Hard eyes glared up at him from behind an oaken counter. He paid no mind to them or their owner as he swung his legs over the rusty stool and dropped into its seat. His boots clicked down onto the bronze pole that served as a footrest. Jackson reached up and took his broad hat from his head, setting it down on the stool to his right.

“Gimme an ale. Somethin’ strong and dark. And a hunk of bread if you would be so kind,” he said. The barkeep continued to shine the glass in her hands for a moment before setting it down.

She was a pretty maid, couldn’t have been more than ten and seven with auburn hair that hung down to her shoulders. The soft flicker of a fire burning in the corner of the room brought out the green in her fierce eyes. She grabbed a tankard from the bottom shelf behind her and unstoppered the great wooden barrel that hung over the edge of the bar. A thick, dark mead flowed from the hole where the cork had been and drained into the glass below. The lass ripped some bread off of a hard white loaf behind the counter and set it on a tray with the ale beside. She slid it down towards him with a scrape and tapped the bar twice with her fingers.

“That’ll be two coppers for the ale, one for the bread, and another ten if’n you’ll be wantin’ a room,” she said with a cold stare. Jack took three coins from the purse at his belt and slid them to her over the countertop. He wouldn’t be needing a room tonight. Not if everything went as it should. He took a swig from his tankard and looked around the room, sweeping over the chairs scattered across the room and huddled around the hearth. The dusty men occupying them stared back with hard defiance. All except one. Do I know him? The man stared shiftily down at his boots as he drank from a rusty tin mug. He looked to be about twenty years of age with oily black hair hanging down to cover his bulbous nose and hideous twisted lips covered in scars.

It was not the most pristine of establishments. In fact, it was just about as dusty and forlorn as any of the saloons Jackson Blake had visited in his day. But if catching outlaws was a religion, this rusty bar was his Shangri-La. That’s Long Bill Waters, sure as day. I’ve never seen a bandit so ugly. Looks like he's got five or six friends in tow.

Jackson finished his drink with a few slow gulps and slid it down the counter to rest in the barkeep’s hand. The men around the fire were talking in hushed voices now, glancing occasionally in his direction. A few of them looked nervous, fidgeting as if they were waiting for something urgent. Jackson didn’t like that any more than he did the silver-grey six shooters that hung from each and every belt in the circle.

He casually reached down to his hip and felt reassuring cold steel beneath his grip. He was ready for whatever they might bring. This was not his first rodeo.

One of the men stood slowly and sauntered over to the bar, his boots clicking on the hardwood floor as he walked. He sat down next to Jackson’s hat and ordered a whiskey, straight. He cast a fleeting glance over in Jack’s direction, lingering just a second too long on the pistols by his side. They’re looking for trouble, but so am I.

“You been to Fort Griffin ‘bout this time last year? I’m lookin’ for a friend of mine. Might be you can help me find ‘im,” Jackson spoke up. The man fidgeted his gaze over to meet Jackson’s.

“Can’t say that I have. As to yer friend, I would need name or a face.” Jack reached into his pocket and set a crumpled piece of brown paper on the bar.

“Just so happens I have both. You seen this man before?” Jackson noticed the man’s neck tense as he unfolded the paper and stared at the face looking back at him.

“Son of a bitch…” The man’s hand shot down to the pistol at his side, but too late. Jackson’s own six-shooter was already in his hand and leveled at the outlaw’s chest. POP! POP! The first round caught him in the shoulder as he tried to rise. The second slammed into his chest right over his heart. He let out a soft gasp as his head hit the floor. The barkeep screamed out of shock and dropped the glass she was shining, glass shattered over the floorboards.

Around the fire the men were jumping out of their seats, drawing guns and kicking chairs out of the way. Bill Waters fired the first shot as soon as his finger found the trigger. The bullet whizzed past Jack’s head and buried itself into the shelf behind the bar. The barkeep fled the room through the back door as Jackson vaulted over the counter to take her place. Dozens of bullets screamed into the thick wood around the bounty hunter’s head as he huddled beneath the bar. The sound of their exit was so thunderous he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. I need to shoot my way out of here. Wait for an opening, stay alert.

