The Virus

Viruses are cesspools of genes rather unremarkable in nature. They perform certain actions of life such as reproduction and environment adaptation, but they cannot grow or make their own energy, and they are not made of cells. It had been a long line of evolution to have them possess a finer state than most inanimate objects, but the lot of their cast are shunned for their destructive qualities. They hop from one host to another, drawing in resources, leaving demise in their wake.

All this my grandfather told me, information of which I had no interest in at the time. He was a virologist in his prime years, he always talks about it. I visit him from time to time because he has many stories of our ancestors. I remember one time he told me a story about an intergalactic virus, a very sophisticated one, so sophisticated you could not tell they were even a virus. This virus was of the planet-killing kind. 

“Grandpa, what do you mean by that? Does everyone die?”

“In a way. This virus I speak of sucks out the life of the planets they touch until nothing but a hollow darkness is left. No one exactly dies, but there’s no difference in what they become.”

“What happens to the planet?”

“The same. It gets corrupt and loses all its health and vigour. You can say the trees wither and die, the waterfalls get reduced to trickles, the skies have fewer and fewer clouds.”

All this troubled me in that specific way a child might have been troubled by such scary facts. I never believed my grandfather’s words fully yet never erased them from my memory either. The problem was mostly that I did not understand what he meant. I knew he was far wiser than me, well beyond his years, and virology was a study I was no expert in.

School ended about an hour ago. When I got home in our tank my friends contacted me through the cognidefibrillator. My gelatinous fingers picked it up as it sent an electrical shock through me, and I could hear what they said.

“Those alien spaceships the government has been scouting for weeks now. They’re here.”

“Oh? I thought they were due in yet another week.”

“What do you think they want from us?”

“They’re really weird. They’ve got this weird hair all over them.”

I placed the cognidefibrillator down. Stretched a bit. My jello limbs twisted and turned as I did so. I had no sense of the scale of what was going on at this time, me here in this quiet tank in the suburbs. Checking the news, maybe, would be a good idea. I walked past the table and around the tank seats to reach the screen.

For the next few months these ten-digit bipedal hairy creatures called humans spent their time settling down on our fields. Their rocket exhausts flattened the grass, scared away our livestock, and scattered dust and smoke all over our homes. I remember watching on the news everything happen live. They wore blue uniforms and walked upright, tall, with their hands behind their back as if everything they did involved dignity and honour. Those that didn’t wear blue uniforms instead had orange or white vests and hardhats, and there were many of them. I mostly saw them carry cargo off the extended ramps of their ships, unloading massive silver and blue aluminum crates, an insignia of sorts plastered all over them. It’s hard to describe. A red, blue, and white bird of some kind with golden wings. Smaller things around it, such as a red background with five yellow stars--one big four small--a building with onion-shaped striped roofs, upright lions, and many more. Four-wheeled vehicles rolled out of their ramps with more cargo, jeeps and trucks encircling swathes of land, claiming areas here and there. Some of them in long, white coats set up tripods, tables, computers, lights. There were squadrons of them marching as cohesive units, dozens at a time, stopping at once and turning around at the signal of what I presumed were the commanders, older and in grand white uniforms. 

“Who is the authority here?” they said when they spoke to us. I could hear it all through the screen. I remember next that the mayor of our town had a long conversation with them. We determined they were peaceful. At least, that’s what I got out of watching it unfold on the screen. When I told this to my grandfather he had laughed. He said, “If you enter someone’s home without knocking first, is that peaceful?”

They claimed they were here to bring us prosperity if, in return, we gave them a home and respect. They traded us weapons and vehicles, devices beyond our comprehension, theorems and algorithms that we probably would have taken a few more millennia to find.  

The true scale of their integration into our planet was withheld from my eyes as I continued to live my normal suburban life. Now I was walking to the market to fetch some vegetables my mother had asked me to get. Old man Grisworth was the name of the man I always bought from. His vegetables were always very fresh, and he’s great to talk to. He always tells me stories about the olden days.

