Prologue: THE RISE OF THE FIRST EVER GALACTIC EMPIRE

It was Friday on the North American continent when the Whacksplat Enormously-Large-Deep-Space-Conquest Ship Number Fourteen slipped into Earth orbit. True to its name, it was enormously large, being approximately the size of Manhattan Island. This size was necessary to support its function as a conquest ship, for it served as a mobile base capable of supporting all of the operations necessary for planetary invasion.

Humans would later come to refer to it as the ‘really big alien ship’, but that was later and really, Enormously-Large was only an approximate translation. ‘Oh my god will you look at the size of that thing!’ was equally valid. Some just called it ‘that Fourteen thing’.

It was Friday on the North American continent, a late May day. Across most of the United States, Canada and Mexico, the weather was mild and warm, the sun was shining, people went about their daily business and, because the Whacksplat ship was a Conquest ship, no one had any idea that it was there.

The North American Defense Command was unaware of its presence. Ever watchful ground and satellite based surveillance systems ignored the spaceship’s presence. Cloaking devices and stealth systems had all been turned on well before the ship had entered the target solar system. The ship’s pilots and navigators had been careful to avoid disturbing the orbits of communication satellites, plotting a course through the orbital traffic jam, keeping the ship’s mass from affecting their courses. They’d even made sure to approach from the direction of the South Pole so that the ship wouldn’t be silhouetted against the moon.

Once in orbit the pilots turned off their maneuvering systems, double-checked their orbital parameters and locked their boards. It was now Watching Command, Listening Command and Alien Analysis Command’s turn to go to work.

Watching Command turned their suite of high-resolution optical sensors towards Earth. Listening Command tapped into radio, microwave and high-definition signal sources. Alien Analysis Command sat down in front of their screens and began monitoring all of the data now flowing into the ship. Their job was really the hardest. All Watching Command had to do was identify interesting things to look at and make sure that their telescopes didn’t jiggle too much. All Listening Command had to do was make sure that their taps stayed on frequency.

Analysis Command had to analyze. It was their job to compare all of the data that had been gathered during the years that Conquest Ship Fourteen had been approaching the solar system with the newly acquired information now flowing in. It was their job to determine the course that the coming invasion would take. Invasion was a serious matter, one that the Whacksplat race had been engaged in for millennia. You could even say that the Whacksplat were wholesalers in the interstellar invasion business.

The importance of the success of the upcoming invasion could not be stressed enough. Conquest Ship Fourteen’s Commander had reminded everyone of this during a ship-wide broadcast just one orbital rotation earlier. Of course it was important to win for all the usual reasons. Losing would mean that they wouldn’t be able to take over the planet. Food, breathing air and other resources aboard ship that were necessary for the continuation of Whacksplat life would eventually run out and everyone would die, which was definitely a bad thing.

Losing would mean disgrace in the eyes of the rest of the Whacksplat species, now numbering in trillions spread throughout the entire Galaxy. Of course it was important to win for all the usual reasons. Losers would be shunned, losers would be castigated. Losers would be called losers in public. Losers would not be allowed to go home.

But the most important reason for winning was the absolute necessity of maintaining the Whacksplat’s winning record. For twelve millennia the Whacksplat had been conquering the Galaxy and had not lost a single invasion in all that time. True, there were still some battles going on, wars that, in an ungenerous moment one might refer to as long-standing draws – but not ONE loss.

The Whacksplat were the meanest sons of bitches in the entire Galaxy and Conquest Ship Fourteen’s Commander intended to keep it that way.

* * *

Shortly after the Big Bang brought the universe into existence, galaxies began to coalesce. Soon there after (cosmically speaking) stars began forming, followed by planets. Fairly early on in this process, life began on some of those planets.

In the early days, life had it pretty hard. Things weren’t yet organized. Everything was too close together with galaxies stepping on each other’s toes, massive stars exploding in tremendous supernovae, black holes sucking up everything within billions of miles, not to mention the cosmic background radiation that hadn’t really stopped radiating yet.

Life tried getting started just about everywhere but it kept getting knocked off its feet by one cosmic disaster after another. Life succoring planets just seemed to have no luck whatsoever; this one getting brushed by solar flares, that one falling into a black hole, another getting pummeled by leftover rocks. It was just not life’s day, so to speak.

But life is persistent. No matter what the Universe threw at it, no matter how many times it got knocked down, it just kept on getting back up. In relatively short order (about four billion years to be more precise), luck and persistence combined and the Whacksplat evolved from the alien equivalent of a scavenger fish.