By then three of the five that stood around the hearth had run out of ammunition and stopped to reload, kneeling on the hardwood floor. Jack took notice and drew his second gun from his belt. One, two, three. He jumped up, guns barking. A bullet struck through one bandit’s throat at the navel, sparking a fountain of red that sprayed in every direction. Another grazed the shoulder of the man next to him and knocked him from his feet, where Jackson finished him off. But for every shot the bounty hunter got off, his remaining targets sent three singing back through the air.

Jackson recoiled from a round that buried itself in the wood next to his arm on the bar and another ten that whistled past his head. He ducked back behind the counter. The outlaws continued to fire while he shoved six rounds into their chamber’s and caught his breath, protected by the thick wooden counter. This’ll never work. Those that are left won’t fall for that again. Jack unstoppered a bottle of gin that rested on the shelf behind him and took a long swig.

Suddenly the gunfire ceased and a cold silence filled the room. Smoke from both sides of the bar floated up to the rafters. “Bounty hunter!” a deep, gruff voice called out. “We’ll give you a choice now. Lay down your weapons and come on out here and we’ll spare the girl. Keep firing and my next bullet goes through her skull.” The girl. Dammit, how did they get to her? This’ll cost me.

He raised his hands over the edge of the counter and slowly rose to his feet. “I’m comin’ out.” Four bandits and one bartender stood in a semicircle around a scene of demolition. Blood pooled under a pile of what had once been chairs but had been reduced to firewood by the scrambling gunmen. The girl was unharmed as of yet but they had her surrounded, steel bared.

Long Bill flicked the barrel of his pistol over in Jack’s direction. “Walk.” He pointed to a spot on the floor in front of him. Jack climbed over the bar and walked slowly over, both palms raised. “You put up a hell of a fight, hunter. But we canyon boys have seen a fight or two in our days, and we’re not so easily incapacitated as it were.”

Jack looked over to the girl standing in the midst of their group. She caught his gaze and held it for a brief moment. He saw a flicker in her eye in that second, a look that frightened him. “Just you wait,” her eyes said. “Wait and see.” Jackson felt a knot twist in his belly. Ah, shit. She’s gonna try something.

Bill Waters took a step forward and raised his gun to level with the bounty hunter’s teeth. “Now, seeing as that you have surrendered, we will be doing whatsoever we like with your life and gold.” Jack swallowed back the nervous tension that had reached the back of his throat. He felt suddenly cold, then hot, as chills swept over his body. How am I gonna get out of this? The outlaw turned back and nodded his head at the barkeep girl behind him. “And hers.”

“You promised,” Jack scrambled to his feet in protest and advanced on Bill’s posse.

“Whoa, there cowboy. Back on up now,” Bill cocked the hammer of his pistol. “Now what we promised and what we intend to deliver are not one and the same. Being as we are humble thieves and murderers ourselves, we do not place too much emphasis on keeping promises. We’re bandits, you should know that. Are you ready to die now, boy?” Behind his shoulder, the girl inched forward. Jack looked down at her hands, which were removing something black and slick from the folds of her gown, he thought it to be a knife.

Jack cocked back his head and spit full in the outlaw’s face. “Well I guess that answers that,” one of the posse offered.

Bill raised his pistol again and made Jackson return to his knees. Jack closed his eyes. If you’re gonna do something, girl, do it quick. He looked back up and stared Bill dead in the face, defiant. Long Bill laughed, “I’ve never had much of a pension for allowing last words and the like, but…”

Suddenly the girl’s hands snaked out and Jack could see the object entwined within. If only for a fleeting glance, he could make out silvery circles raised over a a slick black surface. The length of the small flat rectangle was strewn with lines running from beginning to end. Small bright lights shone from one end, flashing on and off.

“What in the hell…” One of the posse began. But the room was suddenly filled with a shrill, high-pitched whine which seemed to echo off of the rafters and fill Jack’s head, his eyes, his chest. He sank to his knees and clasped his hands over his ears. The lights were shining violently now, throbbing red. Only the girl remained standing, seemingly unaffected by the sounds or the lights. The outlaws lay flat on the floor, rolling around and covering their ears. How the hell is she doing this?

Suddenly the lights and the sounds ceased. An eerie silence replaced them, and the light from the fire dimmed. Jack started to rise before… SCREEEECH! What looked like tiny lightning bolts flew from the end of the black device and shot out in every direction. Jackson was lifted off of his feet and thrown into the far wall, crashing violently against the wooden panels. A chair exploded onto the floor next to him and an empty tankard slammed into the small of his back.