“These intruders oughta find what they want fast quick so they can leave as fast as possible,” he said as he helped me pick the best gorbfruits from the stand.

“Intruders?”

“Oh, yes! Of course they are.”

“We let them in, didn’t we?”

“If a bigger dog with bigger teeth wants to be let in the pen, he will be.”

“What do they want from us? Do you know?”

“Whatever we have to offer. I reckon they’ll be here for a while. I want nothing more than for them to leave.”

“I see.”

“Here, this one looks good.” He put it in my bag. “Hurry along now, to your mother. I think it's supposed to rain.”

I looked up. He was right, the sky was getting dark. Rain was on the way.

“Thanks!” I paid him and my slimy bottom slithered away. Next stop was the train station. I had to drop off something at my friend’s house. 

When I got there a peculiar human in a suit slumped on a bench looked at me with curious eyes. He smelled terrible but I pretended not to notice. Ever since they came, they’ve been everywhere around town now. It’s probably like that everywhere else, too, around the planet. He did eventually talk to me.

“Hey there, gelatinous fella.”

“Hello, mister.”

“Do you know what time it is? I can’t be late for my wife’s birthday dinner.”

I told him the time. He thanked me and sighed, moving back on the bench. A moment passed before he passively asked, “What do you think of us, gelatinous fella?”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t think all of you pardon us so easily. Some of you hate us, surely.”

“Why so?”

“Don’t be naive, young one! I for one am not proud of my own people. You’ve been such a peaceful, benevolent race, from what I have observed so far. I don’t feel right settling in your home. But alas, my wife likes this planet out of the many ones we’ve been to. Other races had more resistance.”

“I have heard of some things, sir. But I am not one to be very updated on them.”

“What things?”

“Food company shortages, oil company shortages, gas prices up. The economy being volatile. Complaints about the humans taking things.”

“Indeed. What’s your name?”

“Jel, sir.”

“Call me Elijah.”

“Hey! Stop talking to that man!”

An old slime man had appeared, holding up his cane and flailing it at Elijah threateningly. I immediately recognized him.

“Mr. Grisworth?”

He separated me and Elijah with his cane. “Stay away from these vile scum, Jel! They don’t deserve anything, acting like they’re owed everything in this world.”

Elijah was stunned. Mr. Grisworth stared at him with a pure, cold hatred. I felt raindrops on my shoulders. I tried to explain. “Mr. Grisworth, this man is just trying to get home to his wife for her birthday.”

“I can see through all their facades of pure-heartedness,” he said. “Their lies of empathy. You should be able to as well.”

“Sir,” said Elijah. “I don’t mean any harm.”

“It’s all of you! I don’t care which one, as long as you’re a human!”

The sky was getting darker. The rain was coming down hard, now. I head a rumble in the distance. “A storm is coming, just like you said, Mr. Grisworth. We should go home before it gets bad.”

I pulled him aside, under the overhang of the train station, as the rain came like the ocean. Puddles formed quickly and lightning flashed. An announcement came on, saying trains were delayed due to the storm.

A huge crowd of people, both slime and man, came rushing down the stairs to the walk, spilling into every empty space. It suddenly got loud as everyone voiced their worries and concerns. Everyone wanted to go home. Mr. Grisworth was forced to be next to Elijah, and he didn’t look too happy about it. I decided I’d have to give back what I had to return to my friend another day.

“Oh no, I’m going to be late for my wife,” said Elijah.

The worst happened next. There was a low boom, like the sound of a power generator going out, and the lights flickered off. It became deadly dark except for the grey light of the sky. The crowd around us got louder. There was yelling and cursing and children crying. The sound of thunder and the pattering of rain boomed over everything else.

“What is going on?” said Mr. Grisworth. He looked around, fear on his face.

Accusations began in the crowd.

“It’s the humans! They’re stealing our power!”

“Hey! What makes you say that?”

“They’re definitely directing the power to the human districts! We should protest!”

“Yeah!”

