Life Goes the Way of the Yoyo
by
Connor Williams
We're alone!
A formal explanation from LTC. Bernard "Barney" Hall about what happened to our Visitors behind closed doors.
By Todd Beckett, The Rational Press
Last month, on a Wednesday evening, Visitors from another world, or between "space and time," as Hall puts it, zipped away in a rush, leaving behind a burnt South Lawn, and according to him, they're not coming back.
Hall, who's referred to as "Barney" by his constituents, resigned this weekend after he, now famously, told the entire assembly, "We're f--ing doomed."
"We are," Hall assures me, "without a doubt in my mind."
Hall is known for his cool head while directing the US Army Counterintelligence Command. He's what's allowed ACIC to successfully relay critical information during time-sensitive operations, enabling other commanders to lead their soldiers through the fog of war. That was until Wednesday evening.
“Forty-three and-a-half minutes. That's all it took for us to smear a rancid stain across the face of humanity. We're alone, and there's not a thing we can do about it." Hall says, packing a Zyn in his lip, then pouring himself another Highball at his home outside of Fort Belvoir, Virginia.
"They came like they always do in the movies, bright lights, a giant ship. There wasn't any pop culture nonsense as they landed, no Close Encounters piano track."
I ask him how the Visitors knew English, "They knew all of our languages. They'd spent years in the background as Peeping Toms! Peering around the frame of space and time, watching us grow, learning how we did the little things we do: how we spoke, how we played, how we fought."
"'Enough is enough,' the aliens said at first contact, 'it's time to know your place like the rest of us.'"
Hall reflects on how the discovery initially fell into the hands of a student: "Some kid at UCLA, no doubt scooped up by the DoD by now, came across the call. I talked to her before the hearing. It really freaked her out. She'd just discovered the next WOW Signal on steroids."
Cassandra Knolls, the UCLA undergrad who captured the recording, attended the closed-door hearing, which served as a quick briefing for an imminent public address. Knolls and Hall shared the room with the Visitors, the President, high-ranking officials, and other world leaders who waited eagerly for a live feed to communicate.
"The aliens called themselves the Intergalactic Travel Dominion. Of course, we've known things were in our skies for a while, so we had a protocol: get down to brass tacks. Are they hostile, or not? Well, apparently, we're the hostile ones!" Hall shouts; his Zyn shoots across the bar table.
"They decided Earth was no good. In fact, we're less than no good. We're at the top of their no-fly list! 'No visitation under any circumstances.' Side by side with a planet full of large bugs and a sentient, all-consuming nebula responsible for cosmic voids like KBC and Boötes. The charter reaches out to the furthest points between Ursa and Virgo."
The no-fly list, as per the Visitors’ farewell memorandum, which Earth received as a fax thousands of pages thick, dictated the rules of engagement for every other space-faring species, who are now barred from visitation, and vice versa.
"That's 100 million light-years. Try comprehending how far 100 million light-years is," Hall asks me.
"Most space farers call 20 million an 'Olympic distance.' It's akin to us walking across the Gobi Desert. Entirely possible, sure, and a complete pain in the ass. ... There are 11 billion civilizations calling the Virgo Supercluster home. We're one of 17 with a 'No Fly' label. We're Point Nemo, floating in space with a barbed wire fence around us."
I ask Hall if it was our nuclear arsenal or history of genocide that decided our fate.
"Well, no doubt the aliens weren't too thrilled about the orbital weapon systems—supplied by 16:16 Rocket Research Ltd. and Lockheed Martin—we point at ourselves daily to prevent intercontinental warheads. They called it 'Reckless.'" Hall packs another Zyn into his lip. "No, it was a yoyo that actually did us in."
Hall pulls a Duncan yoyo out of his pocket.
"This is it," Hall says, "Some 31B, who should've been responsible for parking, snuck into the hearing. His casualness presented him with the opportunity. He screamed, 'Check this out!' and attempted an Around-the-World. It wasn't an Around-the-World. The MP performed a Break Away, resulting in a periorbital hematoma and a retinal tear. The damage was done."
Spc. Avery Barnes received a court-martial, personally attended by the President. Meanwhile, the hearing, which leaked online within hours, surged in popularity worldwide. Influencers renamed the trick “First Contact” and reenacted the event in viral videos. The WHO recorded a 37% uptick in orbital trauma in individuals under 30 over a two-week period.
"I'm living in a sea of eye patches and no pirates. Absolutely ridiculous," Hall says.
Later, Hall pulls out a box of childhood mementos, "I was a real geek." The box is full of science fiction novels, VHS tapes such as The X-Files, and now serves as the resting place for the yoyo.
"I used to look up at the stars, hoping to catch a glimpse of something unexplainable as a child. I'd call my parents outside and point up, 'Is that them?' And they'd wonder if the science fiction anthologies cluttering my shelves were really that healthy for my little mind. Now I get to see the night sky for what it is: a rejection letter. Those mystery lights above you are nothing more than leftover space junk reflecting the sun. We've ended our space age. It's time to forget it like the rest of the cosmos."
Rumours surfaced that NASA sent recordings into space, apologizing. We reached out to a spokesperson and received no response.
