We’ve never visited nor shall we visit your planet. We won’t emit any radiation, gravity, time or space signals in your direction. We will not present ourselves to you, nor shall we invade you, in any sense of that word. But the possibility of our existence is already planted deep in your minds. And that, you unlucky ones, is the real invasion.
In a faraway place in a faraway past, a radiation blast sterilised every member of the smarter sex of the colonisation expedition merely moments after landing. Using genetic engineering and biotechnology trickery the settlers survived, though only two of the three sexes remained: the fairer sex and the stronger sex. Presently, there’s no memory left of the third sex, and the members of the other two do not imagine the possibility of its existence, though nothing else explains the fact that they’re so messed up and incompatible to each other.
Tomorrow, a space vehicle will appear in their skies, carrying a second expedition, a rescue mission consisting of all three sexes, looking for their lost brothers and sisters. “Take us to your leaders,” every communication device will coo, moved by a deep desire to set things right as quickly as possible in that tormented place. A very predictable turmoil will ensue, with celebrations and demonstrations and knock knock knocking on heaven’s door, and forty five dark pieces of metal in orbit will turn quietly towards the messengers and will cover them softly with an atomic fire brighter than the sun.
And thus it will turn out that the smarter sex isn’t smart enough, and that the other two will stay hopelessly irrecoverable.
It was a toy, and yet it wasn’t. It was carefully constructed by a member of a terribly sophisticated civilization in order to help its young ones learn things which, to a human, are indescribable. It existed in numerous dimensions, none of which was supposed to correlate to any of the six ones upon which the human solar system was built. And yet somehow one such dimension was bent, or torn, or perhaps just brutally played with, and thus a thing appeared simultaneously before, during and after Earth’s existence. In the 52nd century after the quake it manifested as a sweet, edible statue and caused some wild insects to wonder about their predecessors; in the 19th century after the prophet it, looking like a deformed Ferris wheel, changed the mind of a human girl and enabled her to flee her parents into the universe next door, leaving behind her only a strange book written by a non-existing author; in the 14th century after the first humanoids it manifested as a monolith and caused a monkey to use a bone to kill its brother; and in the 2nd century after the flood it climbed from inside the water and onto the land, pushing along a tremendous number of fish, two of which survived, a female and a male.
And in a non-linear non-future, a terribly sophisticated civilization flickered for a non-moment, blinked out of existence, and then re-emerged as something completely different. It did not have anything to do with solar systems or earth or humans or insects or small girls or monkeys, but it did smell slightly of fish.
And so it was that the sun beings came to visit you. First there was a tremendous solar flare, and by the time its light hit the Solar and Heliospheric Observatory which humankind thoughtfully put in space, the visitors were already on earth, and your FM radio was gone forever.
“Hello there,” their leader told several millions of dissatisfied listeners who were not particularly keen on this new change of program, preferring instead the usual traffic reports and morning chit-chat shows. “We are your neighbors, we came from the sun.” Later, some commentators noted that he had a slight Jamaican accent.
“You cannot see us,” the leader of the sun beings continued. “We exist outside your sensory range.”
“We’ve found ourselves a new home here,” it added. This generated the expected amount of turmoil. “However, there is nothing for you to worry about. We will settle at the Earth’s core, and you shall have no contact with us, while we have no influence on you or your lives. We just wanted to say hello.”
A year later, after several failed attempts, you people of earth finally managed to get rid of most of the planet’s core, sending “it and its dirty foreigners”, as some spokesman defined it, out to space. No one in power took the slightest consideration of the effect this will have on the planet’s stability.
Thus, a year later, the meager remains of humanity arrived at Mars, having migrated there via a giant spaceship which was urgently constructed from an old aircraft carrier.
“We’ve found ourselves a new home here,” your leader said, failing to realize that we, the ancient people of Mars, were also there, existing outside the humans’ sensory range. And that, of course, was pretty much the end of it, as we promptly sent the spaceship and you back to space.
Just like you, we do not like to share our planet with dirty foreigners.
The main problem of an every invasion fleet is, always, the question of branding. Therefore, the English-speaking persons of your world are kindly asked, when discussing our arrival, to use only the term selected by us: Fnool Injection.
One morning, when a dead man woke from troubled dreams, he found itself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armor-like back, wishing he was dead, and then it occurred to him that this was, in fact, the case. He could remember the excruciating pain, the illusion of a white light at the end of an endless tunnel, the feeling of his mind shutting down, the certain knowledge that this was the end, followed by the swift separation of his head from his body by a giant bug-like monster which suddenly materialized by his bed, and then the mounting of said head on top of a ten foot dirty brown lump surrounded by ridiculously small, twitching legs.
Everything fits perfectly, he though. I can go on with my life now.
Invading your world isn’t very difficult, and there lies the rub: you have been invaded so many times that nothing remained of your original form. In other words – there’s nothing left to invade.
This, unfortunately, did not prevent my honorable ancestor from trying. You may have heard of him, or at least of the alias he has taken here. You probably won’t like his name to be mentioned, being a follower of a rival of his, the one you call Jung.
Oh, is my hour over? See you next week, then, Doctor.