Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. A story, about an alien ground assault on Earth, begins after the photo.
Genre: Science Fiction/Humor
General Lleppis’Dau winced at the rhythmic sound of huge machines crashing together. He pulled the quadnoculars down from his four eyes. “What the hell is it doing?” he groused.
His aide, Captain Foudis’Bol said, “I believe it’s attempting to mate.”
“What? It’s humping a Human excavating machine! Besides, the assault tank has no more biological bits left to mate with!”
“Yes, sir, but most of sex in the brain. The MWE-452 assault tank uses the biological brain of an Ancurian Crab. Though their bodies are gone, their living brains still react predictably to external stimuli. And you must admit, the human excavating machine looks much like a crab female ready to mate.”
The General groaned and brushed his four antennae down into the short fur on his head. “But the crabs aren’t dumb animals. They have to know that mating is impossible in this situation.”
Foudis’Bol adjusted his robes to hide his anxiety. It wasn’t wise to disagree with the general, especially when food supplies were sparse. “Yes…ah. The scientific team says the crab mating ritual involves pheromones that override the crabs’ conscious thought.”
“What is the makeup of these pheromones?”
“Primarily, carbon monoxide. The human excavating machines burn fossil fuels, and the exhaust from their engines is poorly filtered. Our MWE-452s are awash in ten times the normal concentration of sexual scent. It’s disabling our tanks by placing them into sexual euphoria.”
“Ten times the usual carbon monoxide? How do these humans breathe? Oh, this is awful!” screeched the General. He pounded his battle staff into the dirt in frustration. “If this assault stalls, the humans will have enough time to put heavy weapons in place and defeat us before we take London.”
“Message coming in from General Effees’Gon, sir,” said Foudis’Bol, touching his clawed finger to his ear.
“Ah! the second thrust. If they can punch through, we’ll still win!”
“Well? What does he say?”
“He is having problems.”
“His MWE-452 assault tanks have discovered a coal-burning plant.”
Each week, Alastair Forbes sacrifices a first-born photo upon the pyre of literary creativity. We lucky souls get to write flash fiction from the ashes his sacrifice. Look here for more stories based upon the photo prompt above: http://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2014/10/12/sunday-photo-fiction-october-12th-2014/