A formal explanation from LTC. Bernard "Barney" Hall about what happened to our Visitors behind closed doors.
By Todd Beckett, The Rational Press
Last month, on a Wednesday evening, Visitors from another world, or between "space and time," as Hall puts it, zipped away in a rush, leaving behind a burnt South Lawn, and according to him, they're not coming back.
Hall, who's referred to as "Barney" by his constituents, resigned this weekend after he, now famously, told the entire assembly, "We're f--ing doomed."
"We are," Hall assures me, "without a doubt in my mind."
Hall is known for his cool head while directing the US Army Counterintelligence Command. He's what's allowed ACIC to successfully relay critical information during time-sensitive operations, enabling other commanders to lead their soldiers through the fog of war. That was until Wednesday evening.
“Forty-three and-a-half minutes. That's all it took for us to smear a rancid stain across the face of humanity. We're alone, and there's not a thing we can do about it." Hall says, packing a Zyn in his lip, then pouring himself another Highball at his home outside of Fort Belvoir, Virginia.
"They came like they always do in the movies, bright lights, a giant ship. There wasn't any pop culture nonsense as they landed, no Close Encounters piano track."
I ask him how the Visitors knew English, "They knew all of our languages. They'd spent years in the background as Peeping Toms! Peering around the frame of space and time, watching us grow, learning how we did the little things we do: how we spoke, how we played, how we fought."
"'Enough is enough,' the aliens said at first contact, 'it's time to know your place like the rest of us.'"
Hall reflects on how the discovery initially fell into the hands of a student: "Some kid at UCLA, no doubt scooped up by the DoD by now, came across the call. I talked to her before the hearing. It really freaked her out. She'd just discovered the next WOW Signal on steroids."
Cassandra Knolls, the UCLA undergrad who captured the recording, attended the closed-door hearing, which served as a quick briefing for an imminent public address. Knolls and Hall shared the room with the Visitors, the President, high-ranking officials, and other world leaders who waited eagerly for a live feed to communicate.
"The aliens called themselves the Intergalactic Travel Dominion. Of course, we've known things were in our skies for a while, so we had a protocol: get down to brass tacks. Are they hostile, or not? Well, apparently, we're the hostile ones!" Hall shouts; his Zyn shoots across the bar table.
"They decided Earth was no good. In fact, we're less than no good. We're at the top of their no-fly list! 'No visitation under any circumstances.' Side by side with a planet full of large bugs and a sentient, all-consuming nebula responsible for cosmic voids like KBC and Boötes. The charter reaches out to the furthest points between Ursa and Virgo."
The no-fly list, as per the Visitors’ farewell memorandum, which Earth received as a fax thousands of pages thick, dictated the rules of engagement for every other space-faring species, who are now barred from visitation, and vice versa.
"That's 100 million light-years. Try comprehending how far 100 million light-years is," Hall asks me.
"Most space farers call 20 million an 'Olympic distance.' It's akin to us walking across the Gobi Desert. Entirely possible, sure, and a complete pain in the ass. ... There are 11 billion civilizations calling the Virgo Supercluster home. We're one of 17 with a 'No Fly' label. We're Point Nemo, floating in space with a barbed wire fence around us."
I ask Hall if it was our nuclear arsenal or history of genocide that decided our fate.
"Well, no doubt the aliens weren't too thrilled about the orbital weapon systems—supplied by 16:16 Rocket Research Ltd. and Lockheed Martin—we point at ourselves daily to prevent intercontinental warheads. They called it 'Reckless.'" Hall packs another Zyn into his lip. "No, it was a yoyo that actually did us in."
Hall pulls a Duncan yoyo out of his pocket.
"This is it," Hall says, "Some 31B, who should've been responsible for parking, snuck into the hearing. His casualness presented him with the opportunity. He screamed, 'Check this out!' and attempted an Around-the-World. It wasn't an Around-the-World. The MP performed a Break Away, resulting in a periorbital hematoma and a retinal tear. The damage was done."
Spc. Avery Barnes received a court-martial, personally attended by the President. Meanwhile, the hearing, which leaked online within hours, surged in popularity worldwide. Influencers renamed the trick “First Contact” and reenacted the event in viral videos. The WHO recorded a 37% uptick in orbital trauma in individuals under 30 over a two-week period.
"I'm living in a sea of eye patches and no pirates. Absolutely ridiculous," Hall says.
Later, Hall pulls out a box of childhood mementos, "I was a real geek." The box is full of science fiction novels, VHS tapes such as The X-Files, and now serves as the resting place for the yoyo.
"I used to look up at the stars, hoping to catch a glimpse of something unexplainable as a child. I'd call my parents outside and point up, 'Is that them?' And they'd wonder if the science fiction anthologies cluttering my shelves were really that healthy for my little mind. Now I get to see the night sky for what it is: a rejection letter. Those mystery lights above you are nothing more than leftover space junk reflecting the sun. We've ended our space age. It's time to forget it like the rest of the cosmos."
Rumours surfaced that NASA sent recordings into space, apologizing. We reached out to a spokesperson and received no response.