Imagine A Corny Love-Story Title Here

Neha was out for her early evening jog.

This story hasn’t started very well, isn’t it? Like every third girl of her generation, her parents didn’t bother to spend a good minute choosing the name tag for their love product. Of course, she could have been a ‘Neha Sharma’ or ‘Neha Gupta’ but the author of this story possibly couldn’t be cared to know each detail about the said Neha. However, a jaunt in her step, a bright smile on her face and a tongue that could put Gordon Ramsey’s sharpest knife looking for an alternate career option as an envelope opener, left no doubt that her parents didn’t go wrong with ‘Neha’.

And about 25 years later, Neha was out for her early evening jog.

You can consider this to be your writer’s another creative failure when of all the exotic settings -- deep space star fleets to time dilating black-holes – from 14^th century Greece to 80^th century futuristic worlds – he chose a neighborhood evening jog to introduce you to your beloved Neha. Well, you knew what you were in for from the first sentence itself. So, get on with it.

Now, where were we? The same place where we were left pondering about her name while her jog took her half-way around the block.

Our Neha… scratch that… ‘Your’ Neha bounced away in tandem with her pony-tail hair that seemed to be wagging her forward. Two long tendrils from a modern-day Walkman (or should we say, Walkwoman? All right, all right this is not your author’s best day.) ended up in her ears, pouring the latest rhythms to aid her jogging. Which kind of music, you ask? Well, I am sorry, but we shouldn’t be breaching her privacy like that, even if it is rightfully in yours truly’ s creative liberties domain. However, we can safely assume that it must be one of those soulful and meaningful love songs, that makes one want to puke on the next pink-colored stuffed unicorn.

Anyways.

As your Neha took to the wind and the evening Sun set away in the west (where else? This is not Tatooine, you silly), your overweight author tried to keep up. With hurting knees, I am glad to report that your Neha took a break and sat down on a bench not too far away.

As she sipped from her water bottle, we can now take a pause to describe her. Of course, Neha is slim and beautiful with glowing skin because if she isn’t this author can kiss goodbye to movie options for this story.

On cue, enters our hero, a tall, masculine, fair and handsome jogger from the other end of the street. This specimen has had finished more protein jars than he has finished books – a claim that is not exaggerated by this author’s envy. Continuing with the objective assessment, his bulging and toned muscles and even more bulging and toned beard leave no questions about this gentleman’s music tastes. This alpha male is surely an aficionado of catchy hymns in praise of feminity, featuring womanly beauty in its purest form, at least as much legally allowed on PG-14 television.

Our Greek god took long strides, sweat drops rolling down his bare thighs and all, and paused, totally by coincidence, near the bench where Neha was sitting.

It is a sign of a lazy writer and a shallow human being when he uses hackneyed tropes like ‘love at first sight’. Along with the first atrocity of choosing a name like ‘Neha’, this is the second strike. If my beloved reader could overlook this slouchy prose, I promise I will be more thoughtful in naming my characters in the future.

“Hi, I am Amit.”

("Amit"? Reaally?)

If Neha’s parents ever wanted validation of their creative prowess, they needn’t look farther than Amit’s parents. I mean we didn’t ask for those new-age names where you have to strike a song before you get to the actual name, like,  ‘AAArav’ or ‘AAAnvesh’, which, anyway, in my opinion, are more suitable for battery names, but at least make an effort to get to ‘Rahul’. Anyway, I digressed. Back to this love story.

“Hi, I am Amit,” said the living trailer of Gold Gym.

Neha looked at him and her cheeks turned pink.

“-- and I am married,” she replied flouting her ring.

Amit seemed unperturbed. He casually took a place next to her. There was a full minute of uncomfortable silence between them during which his biceps and triceps did most of the talking.

“You seemed to be new here,” he said, finally his tongue catching-up with his other muscles.

“Yes, I moved here last week with my husband.”

“And where is he right now?” the hulk looked about.

Neha took a deep sigh. “He had some work at the office.”

“I wonder how he even manages to leave this beautiful girl every day,” ventured the eight-pack wielding hunter-gatherer.

A tinge of sadness appeared in Neha’s beautiful eyes. “He doesn’t love me much.”

“Oh, is it?” Smiled the love child of Hercules and treadmill.

Neha just nodded barely keeping it together.

“Wouldn’t you want to make him jealous? I am sure I can be what your husband isn’t.”

Neha looked into his hypnotic eyes and a small key left Neha’s hand and dropped next to him.

“Apartment B-706. Wait for ten minutes… and don’t knock the door… just enter.”