He lay there on the floor for what could have been thirty seconds or an hour before he rolled painfully onto his side. He tried to open his eyes, but found that smoke filled the air thick and black. Off to his right someone was coughing as if they meant to die, so, Jackson crawled in that direction, bumping into rubble and burning chairs as he went. By the time he reached the source of the noise, he managed to open one eye and could see the room burning and collapsing around him. Three bodies lay atop one another underneath a fallen roof beam. Another had made it as far as the front door before he had died of burns, gunshots, or some combination of the two by the look of him. Jack crawled over to where he had dropped his six-shooters and gripped them tightly in his hands. He would do well to keep them around.

The coughing was coming from Long Bill Waters. He had fallen in the confusion of the blast, getting trapped by cascading debris, and lay with a pistol in his hand underneath the collapsed beam. Thick red blood clung to the skin of his chest, and flowed grisly from his mouth and left ear. Jackson kicked the pistol away and bent down over the man. “Your days of murder and rape are over, but not entirely by my hand. I’m sorry.” He raised his gun and put a bullet through the man’s brain. The blood spattered up into Jack’s face, and he wiped it from his brow.

Just then the rubble by the door shifted and a pair of dusty hands clawed its way out of the pile. Another one’s still alive. Jack looked back over his shoulder to see if he could find the last of the bandits, but when he looked back the pile was moved and the hand was gone. Shit, how did he move so fast? Through the smoke-blackened window he caught a glimpse of auburn hair fleeing towards the stables. Shit, how did she move so fast? He clambered over Bill’s body and went out of the door.

He limped slightly as he ran. The blast had slammed his leg into the wall with bone-shattering force, but he was hard to break, and recovered quickly. A crescent moon lit his way around the back of the burning saloon and into the barn doors.

She was saddling up a mottled brown palfrey when he caught up, her fingers working deftly over the old leather straps. Either she didn’t notice his footsteps crossing the stable threshold and creeping up behind her, or she did not mean to finish what she had started. Jack, however, was not given to such luxuries. “Where are you stealing off to with that horse? I have some questions that require answers.” Jackson cocked back his pistol to help make his point.

She turned and stared him down. “I’m done here. There’s work elsewhere for me. For you, too, it would seem.”

“So you’re a hunter.” Jack couldn’t believe his own ignorance. Of course she was. He lowered his gun, but didn’t put it away. “You know you didn’t finish Long Bill off. The credit’s mine.”

“I figured as much after I heard that shot. Thing is, I was headed out of the door when that building collapsed.” She turned back and resumed working on the saddle. The young mare whinnied. “Got trapped beneath a falling beam and couldn’t see much on account of the smoke—”

“How did you do that. I’ve never seen something so powerful.” Her silence told him more than her words could have. “Well you’re a fool if you think I’ll let you walk out of here. Not after that.”

She faced him and laughed quietly. Her eyes sparkled green in the moonlight shining through the open doors. “Good thing I’m not walking.”

And suddenly a pistol was in her hand and she was hurling bullets his way. Jack felt a force strong as a train rip into his stomach and knock him off his feet. A blinding pain rose up to his head and he screamed in agony. She swung up onto the saddle and kicked the horse twice in the ribs, galloping out of the barn. Jack realized he still had gun in one hand, and squeezed two rounds from the barrel. The first flew through the night sky past her head and off into the desert. The second slammed into her leg above the thigh and drew a dark stream of blood that shone in the blue moonlight. But she held onto the saddle with a yelp of pain and rode off towards the distant hills.

Jackson rolled to his side and pushed himself up to sit. The pain was nauseating, and he turned to retch in the straw on the floor. Taking leave of his senses, he drew in a sharp breath that sent a new wave of pain rolling over his stomach. He struggled to his feet and found a saddle on the wall. I can’t let this go unpunished. She won’t get away.  He hobbled over to a lean grey horse in the corner of the stable and threw the saddle up. He groaned his way through the straps and up onto the mount. In the distant moonlight he could see the dust from her trail rising into the night sky. Warm blood slicked down the side of his shirt and fell onto the ground in large drops; his head swam. He kicked the horse in its side and rode off after her.

