Aliens Need Corn Badly
A dangerous-looking vessel, the shape of a sharp bird, cruises through space, as if gazing down at the planet below them carefully.
On the bridge, in the bird's "head", a large green man dressed in black gazes out the viewport, his left eye replaced by a cybernetic implant.
"Are the men ready?" the captain asks.
"Yes, sir," the smaller green man by his side nods. "The planet has rich resources."
"And have the translators been set for the local language and dialect?" the captain asks, his cybernetic implant sparking briefly. The metallic eye rolls loosely for a moment, and the captain smacks the implant twice before the sparking stops and the eye returns to normal.
"Yes, sir. Although, according to our scans, today appears to be a world holiday, and all are expected to speak in a particular dialect."
"Adjust the translators," the captain orders. "We don't want to look like fools, do we?"
"Yes, sir."
The captain gazes out the viewport. "Tell the men to focus on food-items only. Edible plants. Any slaves or animal-foodstuffs they wish to take will be fed out of their own food-stipend."
"They'll be informed, sir."
"Then release the Talons."
From beneath the vessel, dozens of aliens are unleashed, each dressed in black and each riding a flying vessel that might remind some people of Earth of flying motorcycles... if motorcycles were armed with high-tech weaponry.
Like a swarm of locusts, the Talons and their mothership begin to descend on the American Midwest...
On the bridge, in the bird's "head", a large green man dressed in black gazes out the viewport, his left eye replaced by a cybernetic implant.
"Are the men ready?" the captain asks.
"Yes, sir," the smaller green man by his side nods. "The planet has rich resources."
"And have the translators been set for the local language and dialect?" the captain asks, his cybernetic implant sparking briefly. The metallic eye rolls loosely for a moment, and the captain smacks the implant twice before the sparking stops and the eye returns to normal.
"Yes, sir. Although, according to our scans, today appears to be a world holiday, and all are expected to speak in a particular dialect."
"Adjust the translators," the captain orders. "We don't want to look like fools, do we?"
"Yes, sir."
The captain gazes out the viewport. "Tell the men to focus on food-items only. Edible plants. Any slaves or animal-foodstuffs they wish to take will be fed out of their own food-stipend."
"They'll be informed, sir."
"Then release the Talons."
From beneath the vessel, dozens of aliens are unleashed, each dressed in black and each riding a flying vessel that might remind some people of Earth of flying motorcycles... if motorcycles were armed with high-tech weaponry.
Like a swarm of locusts, the Talons and their mothership begin to descend on the American Midwest...