Part I:

The Red Crab Creatures from Outer Space that Will Conquer the Earth and Sell Humanity as Slaves that Work in the Dorax Mines of Zontar!!!

-by William Berry

I was typing a story that would be turned down by Analog Science Fiction and Fact when my instant messenger came up. (Actually I was watching seti@home while thinking of a plot for a story Analog wouldn't turn down, and yes, I use DSL to connect to the Internet to ease any research.)

It was Kcarl721 to say, "HI."

Carl Baumgartner is an old college friend of mine in another state. I welcomed the distraction. "S'up," I typed.

"Check your e-mail," he typed.

Outlook Express took a long time to download. I asked Carl about it.

"I forwarded to you an attached file," typed Carl, "of a video transmission received by JPL."

In case you hadn't guessed, Carl is gullible. He forwards lots of junk e-mails warning of viruses and stuff. After getting the 'Klingerman' note (beware of blue envelopes from the Klingerman Foundation) I told him of www.scambusters.org and www.urbanmyths.com, but he apparently liked to use me to de-bunk various claims.

I didn't want to waste too much time with what was probably a fake. "What is it?" I typed.

"When you get it, execute it," he typed back. Carl wouldn't knowingly send me a virus, so I played the video.

"Hear me oh people of Earth," said the crustacean on the monitor, "and tremble."

I smiled even though I couldn't see a zipper.

"We have analyzed the data you so thoughtfully gave us," he said as his clawed hand held up the disc from Voyager II, "and we are coming. HaHaHaHaHa. Do not fear us earthmen for we will not kill you. You are too valuable as slaves in the Dorax mines of Zontar. HaHaHaHaHa.

"Oh, excuse my manners. I am called Zylax and I am a Cortation. You, however, may call me...Master. HaHaHaHaHa."

"Amusing little fake," I typed.

"You think its fake?!" typed Carl. Carl seemed to take this seriously.

'Y,' I typed.

"The guy at JPL who put it on the net thought it was real," typed Carl.

"When did Voyager II stop transmitting?" I asked.

Carl sent me a link to an AP story about Voyager II's transmissions stopping.

"Interesting, Carl," I typed, "but it is still a fake. I'll show you why. Play your version and stop where he holds up the album. That will give you an idea of scale. I estimate he's six feet tall. Ever eat lobster?"

"Um, Yeah," typed Carl, "but what does that have to do with this?"

"Ever notice that bigger lobsters have thicker shells? They have a thicker shell so they can support their own weight. Zylax's exoskeleton must weigh, what 1,000 pounds? What ever it weighs, any muscles he has to lift it must be small to fit in the space left. If he grew in weightlessness, the gravity of earth will crush him."

"What if he doesn't know that?" typed Carl.

"If he is intelligent enough to send us that message, he can figure it out," I typed. "Besides, where is Voyager II? The nearest star is eight light years away. He'd have to send it out faster than light and then slow it down when it got here so we could read it."

"He could have," typed Carl, "sent it from his ship on its way here and maybe his shell is some sort of super strong material that is stronger than chitin." Carl, though gullible, is hardly an imbecile.

"OK," I typed, "I'll give you the exoskeleton argument and the transmission argument, but consider the economics. A slave must be trained and fed. I'll leave out rested because maybe they'll be worked to death - although in those conditions don't expect the slaves to work very hard. Anyway, a mechanical means could perform any manual task better and cheaper than a slave could. Look at the earth. Slavery still exists in pockets but it is more of the household variety instead of the working in the fields variety because it just doesn't make economic sense."

"What if," typed Carl, "they cut corners and don't feed the slaves?"

"Then," I typed, "the slaves die. And before they die they get so weak they don't mine much Dorax. By the way, what is Dorax?"

"I don?t know," typed Carl. "Maybe it is like bauxite."

"You mean they need aluminum?" I typed.

'N,' he typed. "I don't know the ore name for lead, but it must exist. I assume Dorax must be an ore but I don't know for what."

'O,' I typed. I wanted to get back on track. "That still leaves my slavery argument."

He typed, "Maybe all that slavery stuff was a joke. He seemed to enjoy it anyway."

"OK, Carl," I typed, "I'll give you the slavery argument as a joke. That still doesn't explain why he speaks English."

"He obviously," typed Carl, "learned it from the Voyager II album."

