Greys at Cowsong

Prologue

Greys fall at Cowsong          

 

Zeta is dressed in full battle uniform. Her already impressive physique accentuated by a space-black skin suit that shows strands of muscle in her shoulder, wrist and throat.

She stretches her long blue hands and looks out the window of her ivory transit ship. Cowsong Moon is magnificent. The captured asteroid hangs comfortably between planet Alioth and planet Mizar, Its otherwise chalk white surface brilliantly lit by the two looming multicoloured gas giants.

The ship cuts through Cowsong’s upper layer atmosphere, bringing view to scores of monstrous tube shaped greenhouses that rise and glint on every horizon. Zeta’s ship targets, recognises and then describes the dizzyingly tall Eucalypts, Coast Redwoods and Australian Mountain-ashes as genetically modified trees from Old Earth. Fascinated, Zeta commands the ship’s decent to within ten meters of Cowsong’s closest and most northern tube, and walks towards the screening deck for a better view.

“Faster Olivia, I want take in my surroundings before where’re grounded. Also, I’d like a full description of the atmospheric conditions within these, tree prisms.”

“Yes Zeta, I will bring you as close to the greenhouses as my field will allow. Would you like me to magnify the decks viewing screen for a further preview of the plantations? I’ve already located several other flora, including Nord-indigenous plants that you may or may not be familiar with.” 

The ships broad knowledge of things has always made Zeta feel foolish, though today she thinks Olivia’s extended replies and seemingly higher pitched tones are especially condescending.

“That won’t be necessary, just make a bee line towards the earth trees. I want descent for a half hour. Then we need to ground and I’ll meet with the Nord troops.”    

“Yes Zeta, as you wish.”

 

Nord bishop Gibbous Zamia stands tall within the upper observatory of his grounded battle ship. The colourful chaos of plasma grenades, laser cannon beams and pulse rifle shots burst violently over the rock’s already psychedelic red, yellow and purple hues.

“They are a greedy race.” Explains the bishop through his thin wide mouth, “Take the samples we need; then scorch the remaining plantations. Our message will be heard.”

“Yes sir.” The ground troop salutes, then gaining courage. “…Sir.”

Gibbous turns from his light show. 

“Is the rumour true?”

“What rumour?” Gibbous looks back to the carnage, his large shadow flashing on all walls.

“That the legendary Zeta is coming here, to Cowsong. That she’s joining our fight against the pillaging Greys, and that you sir are meeting with her tonight.”

Ground troop Pollex’s wide green eyes are fixed on the great bishop’s glowing head. Pollex can see a smile form in the bishop’s cheeks, then watches as it broadens, projecting shadows of his razor sharp teeth like a thousand bear traps around them.

“Yes, Zeta is coming.”

 

                                   By Jacob Saggers