As Neha jogged away, her ponytail swinging from side to side, our hero Amit watched her fashioning a grin larger than Halloween pumpkins.

Now it none of your author’s business poking nose into other people’s lives. No sir. But it is also necessary to fulfill one’s literary duties as an author and provide readers with a conclusive third act. Hence, purely driven by these professional commitments, this invisible author decides to sacrifice questions of morality on the altar of literary arts, and urges the readers to discreetly follow Amit on his way to B-706.

Amit kissed the key and pocketed his precious possession. He looked about like a secret agent and having satisfied himself of complete anonymity (completely ignoring the invisible author and his eleven subscribers) before entering the building ‘B’.

In the elevator’s close quarters which was now making its way slowly to the 7^th floor, one could almost smell the testosterone in the air. The moment the doors opened; Amit leaped towards 706 like a vampire smelling blood.

As he turned the key and entered the house, shutting and locking the door behind him, a sweet handcrafted nameplate stared in the face of twelve of us.

“B-706

Guptas

Neha

&

Amit”

Sigh. Looks like this was a boring and wholesome matrimonial love story, afterall.

I will show myself out.

###

The Termino Tangle

“Admiral Gator, orbit insertion in 20-mins,” said a voice behind his back.

Admiral Gator didn’t bother turning around. He had done these missions hundreds of times and the crew churn was very high. There were new spacemen all the time. Some remained on every captured planet, others eventually got drafted to other missions or desk jobs, but mostly just got killed from their own incompetence. Space was unforgiving and remembering the name of every idiot who didn’t understand that was just too much trouble. His muscles stiffened. “Scan the surface. I don’t want any surprises when we get down.”

“Yes sir.”

Admiral continued to stare at the large grey planet that was growing bigger by the minute. This was supposed to be his 100^th capture since the Last War, the most any other Admiral had achieved under the Final Emperor. Hundredth and the last one. Then he would hang his boots and settle on a decent Jupiter view Villa at Ganymede. He could have chosen any of the thirty thousand colonized planets across the Galaxy but there was some sense of nostalgia associated with the home solar system. A sentimentality that most of the newer generation could never understand. But there was another reason for his choice… at Ganymede he would be far away from the Emperor who controlled his vast Empire from Magellen – a rocky super-planet near the center of the Milky Way Galaxy. If there was one thing more unforgiving than the space, it was the megalomaniac dictator who had just won the whole galaxy.

When the underling had left, he poured himself a glass of fine Europa whiskey. Fermented by rare microbes under a thick layer of ice gave it quite a unique taste. Frankly, he didn’t like it much, but the privilege was just too prestigious to let go. One of the so many little things that put underlings in their place.

The errand-boy was soon back with a portable-visor in his hand.

Can’t these guys not be efficient for once?

He was a young lad… probably fresh out of the academy. Too young for his own benefit… movements too flail and words too unsure. Admiral wondered if he’d survive through to the end of the mission. Despite himself, he felt like talking to this one.

Admiral motioned him to come closer to his private bar. “What’s your name, boy?”

“My name is Kritu, Sir. Charon born.”

Admiral’s glass halted mid-way. “Charon born?”

The young guy blushed. His eyes turned to the floor. “Yes Sir. My Dad was a prisoner and my Mom was one of the Law Enforcement.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Admiral felt sorry for the boy. Charon’s prison colonies were one icy-hell, one of the worst places for a kid to grow up. “Do you want a drink?”

“Thank you, Sir,” said the boy, a little surprised at the unexpected kindness from the Admiral. “Alligator will be in orbit shortly so maybe I shouldn’t.”

“First mission, eh?”

The boy nodded.

“Good for you. You must be enjoying the view then.” Admiral downed his wine and closed the bottle. “Once you have been to as many as I have, things start to get a little boring. Same old, same old.”

“I wouldn’t know that, Sir. I studied your mission logs during my training. They are the stuff of legends.”

“Those logs aren’t half of what we went through on those planets, son. Anyway… do you have that scan that I asked for?”

“Yes, Sir.” Kritu extended a visor towards the Admiral and iterated a what was no-doubt, a practiced speech. “The planet is Type-C. Uninhabited. Rocky surface with size 1.2 R-naught. Gravity 1.4 gees. 20-hour days. There has an environment but no breathable oxygen, our neutrinometry suggests some mineral deposits under the surface --”

Same old, same old.

“Understood.”

The boy shuffled his weight from one foot to another in uncomfortable silence.

“There is one more thing, Sir.”

“Yea…?”

“That grey thing is some kind of organic mass. Planet wide.”