At first the trail was easy to find. But as the soft sand turned to clay and rock, her trail all but disappeared. The only distinguishing path left was the rare drop of blood that fell from her leg and shone deep purple against the brown and red ground. She went to the hills, and he followed.

Jack caught her on a red sandstone butte three hundred feet above the desert floor. His horse made it only three fourths of the way up the trail before it became too steep and rocky to navigate. He continued on foot, passing a mottled brown palfrey along the way. The top of the butte was covered in green moss that proved a soft foothold; his boots dug into the soft ground. She was sitting on a twisted log facing away from him, the ground before covered in a pool of slick red. His own blood still seeped from the wound in his stomach, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forwards.

“End of the road, I fear. This is as far as it goes.” Jackson called out as he advanced on her seat. “That was a helluva shot back there. You almost did me in, but you’ll find I’m a bit harder to kill.” She stared ahead, ignoring his words. She still had a small pistol, but it lay on the ground in front of her.

Jack reached the log and hobbled around its side, using one hand for support on the rough, dry surface, and the other to nest the six shooter glinting in the moonlight. “You see, the truth is that I like a good fight, under the right circumstances. I like it almost as much the reward when I win. But you meant to take that reward from me. I’ve been tracking Long Bill Waters for longer than you’ve been playing this game.” Jack reached the front of the log and aimed his pistol at her head. “The game’s over.” She stared off into the distance, her hands resting on the dry wood to her sides. Talk about dignity in defeat. “Are you hearing this? I said it’s over.”

She made no move or sound. Jackson moved to her front and saw his error. She sat slumped over, the light gone from her emerald eyes. Her head drooped down into her navel. She’s gone. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t much like executions. He holstered his pistol. It should be just about morning now. He turned towards the coming light. But if he was looking for a sunrise, he didn’t find it.

Hard eyes glared up at him from behind a shiny six shooter. He stared back. His mouth gaped open in shock. “You’re wrong, hunter. The game’s just begun.”

“How did you…” but Jackson stopped himself before he started. Of course. He had seen it before, at the saloon. “You’ll pay for this.”

“You’ll have to catch me first.” She squeezed the trigger. POP! A brief flame burst from the barrel sending a hard bullet screaming through the air and through Jackson Blake’s left eye. Darkness crept up to cover the world.

— - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

Jack Masterson awoke in a cold, blue room with white sheets pulled up over his chest. His eyes felt heavy with disuse and his arms were leaden weights sinking into the firm springs of the mattress. It was daytime, the yellow beams of light streamed through the windows and thin curtains. He blinked to adjust his vision and pressed a small blue button to his side to raise himself into a seated position. “Game Master!” he croaked, his voice cracking and sharp to ears.

Electrical nodes attached to different spots around his chest, legs, and arms. The control cap sat heavily on his head, and he reached up feebly to pry it off. The wires that covered his body took slightly less effort to pull off, but even that proved to strain his fingers and wrists. He was reaching for the last pair on his legs when the game master came running in on two stubby legs, dressed head to toe in regulation blue.

“Masterson? What happened, you were first in the rankings since last week!” The man sputtered. He gave him a quizzical stare. Jack glared back and swallowed to clear his throat.

“I think we have a hacker.”

Part One

We always thought that they would find us. We always thought that they would come out of the sky and either hail or annihilate us. But that was sci-fi material. In fact, the first contact occurred just outside of the orbit of Proxima Centauri, a red dwarf star in the constellation Centaurus. Imagine our surprise. The search for extraterrestrial life took us further than we had dreamed, and yet the answer lay not four and a half light years away. We thought it would be Hubble or Maximus or any of our other long-range telescopes that would discover some blip on the surface of a planet on the outskirts of some solar system and then, suddenly, bam, we would have discovered alien life.

But, in 2137, a research team sent to collect data from our neighboring dwarf star was astounded to find an oblong, deep black device etched with slender markings lodged in the webbing of their spacecraft. It was unlike anything they had ever seen. Certainly it couldn’t be natural. No environmental condition or mineral forming could have created the complex patterns and glyphs that were carved into the artifact. There was only one explanation: something else was out there, and we were not alone.