"I'm not familiar with the album," I typed. "Do Kurt Waldheim or Jimmy Carter ever use the words 'tremble', 'slavery', or 'mine'? Besides what could you do about it if six foot crab creatures from outer space conquered the earth and dragged humanity off to the Dorax mines of Zontar?"

"I don't know," typed Carl, "but somebody should think of something and forwarding it might get it into the right hands."

I couldn't argue with that. Well, actually, I could but I didn't want to. I politely used returning to work as an excuse to end the conversation and went back to wondering what a 'Fourier transform' is.

to be continued...

Part 2

by TomM

From:TomM<tomm1253@UniStatOnline.com>
To: William Berry<wberry666@UniStatOnline.com>

Subject: Crab Creature Vidclip

Thanks for forwarding the clip. You know what a
sucker I am for cheesy "sci-fi" (Oh how I hate that term for real SF, but it does apply to this junk.)

On my third viewing it occured to me that it might be "advance publicity" for a new movie or video game --remember Mars Attacks?

On the off chance that it was, I e-mailed copies to
some of the buyers and a couple of people in
Marketing. Hey there was a chance that I'd be the
first to bring it to the company's attention, and I'd
get a "finder's fee" bonus. I know it's not much of a
chance, the buyers tend to be well networked and know
of things like this before they are even rumors, but
still a little more of a chance than there is of that
lottery ticket on your desk paying off, and I didn't
have to shell out a buck.

And to anticipate your other question, yes, I still
work for the company known for retailing "retro"
objects like Lava Lamps and black-lights. But if you
ever deigned to actually go into one of the stores,
you would see that we also carry whatever is the
latest craze.

Anyway, it turns out that none of the buyers have
heard a thing about it, and neither have any of their
contacts. But they will wait to see if anything
develops.

I did get an e-mail from Brian in the Art Department.
He works closely with Sandy, who is one of the
Marketers to whom I'd sent a copy. He wanted to show
me something.

When I stopped by, he had the vidclip on a large
hi-res monitor. "What do you see?" he asked me.

"A large crab holding up a silvery phonograph record?"
I guessed.

"A large crab-like crustacean holding up a silvery
phonograph record," he corrected.

"What's the difference?" I asked.

"The difference is the square-cube law. A man-sized
crab would be crushed by its own weight. But Nature
works around the square-cube law sometimes. An
elephant-sized tree shrew cannot survive its own
weight, but an elephant-sized elephant can, because
even though the are based on the same "mammal"
blueprint, the elephant's bones and muscles are
differently proportioned.

"The crab creature is much more compact and has
shorter, thicker limbs than a crab, and its carapace
is ribbed. That adds strength, like ruffled potato
chips or corrugated cardboard."

"Are you trying to tell me that this clip is for
real?"

"No, it has to be a CGI animation. I just appreciate
the detail the artist went to to create it."


The conversation went on a little longer, Brian feels
that despite the attempt, the artist didn't quite
compensate enough for the square-cube law, that the
creature should be shown as no larger than a
three-year old child, rather than a full grown male,
but he admits that that is just an aesthetic point of
view. He is going to have his cousin, who's an
engineer, crunch the numbers.

So that's where it stands now. I just thought you'd
like to know the trouble that you stirred up. At
least it gave me an excuse to break up the dull
routine of the job for a few minutes.

Catch you later, Tom

Part 3

By ScottN

Meanwhile, in a basement office, somewhere in Los Angeles, a man considers the same video...

John McCartney was getting excited. "This is the proof I've been looking for! Now they'll have to take me seriously!"

Yes, John McCartney was one of those UFO nuts. He sincerely believed that aliens had contacted the US Government, and that the government was involved in a massive coverup. Never mind the fact that the "records" on both Voyager spacecraft were gold plated, not silver. That's simply what "they" wanted the people to believe.

But John knew better.

And so, along with his paranoid hacker friend Dave, they had tapped into their ISP's network, and scanned all traffic for messages that referred to both aliens and NASA. Naturally, their alarms triggered on the messages between Carl, William, and Tom.

Using their customized chat client -- after all, who knows what "they" put into the standard clients -- set to the highest security level, John fired fof a message to Dave.

JM> DD r u there?
DD> d00d!
JM> u c that alien mov?
DD> yea what u thnk?
JM> we n33d 2 tlk 2 some d00dz
DD> k d00d l8r
DD> w8 a sec d00d...