Admiral sensed a tinge of worry on Kritu’s voice. “Don’t worry. I have seen stuff like that before. It’s like moss and easy to exterminate. But in space… I don’t want make any assumptions… Alligator will land with all stations ready and EVA only after complete environmental report.”

 “Yes sir. I will pass the message to rest of the crew. What do you want to name it, Sir? I mean the planet.”

“Ah… I almost forgot about that. Well, this is my last mission, so it should be something appropriate. Ah. I have it. Let’s call it Termino.”

“I will update the catalogues, Sir.”

“Do that. And wake up the ground team. We may have to rendezvous with the natives and they might be hostile.”

###

Admiral hated looking at groggy faces of ground teams, they were always confused for a considerable time after the thaw, and invariably asked that stupid question:

“Which year is it?” Captain Shemira asked.

“Don’t sweat it, Captain. You shall soon find out.”

Admiral inspected the rank of soldiers. He saw one of them stealing a glance of the grey-planet -Termino - that now filled almost the entire field of vision. Alligator was firing its thrusters in preparing for a soft landing. Admiral bellowed, “Get to your stations. Let’s cleanse this planet swiftly. No firing without my command. Let’s get over with this. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” all the soldiers said in unison.

“For the Emperor,” he shouted.

“For the Emperor,” a dozen voices replied.

Admiral settled on the Rendezvous Panel designed specifically for capturing missions. Various screens played to him each and every piece of information that could help him to make crucial decisions. As the Colonization Ship Alligator closed the distance to the grey blob of the planet, he focused on one particular screen that gathered the EM feed. IF the natives were spacefaring, they’d trying sending radio signals to contact the ship. And he’d reply with a barrage of EM bombs (to make them deaf), followed by Fusion bombs (to make them dead). Sure, it made Terraforming a little trickier later, but the Emperor didn’t distinguish between a planet and a dead planet. And so, neither did he. Survival of the fittest was nature’s law and primitive species must give way for the more advanced ones. But he was spared this effort when no contact attempt was made. He shut the lid containing the trigger.

“Prepare to land,” he said.

“Copy that, Admiral. Preparing for landing. Target landing coordinates twenty-three degree north, forty-six degrees east. ETA twenty-one minutes.”

Same old, same old.

As Alligator decelerated, he was gently pushed back into his chair, the screen showing the visual feed of the planet flickered as the grey matter showing on it covered every pixel. At about 100-kms from the surface, the surface features started to resolve but it was like zooming in on a Mandelbrot set.

Twenty minutes later, Alligator landed softly on Termino.

“Touch-down,” declared the pilot. “Soft ground underneath.”

“Good job everyone. Ground team remain at your stations till you have a ‘Go’ from me. We will take a call on EVA once we have the primaries completed. Science team begin the scan and feed it to the – whatsthat?”

Scan was unnecessary. Even as Admiral Gator was finishing his last sentence, the visual feed was changing dramatically. In distance, humanoid figures were appearing behind the elevation of the surface. They seemed to be waving and charging towards the spaceship. Drat! Too late to launch the fusion bombs.

“Captain Shemira. Do you have a visual on natives at 2 ‘o clock? Clean it up.”

Captain Shemira yelled a series of quick commands to the gunners. A rain of fire descended on the planet. As Kritu brought another round of Europa whiskey for the captain, several weapons shot, launched, swept and burned the targets around them.

“Area is clear, boss. Eleven targets were eliminated.”

###

Soon, dozen figures in their spacesuits were descending from Alligator led by the Admiral Gator. Termino’s orange Sun had just risen in the east to begin its 20-hour day. As per custom long set in the history of space exploration, the General was the first one to set foot on the soft surface of Termino.

“Time 6 AM local, 21^st July of Year 1 of United Era, General Gator claims this planet in the service of the Emperor. For the Emperor.”

“For the Emperor,” came the reply.

Admiral looked around. As far as he could see there was grey nothingness for miles on end. There were no surface features to speak of and there was an uneasy quiet on the planet. It reminded him of a mass cemetery on his home planet.

“Set your clocks to the local time. Do the cleanup and set up camp alpha… I don’t want to spend a minute more than absolutely necessary in this grey hell -- what that annoying static?”

An electromagnetic disturbance flickered in his visors and simultaneously a cracking noise rang in his ears.

“Seems that Termino has a strong magnetic field captain and it is unstable.” Came reply from the science team that was still onboard Alligator along with the rest of the crew.