Once news of the discovery reached Earth, chaos of biblical proportions shook the foundation of societal laws. The planet split in half, one side wishing to pinpoint and contact the aliens, and the other wishing to hurl the device into the sun, never the wiser to its origin.The latter group decided that, to ask the questions of where and why the object had been sent, would be to risk the safety of the entire planet. They established their borders along the equator, forcing their counterparts out of the Northern Hemisphere in the largest land-exodus in recorded history. They colonized the now half-abandoned cities of the Northern half of our planet and began to amass resources, communication technologies, and, eventually, armies. There was no way they could stand by and let the one thing that was keeping them alive dissolve. The extraterrestrials didn’t know we existed, and they intended to make sure that never changed.

Those who wished to search for answers formed new borders along Central America, Northern Africa, Australia, and the Pacific Islands. But countries no longer needed to exist. Within the confines of both the North and the South there was no need to distinguish differences that had plagued humanity since the Middle Ages. Black and white, gay and straight, only intellectuality was favored above all other traits. Now there was a greater goal. They attempted to resolve the issues between the two sects, but to no avail. Tensions rose steadily higher.

The conflict reached a boiling point in November, 2155, when the second greatest discovery of the century was made. A team of researchers working on decrypting the artifact’s etchings made a landmark breakthrough, managing to decypher almost half of the entire set of markings through a computer algorithm. Some of the characters depicted stars we had seen in our own night sky. The others pointed to a massive planet the size of three Earths, their home. If we could find the astrological locations of the surrounding stars, we could find the planet they so desperately wished to share.

It was a map, and it led us right to them.

A Brief Encounter

A bright green light flashed for a brief second on the dashboard and then was gone. The radar swept slowly from sector to sector, detecting nothing but the emptiness of space and a few small asteroids that quickly passed. Outside of the long glass cockpit window, tiny lights shone brilliantly throughout the dark sky, both closer and further away than seemed possible. Annabelle had travelled for seven months, stopping for neither obstacle nor repair. At speeds a hundred times that of light, the ship had travelled nearly eighteen parsecs from its port on Earth, the farthest any ship had been from the motherland.

In his small crew’s quarters, the sound of Lukas’s slow breath traveled across the cabin and filled the silent halls of the ship. The health monitor displayed a steady heartbeat that rose and fell, noting the rhythm of his sleep. His boots and suit hung just by his feet next to the bed. Lukas had settled in ten hours before, and was just now beginning to stir.

The heavy olive eyelids that held back his sight slowly separated. Lukas stretched his arms out to either side and twisted his back, feeling the tension of a long rest leave his body. He rose to his feet and slipped inside of the deep crimson spacesuit that he had worn a thousand times before. He admired the fit in the mirror opposite his dormitory. Though it was well equipped for any environmental challenges, it was made of only a thin composite material a mere half-inch thick. Even so, it was lighter than cotton and more breathable than any shirt Lukas had worn back on Earth. A golden insignia of two meteors fleeing from a sleek spaceship embroidered the center of his chest. The boots he decided to leave behind. He wouldn’t need them; he wasn’t going to leave the ship today.

Feeling a slight dryness in the back of his throat, Lukas slunk slowly out of his quarters and down the hall to the bathroom. The glass door slid open as he neared, and he reached just inside to fill a cup of water. The cool taste of the liquid filled his mouth as it slid down the back of his throat. He walked to the galley and opened a vacuum-sealed container of beef, bread, and dried fruit, staples of a modern Earth diet. He would need his energy for the day to come.

Lukas heard a soft click and a sudden rush of air as the halls filled with fresh oxygen. The environmentally-controlled ship left nothing to be desired. Temperature and toxin-monitored water flowed from every tap and spigot around the crew’s quarters, and nuclear heating tubes kept him safe from the almost negative one-hundred degrees celsius temperatures that crept just outside the spaceship’s hull. The whole system was run by a super-computer stored away somewhere in the ship’s many engineering rooms. Sometimes, when the Annabelle would pass too close to a star, it would have to enable carbon-conduction cooling methods to keep its sole passenger from baking alive. Lukas was happy for the protection. After all, space is a dangerous place.

The LED screens of the pilot’s monitor flashed bright blue for a second and then flicked fully on as Lukas approached the cockpit. He settled into the deep, leather arms of the captain’s chair and turned to face the bay window that lay before him. Almost immediately he shrunk back away from the emptiness that lurked outside of the thick glass wall. It was too much. For months he had stared out at the black and found only black staring right back. Now as he approached his destination he felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. All of his preparation, all of his thoughts and imaginations about what he was about to discover were about to be reaffirmed or swept away with the alien winds.