The fact that the Whacksplat’s evolutionary ancestors had made their living by cleaning the excretory orifices of larger fish swimming in the ancient Whacksplattian seas should not be held against them. In fact they should be applauded. Evolving in just a few short hops from ocean-going sewage processors to high-tech masters of a planet is no mean feat. Besides, they'd long ago shed their preferences for fishy excrement. About the only remaining vestiges of their evolutionary history were a tendency to suck on things too long and a penchant for certain ‘seasonings’, which its probably best not to discuss.

Luck had played a huge role in the Whacksplat’s existence, although they themselves had no real knowledge of this fact. Unbeknownst to them, they were among the first species in the galaxy to evolve sentience, develop technologies and venture out into space. This gave them a somewhat distinct advantage. Perhaps even an unfair advantage. But then again, who says life is fair?

The Whacksplat are, comparatively speaking, an extremely bellicose race. At some point in their evolutionary pre-history, competition for fish orifices had been quite fierce. You can only fit so many mouths around a sphincter before someone’s got to go. As they evolved and matured as a species, they retained this trait and raised it to a high art form. The bellicosity that is.

Luck was again with them by the time they had developed technologies capable of producing weapons of mass destruction. A new religious faith swept through the race, its founders cultivating and exploiting the warlike energies and sending them in more positive directions. Within a very few generations, the entire species had been united under a single world government. In short order, the Whacksplat ran out of enemies to fight. New targets had to be found for their bellicosity, lest they once again turn against each other.

The Whacksplat took to space. At first they set their sites on dominating their own solar system. One other planet and two moons of a Jupiter-like gas giant within the Whacksplat system had also produced intelligent. None of them were nearly as advanced as the Whacksplatians.

Residing on a planet two orbits closer to the sun than the Whacksplat home world, the Droomd were a sort of land-dwelling giant clam. They’d gotten as far as steam engines by the time the Whacksplats appeared in their perpetually overcast skies.

The Droomd were thrilled. They’d speculated about the possibility of life on other planets and here it was. The possibilities and opportunities were beyond imagination. They happily greeted the Whacksplats and prepared to negotiate in a friendly and respectful manner.
The first thing the Whacksplat expedition commander did (once translation issues had been worked out) was to issue a declaration of war.

The Droomd Ambassador clacked his shell halves together in consternation. He/she stuttered, which isn’t an easy thing to do with a rigid shell and finally managed to blurt out “Whaty?”

The Whacksplat commander stated the obvious: “It is necessary for the forms to be observed. Before your race of tongue-traveling hard-shells are granted admittance to the all-embracing folds of that-which-rules-the-universe, you must be subjugated in the proper manner. Please to explain the physical means by which your people resolve conflict so that we may honor you by conquering you with your own methods.”

The Droomd Ambassador wanted to retreat into his/her shell, but managed to overcome this primitive impulse. “We do not wish to war with you. We are a peaceful race that long ago replaced conflict with cooperation. Please allow us to cooperate with you. We have so much to learn from you about the worlds beyond the skies. We wish to be friends.”

The Commander consulted with his language experts. “This is good,” he said to the Ambassador. “We will be friends and cooperate. But first we must conquer you. You will now tell us how you physically resolve conflict and your rules that govern, so that we may study them and conquer you in the proper manner.”

The Droomd Ambassador gave in to impulse and retreated into her/his shell. His/her Deputy stepped into the breech, begging the Whacksplat Commander’s indulgence while they discussed his request amongst themselves. This request granted, the Droomd welcoming committee beat a hasty retreat.

Once alone they convened a meeting of their greatest philosophical minds and attempted to analyze the situation.

After much debate and the formulation of a plan that was distasteful, but which nevertheless seemed to offer the greatest chance of avoiding bloodshed, the Ambassador once again appeared before the Whacksplat Commander.

“Expedition Commander of the great and powerful Whacksplat race”, intoned the Droomd Ambassador, “I appear before you today in all humbleness and humility to deliver the Droomd answer to your request. Our greatest philosophical minds have wrestled mightily with this question and can devise no better answer.

“We surrender.”

The Whacksplat Commander responded immediately. He had apparently been anticipating just such a response. “You may not surrender. We must fight so that the Droomd will know that the Whacksplat are their superior masters and so that the Whacksplat may know that they have conquered and remain the masters of the universe. We have anticipated your response. Our historical investigators have evaluated your records. We now know that physical conflict is resolved amongst you by much snapping of shells, and ends when one Droomd has topped and lays their shell across another Droomd. Our artisans and armourers have constructed Droomd shells that may be worn and manipulated by Whacksplat warriors. You now have ten of your primary time units to produce warriors of your own so that conflict may begin.”

As he spoke, a dozen Whacksplat warriors, each carrying a simulated Droomd shell outfitted with straps and handles that allowed them to clack the shell halves together, each festooned with the colors and trappings of the Whacksplatian infantry forces, commenced marching down the ship’s ramp. They formed up in ranks behind the Commander and, upon orders, began donning their shells.