With that, Dave swithed to a different computer. A few minutes later, he was back online, and sent John the street addresses for Carl, Tom, and William.

JM> road trip
DD> ur on 8am

The next morning, at 8:00 AM, John picked up Dave at the local Starbucks, and they set off for Massachussetts to find William. John's beat up old VW van was packed with electronic equipment; to monitor the Internet, and to shield their activities from the all-seeing eye of the government.

Part 4

by Machiko Jenkins

Somewhere in Michigan, a phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey. How's it going?"

"Eh, it's going." A pause. "Did you get that email?"

"That movie clip? Yeah. Where do you get this weird sh..."

"Language..."

"...stuff?"

"An acquaintance of mine named Tom sent it to me."

"Where did he get it?"

A pause. "You know, I didn't ask. Anyway, what do you think of it?"

"I think it has great animation, but it's clearly trash. I mean, come on. Giant sea creatures are going to enslave the population of Earth?"

"That's what I love about you, Jase. Your sense of humour about the unrealistic." Laughter. "You sound just like Mark."

"Least your old man has some brains. I'm just not sure why he didn't use them when he decided to hook up with you."

"Jason!"

More laughter. "Sorry."

"You're a pain in my backside, Jase, you know that?"

"I know. Hey, what book should I take with me to work tonight? I'm going to be taking another John Norman; I'm almost done."

"You and your twisted fantasies of slaves."

"Heck yeah! Do you know what I'd do with dozens of naked chicks at my feet?"

"Make me throw up violently into the phone?"

"Sorry."

"Take de Camp or Ellison."

"Okay. Hey, I gotta go."

"Have fun, then."

"Yeah, sure."

"You know you will. Hey! Morgan's home!"

"I'll talk to you later, MJ."

"Bye, Jason."

*****

"Hi, honey. Who was that?"

"Jase. I wanted his opinion on that video clip that Tom sent me. How was your day at work?"

A long sigh. "It was long and tedious. I'm so glad to be home."

"Yeah, but you like your job."

"It's still long. What'd Jason have to say?"

"That he wanted slaves."

"MJ..."

"And that for obvious trash, it was great animation."

"Mmmmm...you going to email Tom?"

"Yeah. Go to bed, babe. You look like you're going to kiss the carpet in a second. I'm going to yak at my niece."

"Night, honey. I love you."

"No, you don't. You really love me."

"That too."

"Good night, babe."

*****

From: MJ <sapphirewolf@WitchClans.com>
To: Tom <tomm1253@UniStatOnline.com>
Date: May 17, 15:06
Subject: Re: Crab Creature Vidclip

Hey, Tom!

Got that video you sent. I went ahead and forwarded it to a computer geek friend of mine.

Elroy didn't like it - Morgan's computer froze three times before I could view the clip. I thought it looked like "The Director's Rejected Cuts - Independence Day" from the ID4 DVD.

Jason - that friend of mine - called it "trash" though. Said that it had great animation, but...

Where do you dig this stuff up from? ExtraVideoTrash.com?

(Okay, so there's no such site, but really...)

Well, I should go. I'm getting drowned in IMs, so I'll catch you later.

MJ

*****

I was playing my GeneForge game, and so missed the frantic emailing and instant messaging. It wasn't until three hours later, after I had successfully vanquished the rogue fyoras and earned the gratitude of the Vakkiri serviles that I checked my email.

Hmmm...two from Morgan's mailing lists...five from TruerWords.net...six from Carnell.com...seventeen from VoicesOfUnreason.com...three from Conversant's Tech Support...hey! Something from SapphireWolf.com! Geesh. About time.

Hey...what's this? I opened an email from my best friend in Arizona, Crisa.

"Marlo! You won't believe this! Have you been watching the news? I tried calling, and got no answer!"

Whoops. I'd forgotten I set my phone to the temporary-ringer-off mode, shut the door so I couldn't hear the other phone, and turned the radio up.

No messages on the voice mail, though.

