Sci-Fi Short Story
Eviction II
Don’t Anger the Gods!
This is Part 2 of a 3-Part series of short stories. You can find Part 1 here and Part 3 here.
The Mayan prophesy about “the end of the world” in 2012 was suddenly clear.
It was, in reality, the end of humanity’s PLANETARY TENANCY AGREEMENT.
In our arrogance of “owning” the world and historically dispossessing original people from their lands for profit, we were ourselves only tenants — living on borrowed time. It was the ultimate in karma on a cosmic scale for the greedy elites. They had accumulated wealth and power with impunity throughout the ages and now faced their day of reckoning. Our rights to live on this planet had been assigned away to an alien over five thousand years ago by a feckless king.
The ancient Mayan god of Creation and War — Bolon Yokte K’u — had come home to take legal possession of his planet.
Unfortunately, in the eyes of the Galactic law, we humans were unruly tenants who hadn’t taken care of the property. We were in breach of the terms. And although we had no knowledge of the contract or these alien statutes — how does that saying go?
“IGNORANCE OF THE LAW IS NO EXCUSE!”
As a result, we had just one Galactic month — a Baktun — to “vacate the premises”.
We were being EVICTED!
Too soon, we would become cosmic vagabonds, living in the proverbial Galactic gutter.
The riff-raff of the Outer Rim.
Refugees from our home world.
The only silver lining to this whole disaster was that a Baktun was, in fact, three hundred and ninety-four Earth years. So, in human terms, there was no rush to get off-world.
A few of New York’s finest soon joined a crowd of joggers and dog walkers. They were all staring at the silver spaceship that had landed in the middle of the Great Lawn in Central Park. The few eyewitnesses who had seen the craft descend from the morning sky put the kybosh on the rumour that this was some kind of marketing stunt. The wailing of police sirens was growing louder as law enforcement vehicles were converging on the visitor’s location.
Bolon surveyed the growing crowd from the comfort of his ship. The targeting computer announced that three hundred and eighty-two “hostiles” were within range and requested permission to open fire. He commanded the computer to stand down and activate the defensive perimeter shield.
Bolon determined the blue uniforms were some kind of authority, but none looked like a king. Their weapons had improved since his last visit, but they were still puny. His combat fatigues made him impervious to any attack these primitive natives could mount. He lit a cigar and descended the stairs to the green grass below.
He blinkingly emerged from the shadow of his battle cruiser. The sun seemed brighter than he remembered it. “Kill any that attack my person,” Bolon called up the stairs to his battle computer. It always paid to be a little cautious.
The blue shirts had formed an evenly spaced cordon surrounding his ship. They were twenty-five metres away. He regarded them momentarily, rapidly assessing the threat each police officer presented. The bystanders were pushing from behind the blue shirts and holding up small rectangular objects that flashed occasionally. Others were speaking into these devices.
Much had changed in the last thirteen Baktuns.
Bolon wanted to enjoy this visit, but all of this aggressive attention was ruining his mood. He raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender and smiled. “Greetings, people of Earth. You have nothing to fear — you are all under my divine protection. I am Bolon Yokte K’u, the god of war.” The flashes only increased in intensity.
He slowly and deliberately walked towards one blue shirt, a man with dark skin like his friend, the king. This officer was also speaking into a device while the others were fixed on Bolon — he obviously held some rank over the others. Bolon kept his hands aloft.
No one drew their weapons. So far, so good. Bolon spoke again, “I am the Lord of this planet, and you are my subjects — I mean you no harm. I need to speak with your king — your leaders.”
Sergeant Brown broke from the cordon, stepped towards Bolon, and signalled for his team to remain calm and not draw weapons. Being from New York and having experience of dealing with foreign dignitaries, he bowed deeply. “Lord Bolon Yok Too, welcome to New York City. I am Sergeant Brown of the NYPD. I am directly in touch with city officials and can assist in arranging a meeting. However, I need confirmation that you are carrying no offensive weapons.”
Bolon slowly brought his arms down from above his head and then outstretched them as though he was going to embrace Brown, “I am unarmed. But be warned, my ship will kill instantly anyone who lays hands upon me.” He continued to smile and move forward towards Brown.
Over the next few days, Bolon met with the US President and addressed the UN General Assembly. His position was clear; the humans were damaging his Earth, and he wanted them all gone before permanent damage was done. However, he made some concessions — he would allow humans to settle on the Moon so long as their activities had no negative impact on the Earth. He also assisted with the paperwork for Earth to register officially with the relevant Galactic authorities, its ownership of Mars and several moons across the solar system.
He had to show a little compassion — he was a god, after all.
Bolon finally got a swim and did a little hunting before it was time for him to leave. These humans certainly loved to talk. He much preferred the old days, where there was much more bowing to and worshipping of gods. Oh, and smoking — he hated how these humans wouldn’t let him smoke his cigars! He reminded them that they needed to send progress reports every fifty years or else! And that the eviction must be completed by October 1st, 2406, lest humanity face dire consequences.
With his business concluded and vacation finished, he disappeared into his silver battle cruiser to return to the front. He vaporised fifty satellites before leaving orbit — as a gentle reminder of his power.
Bolon soon became an unpleasant memory for most humans.
With the looming threat of annihilation, humanity made good progress for the next fifty to sixty years on plans for a planetary mass exodus. But doubts began to creep in once all the people who had witnessed Bolon Yokte K’u in the flesh had passed away.
“It was just a hoax — fake news.”
“It was a deep-state conspiracy to allow NASA to pad its budget.”
“The images of the Mayan god were all AI-generated fakes.”
“In any case, why should we face economic ruin now when the wrath of God would only impact us ten generations down the line?”
Yet again, we proved to the Cosmos how Galactically foolish humans were as a species.
By the two-hundred-year progress report, Bolon could see that there would be little chance for the evacuation to be completed in time. He decided to let it slide. He would enjoy the sport of wiping out any humans that defied him. Bolon remembered what he’d learned from the king during his time in the jungle.
“Human blood makes excellent fertiliser!”
Find Part 3 here.
Copyright ©2023 by Andrew Dart. All Rights Reserved.
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