Sidosido, Earth
Chairman Hohenstein sat down in his office chair-one of the classic rolling ones from the early 21st century-and took a heavy sigh. The day had been nice and all, but organizing and overseeing the whole celebration got tiring. Third Generation starships were launching just outside his office’s window, heading back to space with their crews. Most of them were heading out to transport supplies to the colonies, some on exploration missions.
It had been a long time since the Chairman himself had taken the chance to go anywhere beyond the core colonies like Zarmina and the Sol system ones. Things were simply too busy, besides, he never had a reason to. It wasn’t as if he had to go all the way out there to administer anything, and he preferred Earth anyways. Having the right amount of gravity had always been important to him.
He glanced at the paperwork strewn all over his desk, all of which had been printed out at his request. All the important documents, he said, he had to deal with in their physical form. Plenty of other people just did it digitally, something he didn’t particularly enjoy. Despite his choice to remain perpetually twenty-five, his mind just didn’t want to adapt to all the new control schemes of a future he had expected to die creating. All he had wanted was his place in the history books, instead he found himself presiding over most of humanity for almost a century.
Once upon a time he would have never dreamed of it, but he found himself often considering just resigning and making MacLean the Chairman. Not that MacLean would ever accept that, but sometimes the idea of finally having some form of closure seemed nicer and nicer everyday. Perhaps he could join Saltsgaver on Ceres, or just retire to a nice house somewhere in America.
Then again, there were plenty of things that the Union had yet to encounter. Friends to make and enemies to fight, and as long as he had the chance he might as well pad out the history books a bit more. Then, the air in front of the desk began to condense, warping together. The space itself seemed to tear itself apart in front of the Chairman’s eyes.
“The hell?” Said Hohenstein, blinking a few times to verify just what he was seeing. A big part of him wanted to scream, reach for his shotgun, call for security, or just smash the window and jump. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he just sat there in silence as he watched the seemingly impossible event unfold before him.
The warping air suddenly returned to normal, as a yellow robed figure, clad in a pale white mask that resembled a fox, standing at about average height, appeared. The appearance didn’t even disturb so much as a paper. Nevertheless, it was very much physical. It picked up a paper, speaking.
Its voice was indiscernible, seemingly shifting, hard to define. “Many would see you as archaic. Even in the 21st century.”
“W-who are you?” Said the Chairman, this time reaching discreetly under his desk for his shotgun. He kept it loaded, because he was deep down the same paranoid mess he was back in the 2040’s. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake from those days back when everyone he knew would have been ordered to kill him if he made a single mistake. “Or… what are you? We’re archaic to you? Is that a threat?”
The figure simply waved away the comment, responding, “There is no need for the shotgun. I do not come bearing threats, but rather warnings. I was merely commenting on your tendency to use paper instead of computers.” It calmly placed down the paper, looking now directly at the Chairman. Its eyes were empty, devoid of soul. A void of darkness.
“Oh… yes. That.” Said the Chairman. He almost forgot that the creature had appeared out of nowhere, but was reminded of it when he saw its eyes. “I just prefer it. If you know this much about us, you probably know what I’m older than I look. It’s easier for me to deal with paper as opposed to holograms and screens.”
Who-or what-is this person and why am I talking to them like this? He thought.
Then again, how else am I supposed to react? If they come after me then I can defend myself just fine.“Of course, what right do I have to dictate what is archaic? I distinctly remember your galaxy, long ago. When we found it, there was naught but gasses. They formed into your stars. An interesting process, if I do say so myself. As for your seeming immortality, worry only that it will draw the attention of those infinitely your better.”
Aw shit, they’re gods. I didn’t want to meet gods, and would rather not need to be warned by them. That’s generally a bad thing.“I’ve done some things that most would have called impossible back in my day. Hell, I’ve even done more than that. If I end up drawing some unwanted attention from gods or predator species, then I suppose there isn’t much I can do about that except weather the storm that comes. And weathering storms is something I-and the rest of my species-is pretty good at.”
I should probably be more unsettled about meeting a god. I think this is a god, at least. Then again, maybe it’s the right god? Or maybe a god but not quite. I guess it doesn’t matter, I’ve incorporated weirder things into my beliefs before.“Gods? Hardly. Predators? Perhaps. They didn’t begin as predators, no. Nor am I a god. I am simply a herald for the king. My duty is to warn you that something, something big has just arrived to the galaxy. What it is exactly I will leave you to find.”
“If this… something poses a threat, then what must be done? Is there even anything I can do?”
“I don’t imagine they’ll take military action against you. Beware their tricks, however. And do not tell them I was ever here. They’ve taken a, well, particular interest in my kind. Ever since they discovered our existence billions of years ago.”
“I’m going to trust you on this. There seems to be no reason for you to lie, and you’re certainly at a stage of development at which there’s little reason not to take any given action. I’ll keep your advice in mind, and though I would gladly give you a gift I don’t think there’s anything someone like me could give a person that can be mistaken for a god. I don’t even know if you could take it back… well, if you can…”
The Chairman opened his desk and pulled out his shotgun, taking care to be as slow and as nonthreatening as possible. It was an old, classic double-barreled one that you would expect to find on some 20th century farm. He then put it on top of the desk and pulled out another gunpowder-based weapon, an old semi-automatic pistol.
“I used this gun in the Third World War, I’m sure you know about what a terrible thing that was. At the same time, it was one of the events that made us who we are now. I give it to you as a gift from humanity, to remind you of the good deed you have done today. Keep it for yourself, or maybe give it to your… king. It won’t be of any use to you, but I assume you know of the human concept of sentimental value. Maybe you can find some of that in this.”
The figure simply nodded, collecting the weapons. Then, just as quickly as the figure appeared, it was gone. Not a trace was left to prove it ever existed in the first place, save the lack of the weapons.
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