‘Unstable’ seemed to define Termino in other ways as well. The moss was mushy and the ground under them seemed to shake periodically like a heartbeat. The Ground team had to consciously pull-out their legs from the sticky grey substance that often climbed up to their knees. And after a brief effort it soon became clear that setting up a camp was impossible.

Admiral Gator gritted his teeth. Without camp, Termino wouldn’t be considered as captured. “Those natives… who were running to our ship… they must be living somewhere underground. Captain… can you check on their bodies for clues?”

“Sure, boss.” Captain Shemira waded her way through the thick moss to where the natives were shot dead. She looked around in confusion.

“There is not a single body here, boss… looks like that this moss gobbled them up.”

Captain looked around. All eleven soldiers from the ground team were, in turn, looking at him.

“Let’s explore the area where those natives were coming from. Kritu, I need a deep scan of Termino on all frequencies… keep an eye out for the source of this moss-quake and this static.”

They started walking east searching for any anomaly in the grey world that seemed planet-wide now. The walk was punishing due to viscous moss and 140% gravity. Periodically, they would stop to pull themselves above the moss that seemed to be rising. After about an hour, they seemed to have hardly away from their ship.

He then heard Captain Shimera on comms. She had patched the science team on a common channel where she was asking a weird question.

“Kritu, how many Suns does Termino have?”

“One.” Came a quick reply from Kritu.

Admiral bellowed. “Has the thaw made you stupid, Captain?”

“Boss, look.” Captain replied. Admiral Gator didn’t get it till she repeated loudly. “Just look at the Sun.”

Admiral’s turned to the sky and for a second couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Only a part of the Sun’s orange disk was visible in the eastern horizon.

And then it clicked to him.

The Sun was rising. “Again?”

He instinctively looked at his watch. 5:30 AM.

“How is this possible? What the f**k does this mean?”

Admiral Gator turned towards Captain Shemira for an answer and his eyes widened. The sight was horrid. The moss that was only sticking upto her knees, suddenly crawled up her body. Before she could say something, the moss poured through her open mouth. It then went above her head and covered her entire body. And then as suddenly the whole thing merged back into the ground leaving no trace of her body.

For a second, Admiral stood stupefied. Then he stuttered, “M… Mission abort. P… prepare Alligator for departure. Ground team... back to the ship... immediately.”

“Admiral, the sensors are going crazy in here,” Kritu shaken voice came in. “I did scans and there are massive EM pulses going under the grey layer.”

“Where exactly?” said Admiral, sweating profusely, and trying to run as fast as he could.

“Everywhere,” Kritu replied. “L… looks like a neural network that spans the entire planet… it is… it is… communicating. It’s… alive.”

They had hardly taken ten steps towards the Alligator when a massive moss-quake shook them. A grey Tsunami rose up like a monster mouth and gobbled up the entire spaceship. Mortal screams flooded the comms. As the wave washed over the ship, shrill screams were replaced by a deathly silence.

Gator found himself shaking with fear for the first time in his life… and perhaps for the last time. Few others were sobbing. He emptied his entire ammo on the ground as if trying to kill a ghost underground.

And then… he saw it. In some distance, a large aircraft was breaking through the clouds and was getting closer to the ground.

“Looks like an imperial rescue ship.” Someone said.

Before Admiral could give a command, all the remaining soldiers were running towards the rescue ship. All eleven of them.

Eerily, the ship bore the exact markings of the Alligator, Admiral noticed, way too late. A hail of firepower blasted through them and there were eleven bodies on Termino to feed the grey monster again.

Same old, same old.

###

A CURIOUS PARTY

A CURIOUS PARTY

“I see some unusual activity Chief,” said 143XIIFX, his complete set of thousand compound eyes glued to the mega screen. To humans, the information displayed on the screen was at best gibberish if not entirely invisible for Proximans saw in the wider spectrum of frequencies than human eyes.

Commander 932VIIGZ woke up from her suspension. Her freshly laid eight hundred eggs swung in warm pouch of her skin just below her eye and antenna set that could be approximated as ‘head’ in human terms. 143XIIFX waited for her patiently as she made her way to the console. 932VIIGZ was three levels above him and lot more experienced in extraterrestrial zoology as made aptly clear with miscellany insignia on all eight of her shoulders. Had she not been his superior, he’d wait for her all the same as colony’s consciousness decided that he must do so.

“What kind of unusual activity, FX,” she said, addressing him with his informal name.

143XIIFX’s tense muscles became visibly relaxed but the concern in his voice remained. “There seems to be a global celebration in the System SOL Y47 Planet C. I suspect a planetary breakthrough event, Chief. But this one is without any other symptoms.”

