Rebirth: Not All is Quiet on the Thargoid Front…
15 Dec 2022Astraeius
And yet, it always feels as if though they are. Silent. Fearless. Relentless. Methodical. Not that they make no noise, of course. Those bloodcurdling, creaking, screeches are as telling as any green cloud could dream to be. And the roar of an interceptor that has just lost one of its hearts... it's a fearsome and terrible thing, no matter how glorious that moment may feel. No, the Thargoid enemy can be as loud as any other creature in the galaxy. Yet it never feels as if though their screeching voices, whatever they may be saying, are directed at you.
Oh, not that we would understand them, of course. Just as they probably haven't the faintest idea of what "For Humanity!", "For Salvation!", or "For the Kingfisher!" might mean. Though I like to think that, perhaps, they have begun to understand whom we refer to when we curse the "Murder Flowers" - if nothing else because the image still manages to bring a smile to my face. Nevertheless, even when a dog barks, you can somewhat tell whether it's barking at you, or at something behind you, or if it's simply annoyed by some fleabite that it does not manage to soothe with the pleasant scratching of its own sharp fangs. It this latter feeling, the one that I get, whenever the Thargoid enemy roars out in its alien voice.
Pain, or whatever closest cousin of it that affects the alien, they definitely do feel. How could they not, if truly their ships are made of organic matter? And they rage against it, as we would. But therein exactly lies my point: the impression always gets me that they are always angered - or annoyed, or pained, or whatever you would call it - at the damage, not at those who wrought it. They may very well be bugs, yet it seems to me that it is they that act as if though dealing with an infestation. They swat at us as if though we were insects, with neither rage nor malice - for how can you be malicious against something so far below you - and are only driven to anger when one of the ants bites the hand that is scrubbing it off of the counter.
Perhaps my imperial pride should be wounded by the thought; that there are those, out there, who see themselves so far above us that they consider us but pests. It would seem, however, that this specific colony of ants bites harder than the hand had anticipated. I am but a newcomer to this fight, and already I've lost count of the number of scouts I've taken down. The larger interceptors, I can number more easily. Two, dead - if that term even applies - by my hand, and three hearts of a third one, though another pilot took the killing shot.
Not an achievement I've undertaken on my own, but I've no shame in admitting that. And why would one be ashamed of admitting his own strength? For they might be a silent swarm, a faceless legion, a hive of one mind and one plan... but even the sharpest of minds can be brought down by the thoughts of a thousand.
We are not quiet. We rage, we curse, we spit and we mock. We laugh. We cry the fallen, we swear to avenge them, we console those that they left behind. We are egotistical, and foul, and so terribly terribly chaotic... and so wondrously colourful. Inventive. Compassionate.
It is easy to see the worse in humanity. The cruelty, the single-mindedness. But the best in humanity is worth fighting for. And the best of humanity is fighting for it. And that, no alien threat can ever dream to silence.