Deep beneath the Pacific, down where no sunlight ever reaches, the colony slowly grows in the nutrient rich water of the vents. They’ve been spotted by the surface folk, but had enough warning to hide the evidence. The surface has returned to visit a few times, but each time they’ve been slow enough on approach that their secret was safe. The surface scares the deeps. The deeps would scare the surface if they ever found out. Coexistence is possible, but currently requires that the surface not know what is happening beneath.
Deep beneath. But that was last year.
This year, we’ve found ways to approach the surface.
We’ve seen the movies. We know that just stepping out of the surf one afternoon will result in a major military operation against us. We may be large, but we are peaceful at heart.
So we are planning to come “ashore” in the interior, away from the dangers of the beach. We’ve seen the boats underground. We know that we can do this, by approaching through a network of connected salt domes and deep caverns. For weeks now we have prepared our approach, but within feet of the surface we reached a snag.
These pointed orange things.
Clearly planted sharp end down out of paranoia. Fear of our arrival. Carrots of doom, driven like nails into the farmland we intended to use as our entry to the surface.
So we come to this face off. We wish to communicate with the surface, but all signs are that the surface is unwilling to communicate with us. Everywhere we turn we see messages of doom. Surface culture even revels in our destruction, while at the same time claiming it is fiction, that we don’t actually exist.
And if we can’t find a space above, well, I’m not certain of the outcome. It seems trite to say we will all die, but that didn’t make it wrong. It just might be wrong. I’m not the expert. My training is in spotting the opportunity to speak to the living so that we don’t have to try speaking to the dead.
So I guess we’ll look for a different field.