Setting out from Earth, he knew he would be lonely. He had no delusions as to the distance between his flying tin-can and the orb of rock that he called home. After he switched to post-light speeds, he was no longer to contact anyone on Earth. Their communications simply could not reach him fast enough. But it was not without cause that he now flew through the vacuum of space. He flew for discovery and wonder and everything that had ever made a person stare breathlessly up at the night sky. But more importantly, he flew for peace. He flew for the end of the war that had raged for thirteen years between the North and the South.

The preparations for Lukas’ departure were made long before the location of the alien planet was know. They would be ready, they thought, so they could finally have the answers when they needed them most. But, after the map had been drawn, it was only a few short months before the first bullet left its chamber. The North couldn’t stand by while its southron brother destroyed the one thing keeping them safe. The South couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste. They launched their space shuttle, and the fighting began.

Annabelle was a capable ship; her top speed was one hundred and fifteen times that of light, and it relied on a warp drive system well ahead of its time. For the Southern scientists, however, that wasn’t fast enough. They wanted to be alive to see their ambassador reach the alien planet and peaceful encounter on a much different scale than had ever been seen before. So, much like its pilot, the Annabelle Lee was not the first choice for the mission. That honor went to the Red Baron, a highly advanced project that boasted some new technology sure to revolutionize space travel. But in the midst of a military skirmish surrounding the research base in Sao Paulo, the Baron was incapacitated, its navigation system ripped from its skeleton and the uranium cores that powered it stolen. There was no choice left. The launch had to go on.

Lukas was the third best astronaut in the lineup. Out of ten applicants, he was the second best navigator, the third best translator, and the worst fighter. But instead of succumbing to the pressure and dropping out of the ranks, Lukas stuck through the training and came out on top. He knew something the others didn’t. He craved something they hadn’t even begun to consider. They were not traveling sixty light years to conquer or to invade. They were going as ambassadors. Lukas understood that the only way to stifle the effects of war on Earth was to ask the questions that nagged at humanity’s heart. He alone could bring the message of peace to the aliens, and he alone could bring it back to Earth.

“What is our ETA?”

Lukas’ question rang about the steel walls of the cabin. A soft click of machinery swiveled the front-facing monitor to his eye level and a soft feminine voice answered his call.

“Approaching Gemini 3 -7 from rear-orbit. Acceleration negative one thousand kilometers per second. Arrival in 13 minutes.”

He stood and turned off the monitor, shutting down the cockpit lights as he went. Before he left he activated the automated external defense system linked to his spacesuit and designed to protect him from harm. The mission was to prevent violence, but he was blind against the unknown species, and he had no way of knowing what was out there.

Lukas made his way to the back of the ship where the loadout room was located. He donned a set of black composite gloves. They could withstand heat up to three thousand degrees Celsius and stood against cold just as vicious. He attached a small micro computer system to his back that would give off environmental readings and detect life forms within a thirty foot radius. A helmet of impenetrable diamond glass covered his head down to his shoulders, with a display that showed toxin levels in the air and the amount of oxygen left in his tank. He would be fine, he reasoned, thirteen hours of air was enough to get out and explore and then come back to the ship. Thirteen hours and he would be back on the ship, he told himself. All he has is thirteen hours.

His heart was racing inside his chest as he reached for the leather holster strapped to the wall. The clasps fit snugly around his waist, and he adjusted the belt so his laser gun would be just next to his hand. He lifted the gun from its place on the rack and looked it over twice. The carbon fiber handle fit nicely in his hand. It held enough power to level a house, if he needed it. For his life and the thirty billion back on Earth he prayed that he wouldn’t.

“Arrival in one minute at landing zone Alpha. Conditions stable. Wind speed thirty miles per hour with heavy sediment.”

“Doom. Doom. Doom” his heart seemed to scream at him. “Don’t open the door. You don’t know what’s out there. You don’t know what could be waiting.”

The Annabelle buckled under its own weight as the landing gears struck the hard alien ground. Three hundred and fifty to trillion miles, and he had made it. He took a deep breath to try and calm his heart and untie the knots in his stomach, but to no avail. His fingers shook as he raised his glove to the bright orange release button on the steel door in front of him. His hand fluttered nervously around the hilt of his laser gun. Annabelle shuddered and the door fell from its hinges to the ground below.