I wandered into the living room and turned the TV on. Blech, some old Western movie. Changing channels eventually got me to the news. Wow, I have good timing. The President was about to give a speech. I got myself a can of Pepsi and settled in front of the TV, prepared to be bored out of my mind.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, citizens of the United States of America," he began, clearing his throat and consulting the notes in front of him. "This afternoon, at 1:32 PM, satellites in orbit detected incoming craft. At 3:27 PM, we were able to establish communications with the space craft. We have been informed that if we do not comply with their wishes, they will use their considerable technologies to cause our sun to go supernova.

"They demand our complete and unconditional surrender."

Well. That was interesting.

Part 5

by Mark Morgan

Donovan clicked through the Flash animations again. "Man! Fredricks, I like them all." He paused the program. "Except for maybe the conspiracy one. Have you seen the X-Files' ratings lately? Dung.
Good writing in that clip, but still...we're not going to pitch that one."

James Fredricks smiled. We? I did all the work, your almighty worthlessness. "Hey, you're the inside man, I'm the idea guy. We ready to meet with them?"

"I dunno. I've never worked with one of these web people before. They want to set up some virtual something." Donovan backed one of the animations back. "Hey, nice work on the controls. The programming's almost as good as your animations. Those crab people are a trip."

Fredricks got up and wandered across the loft. It was raining in Portland. He grinned at the weather. Rain in Portland! What a revelation! Next up, sky is up and ground is down! Donovan's loft had a magnificent view of the new streetcar's route.

And of the police substation across the street. Donovan continued to babble on in the background about the web being the next big thing, how much better it would be to live in Portland than in LA, how those
Hollywood people were dinosaurs, how much fame they were going to have.

And riches, too, right, Donovan? Fredricks locked the thought down in his head. The key would be to remain Joe Normal on the outside. All that money so that you can continue to put that garbage in your arm and my sister's arm? And me the clueless brother
unable to tell when his sister is sleeping with a junkie?

Joe Normal. He turned back. "Fame and patience don't match, bro. The programming's ready, the clips are ready, these web people need to get their act together and meet with us. Or we need to go back to where it's warm and I can at least see them lie to my face."

Donovan threw up his hands. "I've e-mailed them. I'll send another one, threaten to defect to Microsoft or something, okay? Give me two more days, or I'll find some other path in. I'm the inside guy,
remember?"

"Okay." Act irritated. Two more days. Gives me time to figure out how to work those cops into it.

Only one step, really, from pretending your sister's not a junkie to pretending her boyfriend isn't really going to die.

Part 6

by JD

"Is the plan working?"

"It is."

"Who would think they'd ever fall for it?"

"YOU didn't."

"What're you talking about?!?"

"Pretend you don't know."

"I don't!"

"Oh yeah, Mister 'They're So Smart They Wouldn't Fall For It.'"

"Shut up."

"You be quiet."

---

"I'm telling you, it's REAL."

"And I'm telling you, you're really GULLIBLE. You believed that stuff about the *space elevator*, didn't you?"

"Hey! That's on NASA'S website. If it weren't FEASIBLE NASA wouldn't put it UP, would they?"

"And you refuse to believe some nut couldn't just fabricate all that junk about interstellar lobsters?"

"Come on, it was on CNN!"

"And the president couldn't have been wrong?"

"Now you don't trust the President."

"Who would?"

"You're missing the point."

"So what? This is completely $tupid, some sort of prank, and I cannot believe you fall for these things all the time."

"You believe people landed on the moon, don't you?"

"OH, let's not start THAT again PLEASE."

---

"MUHAHAHA, soon the Earthlings will fall like an overripe fruit into our hands!!"

"Glory be to the Shelled Leader!"

"Thank you Krag. The might of our armored legions will CRUSH the pitiful human planet."

"Glory be to the Shelled Leader!"

"Thank you Krag. Yes, they were FOOLISH indeed to try to corrupt us with their grooved knowledge disc. Little did they know WE would turn their data against THEM!"

"Glory be to the Shelled Leader!"

---

"You think the crab fella would like a taste of barbecue, think that'd throw him off wantin' us for lunch?"

"It could be, sir."

"Yeah, let's invite that top dog to the ranch, we'll give him a taste of the barbecue I can whip up, I'm sure they'd give us no trouble."

"I'm sure of that, sir."

"What do you think, shoulder, ribs? Pork or beef, or both?"

"Perhaps we should have a wide selection, Mr. President. No telling what the crab people might choose to eat."

"You're right, let's try that out."

"Mr. President, you have a call from NORAD."

"Norrad! How is that old boy doing?"