The Droomd Ambassador tried to reason. He/she pleaded. She/he begged. He/she refused to cooperate, an act that endangered his/her immortal Droomd soul.

The Whacksplat Commander summoned his Priest-Executive Officer who explained through interpreters to the Ambassador the wages of sin and the consequences thereof. The Whacksplat did not believe in eternal damnation. Apostates would suffer hell in this life. Refusal to fight would force the Whacksplat to annihilate the entire Droomd species – by torturing each and every being to death in the slowest, most painful methods imaginable. Even when the last Droomd bivalve had screamed its last agonizing scream, the sins of the expedition members would still not have been fully expiated and they would have to devote themselves to many many time units of soul-searching prayer, which activity they did not really enjoy. Truly it would be a loss for everyone.

“Now, pray tell,” said the Priest Executive Officer, “where may we find the youngest members of your species so that we may begin the ceremonies.”

Lacking any facial features whatsoever, the Droomd couldn’t smile, but the Ambassador got the distinct impression that both the Priest and the interpreter were engaging in the Droomd equivalent. If so, it was a distinctly nasty smile.

The Ambassador bubbled through his/her siphon, a sure sign of extreme distress. She/he looked around at the negotiating party, all of whom were displaying various degrees of depression and resignation. They’d all been briefed on what the likely outcome of this latest round of negotiations might be. Resigned, he/she accepted the Whacksplat’s declaration of war.

In short order, the entire party of Droomd diplomats had been clicked and clacked upon, some over-turned and all of them topped in a most humiliating manner.

The Whacksplat were victorious and had won their first interplanetary war.

Following their nearly effortless conquest of the Droomd race, the Whacksplats incorporated them as honored members of the First Whacksplat Interplanetary Empire.

For their part, the Droomd were both relieved and amused. Had they known ahead of time that token resistance would be enough to satisfy the Whacks (as they surreptitiously referred to their conquerors) the whole thing could have been settled in a single time unit, rather than the multiple days it actually took.

As bonafide members of the new interplanetary empire, the Droomd received a technological uplift that would have spun their heads had they possessed any.

Not being Whacksplatians, they were not permitted the ‘honor’ of engaging in warfare themselves, an honor they were perfectly willing to forego, even if it did mean that the Whacks looked down on them. The Droomd now enjoy peace and prosperity, freedom from conflict and a revered place in Whacksplatian history as the first of the conquered races. To this day the Droomd still celebrate Interplanetary Topping Day, a festival that involves the exchange of mock-toppings, followed by hysterical laughter. The Whacks take it as a compliment.

In due course the Whacksplatians conquered the other two sentient species inhabiting their solar system. In each case they studied the native forms of warfare, adopted them and then “beat the aliens at their own game”. It was necessary to both the honor of the race and to their religious convictions that their enemies be accorded every advantage, every benefit, every break, and that only the native forms of warfare be used. In this way and only this way could they achieve honor and glory in the eyes of that-which-rules-the-universe.

This peculiar religious doctrine sustained the race but was not maintained without difficulties. Some alien forms of warfare were distasteful or even downright disgusting. The ^%!@# of the fifth moon of the second banded gas giant in the Whacksplat system, for example, defecated a noxious and acidic paste on each other. Reproducing the paste was not much of a challenge for the Whacksplat scientists and engineers, but recreating the delivery system was another matter entirely. The ^%!@# most resemble a sort of gargantuan slime mold. It took some time to identify the delivery system, (itself a distasteful enterprise) especially considering that the ^%!@# were not all that cooperative.

Nevertheless, the Whacksplatian engineers persisted, a simulated ^%!@# body that could be worn and manipulated by a Whacksplat soldier was devised, the battle joined and the Whacksplat Interplanetary Empire was once again victorious.

And so it went, as the Whacksplat Interplanetary Empire became the First Whacksplat Interstellar Empire. Over time the name was shortened to the First Interstellar Empire and, once it became apparent that there were no other Interstellar Empires out there, it became known as The Empire (of Whacksplat, for those who are keeping official records).

There were no other Interstellar Empires out there for the simple reason that most of the galaxy was a pretty peaceful, non-aggressive place. Time after time The Empire encountered technologically advanced species that had long ago shed their war-like ways and settled down into peaceful pursuits.

This suited The Empire just fine as it provided gainful employment for their legions of Military Historical Investigators, who’s job it was to tease out the strategies, tactics and war machines those races had used in their ancient pasts. It provided interesting problems for their Military Scientists and their Military Engineers, who’s job it was to reconstruct those ancient weapons and to devise versions that could be employed by Whacksplat soldiers. It was a godsend for their Alien Drill Instructors, who reveled in teaching the soon to be conquered aliens in the tactics and techniques used by their alien forbears.