Y47 Plant C. She remembered that one. Third planet of an average-sized middle-aged yellow star. A primitive planet locals called… what was that name… and colony’s shared memory came to her rescue… Ah -- Earth. A curious planet with curiouser dominant species. Technologically not yet qualified to be a member of the broader galaxy but still very close. The entire galactic council watched them closely for they were categorized as quite a dangerous species… for themselves and others.

Commander 932VIIGZ jumped to the console and huge amount of information on planet Y47C got relayed to her… and through her to the hive mind of the colony on their native planet. FX’s assessment was right. Y47C’s dominant species (who called themselves, unpronouncingly, ‘humans’), though incapable of sharing consciousness, seemed to be possessed by mass hysteria and orgy of celebrations. Entire globe was in a heightened state of euphoria and in recreational intoxication. There could only be explained logically by a Planetary Breakthrough as suggested by FX. Good lad that. He could provide good genetic material for her next mating season. She filed a mental note. Back to the current problem now.

“Did they finally achieve interstellar travel, Chief? Shall I activate ‘First Contact’ protocols?” asked FX earnestly.

932VIIGZ had considered that. “Quite possible FX. But no. At least not till we are sure beyond doubt.”

Next few micro-seconds were quite hectic for both FX and GZ. They went through reams of recent data on the planet. Their space-missions, technology broadcasts, medical announcements. But…

“Nothing. I found absolutely nothing,” said FX with exasperation. “I don’t see any sign of recent breakthrough from this species. They didn’t discover interstellar travel.”

GZ agreed. She had seen nothing like this in her observation of hundreds of species that have achieved Breakthroughs. “Did you check if they conquered any major diseases recently? Like… what they call… ‘Cancer’s cure’?”

“Negative Chief.”

“Immortality?”

“Nope.”

“What about better social order? Like complete equality… or… or… elimination of starvation.”

“I double checked, Chief. They still have all those problems.”

GZ’s antennas swung nervously. “But this doesn’t make any sense. What are those ‘humans’ celebrating? What is the cause for this maddening gathering?”

Not even the oldest living Proximans in the colony of 6-trillion possessed the answer. Now, the question was serious enough to wake-up the Queen from her hibernation. She was the only one who survived from cycle to cycle. Entire colony of Proximans waited with bated breath as the Queen stirred from her Preservation and regained her energy, sacrificing some nearby males in the process. Another excruciatingly slow two seconds passed before the Queen could communicate with FX and GZ. FX and GZ hardly caught any sleep during those two seconds and it showed in their swollen eye-set.

Queen’s voiced boomed in GZ’s ears. “What is it that you woke me up for, my child?”

GZ was immediately filled with reverence. But the immediate question was more important. She explained the situation to the Queen.

“Y47C? Hmmmm I am not fond of that planet, but its notoriety makes way into my memories. So, you are telling me that you suspect a planet-wide event from the species’ collective festivities but there seems to be none?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Let me recall… ah… I am getting something from my memory. I remember this question popping up earlier too… it was perhaps a thousand cycles ago… hmmm… let’s see. Is the planet’s location twenty-three deci-semi-arcs away from its parent star?”

GZ was startled. It was.

Queen could have laughed had it been capable of doing so. For a Proximan, her leg joints relaxed, and her antennas became taut.

“They are celebrating one revolution of their planet around their star,” she announced.

“What? Why? Do they propel the planet using artificial propulsion systems?”

“No no no, my child. It revolves on its own accord. Naturally.”

GZ was thoroughly puzzled. “Then I don’t get it. Why would they celebrate something that is not their doing at all? If the planet is in a stable orbit it is bound to go around. Is that point in planet’s orbit any special?”

“No, my child. The point of reference is completely arbitrary. And not only that… they don’t even wait for their planet to complete the orbit, they consider it complete before the planet reaches their point of reference. And then they make adjustments every fourth revolution.”

“This is strange.”

“It is. This is one thing you must remember about humans. They are logical and intelligent species and yet they make irrational decisions. Their entire planet is irreversibly heating up and yet they put little personal gain over species’ large benefit. In fact, quite a few of them would willingly harm the species to benefit oneself.”

A shiver went through GZ’s spine. “What a horrid thought.”

Queen turned back to her slumber. FX who was quietly listening and working all this while saw something strange on the screen.

“There seems to be a message these individuals are uttering to each other. Again, it doesn’t make any sense at all to me. There is nothing ‘new’ or ‘happy’ in their lives just because their planet has added another revolution to four billion it has already done.”

“What is the message FX?”

“’Happy New Year.’”

(“What a weird species.” GZ thought.)