This is how it's been feeling in encounters with media of any kind on this world, and with almost half of its citizens. First, the flash of light, then, the ticklish electrical sensations begin, like swarming ants on the skin, the intensity gaining strength as the beam -- its first few nanoseconds aboard -- plays havoc with the body's bio-current, then, pulses stronger, threatening to shut down the computing center, up over the eyebrows... Then it does: blackout.
When consciousness returns, and we come-to again, there are no swaths of space-babes bouncing our flouncing in metallic silver bikinis, ready to pounce. There are no swarthy herds of bare-chested beefcake loafing or boasting or even sun-roasting about the place. There are no stone gods to feed, no meteors to deflect from the planet, no Abraham Lincoln batting clean-up on our team.
There are however, aliens to outwit: Republican nitwits, some of them real twits. It's unlikely we'll get much more alien that these specimens in this solar system. It's difficult to know how it is no-one has outmaneuvered them so far, given the huge, shrunken-head-style, head-start this clan so readily offers. No one of their units seems very bright, so we suspect they are centrally controlled, perhaps over great distances, using primitive radio waves.
On Monday, August 6, 1945, after six months of intense firebombing of 67 other Japanese cities,...
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