Ffffwwwwwwwwwww. The wind and dust howled into the ship as Lukas stumbled forward. The alien sediment trapped in the wind blew around his helmet, and he could not see but fifteen feet in front of him as he walked down the ramp. His feet found the rocky soil at the bottom of the ramp first, but his knees were soon to follow, digging into the cold, tan ground. He wasn’t sure if his eyes had seen what lay before him or if his imagination had conjured it.

A pale grey, muscular creature ten feet in length lay unmoving on the ground below. In its four seven-fingered hands it clutched sharpened poles made of the same black material as the artifact Lukas had studied to prepare for his mission. Its feet were like solid blocks of stone, dauntingly huge like its massive arms and torso, and callused from intense use. A surprisingly sophisticated face sported a pair of tusks that grew from just behind the alien’s jaw in the place of teeth. A long flat nose pointed up at the sky. Quiet and blank were its three blue eyes as they seemed to stare into the space in which Lukas had been standing. From its chest leaked a clear red liquid which had stopped flowing some time ago.

Lukas climbed shakily to his feet and stepped over the body. Tears now leaked from his face as he walked, but he pressed on. An alien hill loomed before him, but he could not find the capacity to climb it. Strewn across slope were dozens of other alien bodies, thrown about like ragdolls. Their tusks shown proudly in the light of the two suns. Their blood ran cold in the tan dust around them.

Taking a deep breath, Lukas turned and began walking towards a small shadow at the

edge of his vision. He strained to see a metallic looking object floating a few feet off of the ground. He picked up his pace and the object grew larger in the distance. His boots slammed one after the other on the hard rocks below his feet. The metal began to take form. Lukas slowed down to a walk as he realized it was the wing of a ship; his hand dropped to the pistol on his thigh. Slowly he walked left and ducked under the wing. The ship felt cold to the touch as he brushed his hand against its side. He took a step back and looked up. His knees buckled and his eyes watered as he stared at the side of the spacecraft. If his mission was to protect Earth from the attack of the aliens, it was complete.

The red letters on the side of the ship read: The Red Baron, Earth.

Epilogue

Captain’s Log

Captain Robert Stark II

May 25th, 2180

The Red Baron

Our destination was Gemini 3 -7, and we were to arrive on the 20th of May. We flew the Baron out past the orbit of Pluto to a location safe enough to test the new engine. Spirits were high as we knew we would be the first on the aliens’ doorstep. A ship was sent out some years before us, but more as a last minute resort than a full attempt at mission success. It was piloted by only one pilot, with no crewman or defense teams. By creating a wormhole in space-time we would be able bypass its travel speed infinitely. With this new technology we could go where and when we wanted in a matter of days. It took the Baron thirty six hours to prepare for launch and thirty minutes to create a wormhole. We entered not knowing if we would return, but without a single trial run, we were successful. We entered Gemini’s orbit and landed safely.

For a few days the aliens were nowhere to be found. We sent out search parties every six hours to check the surrounding hills. The rocky crags that overlooked landing zone Alpha were covered in thousands upon thousands of dark green bushes which we later attributed as the aliens’ primary food source. We found no animals on Gemini for the first couple of days, but eventually a couple dozen grey snake-looking creatures approached the ship. That was it, until we made first contact.

The aliens are a brutish bunch of foul-smelling creatures. Ten feet tall, skinless, and greyer than the London sky, they have three eyes bluer than the rivers that streamed around the landing zone. Two ugly, sharp tusks protrude from their mouths, and they have no teeth at all. They are quite primitive, and when we first discovered a small group huddled in a cave, they were brandishing long spears made of an unknown mineral. Seeing us at the mouth of the cave, they quickly grouped together and pointed their spears at our throats, shouting in some incomprehensible tongue. We made quick work of the lot and carried one back to the ship in a bag for DNA analysis. But it was not long before more, a force of about one hundred, quickly followed. They surrounded the Baron and locked us in the cockpit, forcing us back with their spears. Here we await what, death? Triumph? We hold our breath.

God save our souls.