And it was just absolutely dandy in-field training for their officers and theoreticians. Whacksplat Military Colleges turned them out by the millions and every single one could be assured of swift battlefield promotion.

Not that it was all one-sided. Occasionally they ran into bumps in the road in their quest for Galactic domination. Sometimes a newly encountered race actually had some idea of how to fight. Even less frequently they’d run into a race that had a standing army. But none had the love of warfare that was inherent in the Whacksplat race. For other species, war was a sometimes necessary evil, something to be shunned and gotten done with as quickly as possible. For the Whacksplat it was their reason for being. This joi de vivre, combined with the leg up that their early rise to sentience had given them, was more than enough to put them at the top of the heap.

That is, until they ran into the Korwesians.

The Korwesian Crisis troubled The Empire mightily. There was a time when being assigned to the Korwesian Front was treated as punishment detail for the rank and file and a career-ender for the Officers Corps. Like undigested meat, it gave the Whacksplats a major case of racial indigestion.

The Korwesians were a species of intelligent, segmented worms. Past tense, because the Korwesians no longer grace the galaxy with their presence, having long ago gone extinct.

Well before the first Empire ship arrived in their solar system, the Korwesians had achieved an extremely high and cultured culture. They’d accomplished this in record time because, like a planaria, if one Korwesian ground up and ate another Korwesian, everything that the ground up Korwesian had ever learned, thought or experienced throughout its entire lifetime, would immediately be known to the Korwesian doing the eating. Well, not immediately. Some small amount of time was required for digestion.

Among the Korwesians, true reverence for the dead involved a nice soup, some crackers with pate and maybe a sandwich, depending upon how old and fat the dead Korwesian had been.
But none of that was what caused problems for The Empire.

The Korwesian’s had absolutely no concept of war. None. Zilch. Nada. Words like fight, conflict, argument, disagreement, anger, contentiousness, dispute, quarrel, struggle and anything similar you might find in a Thesaurus did not exist in their language. Nor did the corresponding ideas exist in their heads. Or what passed for a Korwesian head.

Following a great amount of investigation, research and internal dispute (and even a little bit of torture-to-the-death by the Chaplain’s Corps), the Whacksplat had to admit that they had met their match. There was no way possible to conquer a race using their own methods when that race didn’t and never had engaged in warfare.

Careers were ruined. Generals were busted down to Private. Admirals were forced to join the Marines. Highly placed Church officials were accused of heresy and Tortured To Death In The Most Painful Manner Possible. The people began to despair. After so many hundreds of tens of thousands of years, The Empire seemed to be on the verge of its very first loss.

It was a Droomd philosopher who inadvertently solved the problem for them by suggesting that they simply make something up. Of course the philosopher was being generally critical of the Whacksplat lack of imagination and his/her suggestion was entirely sarcastic, but the Whacks didn’t pay any attention to that.

They seized upon the suggestion. Hundreds of theoreticians busied themselves with the invention of a method of warfare that the Korwesians would have used if they had engaged in warfare. They created weapon systems the Korwesians would have invented if they had ever invented weapons. They developed tactics and strategies that the Korwesians would have used – if they had had a need for such. Legions of soldiers were trained in the newly developed Korwesian ways of battle, officers were assigned to command the faux Korwesian army and the whole kit and kaboodle was transported to Korwesia, where they promptly accepted the Whacksplat’s challenge to battle with an eagerness that was decidedly un-Korwesian.

The battle for Korwesia still rages. The Whacksplat-Korwesians and the Whacksplat-Whacksplatian forces are just too evenly matched for either side to gain the upper hand. The Korwesian front is just too convenient a safety-valve for Whacksplat aggression and too perfect a training ground for officers on their way up to ever even think of trying to force a conclusion.

The Korwesians themselves have long since vanished from the scene, the victims of unavoidable collateral damage. The last of that noble race of segmented planaria-like worms departed the scene without benefit of soup, pate or even a sandwich.

And so it went. For millennia, the Whacksplat Empire expanded throughout the galaxy, conquering world after world, inventing alien methods of warfare when and where they had to, resurrecting the ancient forms for races that had long ago forgotten how to fight, diplomatically goading species into accepting their challenges and yes, even occasionally torturing entire species to death in the most painful manner possible and following this up with an inordinate amount of praying for forgiveness.

For the Whacksplat, conquering the galaxy had proven to be as difficult as using a shotgun to keep kittens from leaving their basket.

Fortunately for Earth and the many human beings that inhabited it, Whacksplat expansion had started on the side of the Galaxy opposite from the spur of the Orion arm that Sol called home.