“Stop assuming things, you slimy…”

“We should riot!”

“Yes!”

“They’ve taken enough from us already! We’re practically in poverty at this point!”

Elijah’s phone began ringing. He looked at me, then took the call.

“Honey? What’s going on? Are you fine?” said a voice on the phone.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh thank God. I heard the power went out in various areas around the city. Is the power out where you are?”

“Yes, it is. I’ll probably not make it in time for dinner. It depends on when the power comes back on. What about you? Is the power out for you?”

“No, it’s fine here. The kids are fine. Stay safe, honey.”

A slime man overheard the conversation and was furious. He yelled to the crowd around us. “Hey! Listen here! The human districts still have power!”

The crowd, after a moment of comprehending what he said, erupted in anger. Attention focused on the minority of humans in the crowd. Slime men began harassing them, yelling at them, even shoving them. Many were on Elijah, the person who had the call. I heard his wife, still on the phone, say “Honey? What’s happening?” before he hung up.

“Hey! What’s with you people?” he said as they grabbed his arms.

“Get off our planet!”

“Go back home, hairy apes!”

Mr. Grisworth and I watched as they prepared to hurt him. He screamed for help. I moved to act, but Mr. Grisworth put his cane in front of me, holding me back as he shook his head in disapproval. 

Before my very eyes, my own kind struck and kicked Elijah on the bench. They pulled his suit and shoved him to the ground. More of them, men, women, even children--moved forward to kick him. A defenseless man. He screamed for help, putting his hands up. I watched all this with a silent demeanour, this macabre beating, gruesome and brutal; I felt pity and shame. I was never one to get involved since these humans arrived. My parents and friends understand that about me. I stay out of conflict, I stay out of knowing the latest news. But something about this scene stirred me. Time seemed to stop still where I stood as more slime men and women passed or shoved by my shoulders to get to him. 

In my head I had a heroic fantasy of swooping in and saving him. I stepped forward and put my arms up, defended him from the crowd, told everyone to stop. My voice was so loud and commanding, everyone would listen. I gave an amazing speech to why everyone was wrong to attack this innocent human. Such an image in my mind was pleasing. I wanted nothing more than to finally act upon my days of inaction, to speak over my days of silence. But I never got the chance to fulfill this desire. 

Mr. Grisworth put a hand on my shoulder behind me. In a low voice he said, “Let’s go inside. Once the power comes back on, we’ll go home. The humans are taking our power now. There could be riots all over the city. We as the host should not pity them, our military shall be our immune cells. Together we’ll get rid of their imperialism altogether.”

I stared blankly ahead of me. Then I nodded.

He continued, “When they leave to the stars, once they are done with us and leave us in the dust, they will do the same to another poor planet. No pity, Jel. Remember that. No pity.”

Elijah was still on the ground. He had numerous bruises and a black eye now, but they were still kicking him. He kept murmuring something that I assumed to be his wife’s name as he braced each blow. To what end should I pity this? None, so it seemed, Mr. Grisworth told me so. Every innocent human was a part of this ransacking of a planet whether they wanted to be or not, whether they claimed they were participating or not, whether they loved the original inhabitants or not, whether they were kind or not, whether they did anything or not. And of a man who immigrated to our planet with his family to settle his future generations here thinking nothing of the past ones sickened me to my stomach, down to a feeling so bothersome to the core, fleeting, churning, rising. I will hide my ears from the cries of his pain on the ground, in the same way he will hide his children from the reason why they have a home here.

Years upon years of knowing these beings have lead to an unfathomable amount of pain for our race; after all I have seen them do, toiling to fill their unquenchable desires, their ungrateful means, their unsatisfied ends, I finally understand now, with the same clarity as when I first heard my grandfather say it. To own a larger perception of the surrounding facts that perpetuate their expansive conquest now than when they first came to our planet, can I answer the question longing to be answered in my mind all these years? About what my grandfather meant? Yes. I can finally see now what he meant when he called them a virus.

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