A popular trend in today’s society is for a group of people, a set of ideals, or a style to return to it’s roots in contemporary culture. It is seen as almost original to bring back a popular catch phrase, wear a 1930’s style suit and tie, or own a vintage automobile. Many modern television shows and movies can be retraced back to their roots in contemporary literature as well. While they may not always directly reflect the plots, themes, or characters of their older counterparts, these pictures are heavily influenced by the works that have come before them. The 2004 film “50 First Dates” reflects Shakespeare’s “The Taming of the Shrew”, using themes of love and romance, as well as the parental involvement in those affairs, inspired by the late playwright’s comedy.

“The Taming of the Shrew” follows a troupe of men seeking to woo a duo of sisters, one a sweet, fair maiden named Bianca, and the other a seemingly bitter “shrew” named Katherine. Lucentio, the son of a rich man seeks to win the hand of Bianca, but is unable to do so because of a rule set forth by her father, Baptista - Bianca cannot get married before her sister Katherine is wed. Lucentio goes undercover as  a school teacher to woo his love, while a suitor named Petruchio takes a more forward approach in taking Katherine as his wife. In “50 First Dates”, a young playboy, Henry falls in love with a local girl, Lucy who is plagued by a mental condition; unable to form short term memories past a night’s sleep. Lucy’s father, Marlin, forbids her from forming any type of romantic relationship for fear that she may be hurt.

Shortly after Henry learns of Lucy’s mental condition in “‘Dates”, he follows her to her house to try to win her hand, however her father has other plans. In order to protect her from waking up next to a man she does not recognize for the rest of her life, he forbids her and anyone who wishes to be with her, from finding love together. “50 First Dates” reflects society’s need for a safe and comfortable life, just as “The Taming of the Shrew”’s Baptista does for his daughter.

“Gentlemen, importune me no farther, For how I firmly am resolv'd you know; That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter before I have a husband for the elder.”

(Baptista, Act I Scn I)

Baptista will not allow Bianca to marry for fear his eldest daughter will be alone forever. This fear is great enough that he is willing to sacrifice his daughter’s affections to calm his anxieties. Because there are so few suitors for Katherine, Bianca must also wait to be wed. Though this play was written hundreds of years ago, it describes perfectly today’s society’s need for certainty. As outlined by modern media like 50 First Dates, people today are unlikely to make a decision without near-complete certainty. Baptista is uncertain of Katherine’s future, and sacrifices Bianca’s, at least for the time being.

It is not until the plot of “50 First Dates” has progressed quite far that Henry is given permission by Marlin to court the forgetful Lucy. After Marlin realizes that happiness and security for his daughter can be found in Henry, he relinquishes his grip on her love life. Henry and Lucy begin to fall in love, and eventually become married with a child. The last scene finds Marlin, Henry, Lucy, and the couple’s child together on a boat in Alaska, a dream Henry has had for quite some years. The fact that Marlin is present at the end of the film says that he condones their marriage and had a large hand in completing their relationship, just as Baptista eventually finds a husband for Katherine.

“I know not what to say; but me your hands. God send you joy, Petruchio! ‘Tis a match” (Baptista, Act II Scn I)

A rich man, Petruchio, comes to the city where Baptista and his daughter live. Lucentio seize the opportunity and strikes a deal with the young suitor - Petruchio will marry Katherine, thereby freeing Bianca to be married as well. Baptista immediately takes to Petruchio and promises him his bride. Lucentio and Bianca eventually become married as do Petruchio and Katherine, all with the blessing of Baptista. Unlike Marlin from “50 First Dates”, however, Baptista’s rules never changed. He is a steadfast figure throughout the entire play, and holds his standards throughout the storyline.

The film “50 First Dates” by director Peter Segal was written hundreds of years after William Shakespeare’s play “The Taming of the Shrew”, yet it still draws heavily from ideas presented in the play. Both texts describe society’s reliance on control and dependence on certainty through their plots, characterizations, and scripts. Both follow a set of young lovers who need to find approval from the fathers of the women in the text. Though the fathers are reacting to different circumstances, they are doing so with the same intentions, and the same outcome. Maybe our society isn’t much different from that of years gone by. Maybe we’re just all trying to find love and approval for that bond.

Works Cited:

Shakespeare, William. The Taming of the Shrew. Pp. 84. J. Tonson & the Rest of the Proprietors: London, 1734. Print.

50 First Dates. Dir. Peter Segal. Perf. Adam Sandler, Drew Barrymore. Sony Pictures, 2004. Netflix.