirrored the splendour of the rising sun. The King was summoned to witness the spectacle and he rode forth to salute the leader of the strange army. The two had just begun to converse amiably when they were interrupted by the approach of a grimy-looking band of men, instantly known to all as Fomorian tax-collectors. King Nuada bowed respectfully towards them and instructed his subjects to deliver their tributes without delay. Such a sad sight angered and humiliated Lugh of the Long Arm and he drew the King aside and began to reproach him:

  “Why do your subjects bow before such an evil-eyed brood,” he demanded, “when they do not show you any mark of respect in return?”

  “We are obliged to do this,” replied Nuada. “If we refuse we would be killed instantly and our land has witnessed more than enough bloodshed at the hands of the Fomorians.”

  “Then it is time for the Tuatha Dé Danann to avenge this great injustice,” replied Lugh, and with that, he began slaughtering Balor’s emissaries single-handedly until all but one lay dead at his feet. Dragging the surviving creature before him, Lugh ordered him to deliver a stern warning to Balor:

  “Return to your leader,” he thundered, “and inform him that he no longer has any power over the People of Dana. Lugh of the Long Arm, the greatest of warriors, is more than eager to enter into combat with him if he possesses enough courage to meet the challenge.”

  Knowing that these words would not fail to enrage Balor, Lugh lost little time preparing himself for battle. He enlisted the King’s help in assembling the strongest men in the kingdom to add to his own powerful army. Shining new weapons of steel were provided and three thousand of the swiftest white horses were made ready for his men. A magnificent fleet of ships, designed to withstand the most venomous ocean waves, remained moored at port, awaiting the moment when Balor and his malicious crew would appear on the horizon.

  The time finally arrived when the King received word that Balor’s fierce army had landed at Eas Dara on the northwest coast of Connacht. Within hours, the Fomorians had pillaged the lands of Bodb the Red and plundered the homes of noblemen throughout the province. Hearing of this wanton destruction, Lugh of the Long Arm was more determined than ever to secure victory for the Tuatha Dé Danann. He rode across the plains of Erin back to his home to enlist the help of Cian, his father, who controlled all the armies of the fairymounds. His two uncles, Cu and Cethen, also offered their support and the three brothers set off in different directions to round up the remaining warriors of Fairyland.

  Cian journeyed northwards and he did not rest until he reached Mag Muirthemne on the outskirts of Dundalk. As he crossed the plain, he observed three men, armed and mailed, riding towards him. At first he did not recognize them, but as they drew closer, he knew them to be the sons of Tuirenn whose names were Brian, Iucharba and Iuchar. A long-standing feud had existed for years between the sons of Cainte and the sons of Tuirenn and the hatred and enmity they felt towards each other was certain to provoke a deadly contest. Wishing to avoid an unequal clash of arms, Cian glanced around him for a place to hide and noticed a large herd of swine grazing nearby. He struck himself with a druidic wand and changed himself into a pig. Then he trotted off to join the herd and began to root up the ground like the rest of them.

  The sons of Tuire
nn were not slow to notice that the warrior who had been riding towards them had suddenly vanished into thin air. At first, they all appeared puzzled by his disappearance, but then Brian, the eldest of the three, began to question his younger brothers knowingly:

  “Surely brothers you also saw the warrior on horseback,” he said to them. “Have you no idea what became of him?”

  “We do not know,” they replied.

  “Then you are not fit to call yourselves warriors,” chided Brian, “for that horseman can be no friend of ours if he is cowardly enough to change himself into one of these swine. The instruction you received in the City of Learning has been wasted on you if you cannot even tell an enchanted beast from a natural one.”

  And as he was saying this, he struck Iucharba and Iuchar with his own druidic wand, transforming them into two sprightly hounds that howled and yelped impatiently to follow the trail of the enchanted pig.

  Before long, the pig had been hunted down and driven into a small wood where Brian cast his spear at it, driving it clean through the animal’s chest. Screaming in pain, the injured pig began to speak in a human voice and begged his captors for mercy:

  “Allow me a dignified death,” the animal pleaded. “I am originally a human being, so grant me permission to pass into my own shape before I die.”

  “I will allow this,” answered Brian, “since I am often less reluctant to kill a man than a pig.”

  Then Cian, son of Cainte, stood before them with blood trickling down his cloak from the gaping wound in his chest.

  “I have outwitted you,” he cried, “for if you had killed me as a pig you would only be sentenced for killing an animal, but now you must kill me in my own human shape. And I must warn you that the penalty you will pay for this crime is far greater than any ever paid before on the death of a nobleman, for the weapons you shall use will cry out in anguish, proclaiming your wicked deed to my son, Lugh of the Long Arm.”

  “We will not slay you with any weapons in that case,” replied Brian triumphantly, “but with the stones that lie on the ground around us.” And the three brothers began to pelt Cian with jagged rocks and stones until his body was a mass of wounds and he fell to the earth battered and lifeless. The sons of Tuirenn then buried him where he had fallen in an unmarked grave and hurried off to join the war against the Fomorians.