"Um, sir..."

---

"WHO SPILLED COFFEE IN THE SATELLITE DOWNLINK CONTROLLER AND DIDN'T TELL ANYONE??"

"Hey, not me, man."

---

"See 'em? See 'em?"

"Yep yep, that's them just by Jupiter! Holee mother of..."

"Let me have a look! There...you numbskull, that's a satellite right next to Jupiter!"

"Well how was I supposed to know?"

"No, look, I know how to use the telescope, stand back, alright?"

"Fine."

---

"Do we have a trace?"

"We do. Three targets inbound."

"You have the course data?"

"Right here."

"Get me on the line to CINC NORAD."

"Here, sir."

"General Eberhart? Yes sir, we have the data and are transmitting now. From our first analysis, the chances of engagement look good."

---

"Heckfire, Tim, I never thought you'd be able to sneak us inta Malmstrom, no way!"

"SSH, they'll hear us."

"What do ya suppose that big metal thing on the ground is?"

"Deke, you idiot, that's the top of onna them missile siloes."

"Cool, man. Let's check it out."

"Hey, what's that sound?"

Part 7

By Craig Rohloff

Marietta fell asleep on the couch while channel surfing, her mind numbed by both the insipid selection of tv programs and the events of the past two weeks. When she awoke stiffly the following day, she noted the irony of the dreary weather outside matching her mood. The tv was showing a weather report, forecasting drizzle for much of the day. She shut it off. The old song "Winter Kills," one of the most depressing tunes in Yaz's repertoir, was going through her head.
Not a good start to a bad day...
Ambling over to her computer, Marietta decided to respond to, or at least to look at, any e-mails she'd gotten. Drizzle with fog, she thought, referring to her own mind this morning. Yawning, she finally got to her e-mail account, saw one message from Craig, opened it. At least he was out of the loop, so she wouldn't have to see yet another message of condolence. If I ever deigned to tell anyone the good news in my life, I'd be inundated with congratulatory messages instead, she thought. Still don't know if it's good news or not, though.
Craig really was out of the loop, it appeared. He yammered on about some weird video or movie that was ciculating around the web, how it came from a friend of an acquaintance, et cetera, how he thought it was bogus - or advance publicity for some movie - but forwarded what he had to E-Skeptic and JREF anyway...what a doofus.
Of course, she'd never mentioned to him the recent loss and gain in her life, so how could he be expected to be sensetive at a time like this? She typed a quick reply: Sorry to seem abrupt, but I'm attending a funeral for a friend today at...
For the first time, Marietta noticed the time. She'd overslept and was due to miss the funeral.
Forgetting the e-mail, she dashed to the bathroom, showering quickly, slicking back her shock of red hair--no time for style today--and grabbed a black dress from her bedroom closet. No, the dress is too sexy, not right for today. Besides, It probably won't fit anymore. She grabbed a pair of black pants that always were a little baggy, noticed they weren't so baggy anymore, and found a black blouse to match. On her way to the front door, she whipped on her black leather coat and grabbed her car keys, flung open the door...
And was nearly blinded by a shaft of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Great forecasting ability of the local weatherman, as usual. And how dare the sun come out to try to cheer me up! She went back inside, grabbed her shades and remembered something else... walking back to the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet, found a bottle--NatalPlus, take once daily--and walked back outside. Pills to take life, and pills to enhance life. How close the two were, how suddenly and completely the difference had been shown to her!
The sky was actually clearing as Marietta got into her black sedan, whipped the vehicle out onto the road and promptly got stuck behind a slow moving old VW van with a satellite dish and various antennae on its roof. Not today, not NOW!
She hit the speed dial on her cell phone, noting the oncoming traffic that prevented her from passing the electro-geek van. "Hello?" said the answering voice.
"It's me," said Marietta. "I'm on the way, and should make it, but something may have come up. I'm behind it now, but I'll be moving ASAP."
"Just be careful," said the voice.
"Always am," Marietta lied, switching off the phone. Or at least, I have to be now.
As if on cue, the van pulled over, allowing Marietta to pass. She glanced at the driver as she drove by, unable to decide if she should wave thanks for his pulling over or flip him off for going so slowly in the first place. The van driver and his headphone-clad companion were both staring at her as she passed.
Creeps, she thought, and just stepped on the gas to make up for lost time.