The town was filled with alien talk. It all started earlier that morning when Crazy Joe rode into town from his shack in the mountains like he does every week to sell the fruits of his weekly toil.

Crazy Joe still pans for gemstones in the many spring fed creeks in the mountains that cradles the small village to the north and west. Joe always manages to collect enough every week to stock up on the few provisions he needs, and to get hammered in the local tavern while telling his tall tales. Then doing some hammering himself with his favorite whore Cathy.

He is not called Crazy Joe because he lives alone in those godforsaken mountains where the weather is as unpredictable as a nest of hornets. Nor did he earn that nickname because he is literally risking his life prospecting for something that became almost worthless since the government started synthesizing it in factories. These stones only having novelty value, to be used in cheap jewelry or sold as keepsakes for tourists passing through on their way to the canyons south of the village.

Joe Ticket is known as Crazy Joe because of his stories. Fantastic stories about strange beings visiting the mountains at night. Beings with the wrong number of limbs, some of them large, others small, all with bulbous heads that shine in the dark.

The villagers tolerate Joe. He is harmless and entertaining. The many tourists passing through buy him drinks, edge him on for more details, Joe obliging and inventing details on the spot, elaborating with gestures and sounds, resulting in more drinks until Cathy collects him before he becomes passed out drunk.

Today is different. Joe did not have any gemstones to sell. Instead he brought something with him. Something never before seen, made from an unknown material.

It looked like a set of teeth, clenched together, the body of the contraption shaped like a half moon, the teeth spaced evenly on both the curved parts. Interlocking teeth, designed to trap and maim.

Joe sat down at an open table in the tavern, the contraption on the table in front of him.

’The usual Joe?’ the bartender asks, automatically grabbing the largest mug and filling it with ale.

’No’.

For a beat the whole joint stop, you could hear a pin drop, all eyes turning to Joe. Joe refused the offer of a drink! Wadda you know!

Joe was still staring at the thing in front of him. ‘I found my Bessie in this thing last night. She did not come home at sunset like she normally does, so I went looking.’. Joe pushes at the thing in disgust. ‘She must have put up a hell of a fight to get free. She could not remove her leg, but she broke the line tethering it to a tree’. He points to a length of cable attached to the toothy thing’s flat side, now frayed at one end. ‘She darn near ripped a leg off trying to get free. Bled out before I found her.’. Joe swipes the trap of the table. It is fashioned from some sort of plastic, making it very light, and the teeth very sharp. It hits the plank floor with a dull sound, skid a few inches and stops at the feet of another patron.

’That is awful Joe!’. Cathy appeared seemingly out of nowhere, hugging Joe from behind. ‘I am so sorry. We are so sorry!’ Cathy scans the room, heads nod in acknowledgment. ‘We know how much you cared for Bessie.’.

’There are more of those things scattered about. Warn your kin and keep your livestock penned up.’ Joe’s chair scrapes the floor as he gets up, heads for the door. ‘I mean to get me recompense from them strangers. Tonight I’ll walk right up to them and demand an explanation and payment for my loss.’ Joe turns to the stunned towns folk, stunned because they have never seen him serious before. That and the fact that he refused a drink, and ignored Cathy, just adding gravitas to the situation. ‘You all take care now.’ Joe strides out the door to visit the grocer and purchase ammunition for his old firearm. Justice will be demanded!

After a few moments of silence everyone in the tavern speak simultaneously. Expressing surprise with Joe’s sincerity, eyeing the toothy trap, poking it with a foot not wanting to touch it. ‘Suppose there is some truth to Joe’s story’ Cathy asks the group, ‘should we not investigate for ourselves, or at least go assist Joe in case these visitors are real?’

Murmurs of agreement from the towns folk. ‘You know I’ve been keeping a secret’ the bartender says, not looking up from the half filled mug of ale, almost Joe’s usual. ‘Some nights when closing up shop I have noticed lights up in the mountains. Fast moving lights, so it cannot be adventurous young folk screwing around up there. I just dismissed it as government types doing something up there.’

Almost everyone has a similar story, each seeing something in the mountains, and deciding to keep it quiet, dismissing it as none of their business. A few of them admitting they were a little concerned of being called crazy like Joe.

’We need to go help Joe.’ Cathy heads upstairs to change out of her fucking clothes into something more appropriate for fighting. ‘Bring weapons just in case’. The towns folk disperse, spreading the word about the planned action, inviting others to join.

Twenty or so of the townsfolk mob together at dusk outside the tavern, dressed for fighting and armed with an array of weapons. Each down a complimentary ale, Cathy taking a flask for Joe. They pile into an old mass transit vehicle and speed off to confront the aliens.

********
USS OSCAR, Captains log, star date 6512. A brief recount of the events as occurred SD6511 on the fourth planet of star OB3-1321 in sector S43#12A.

First officer Mayors, with a crew of nine were on their last scouting mission, collecting final samples of soil and retrieving anchor clamps used for holding communication blimps in place. One of these clamps was missing, with sign of animal activity where it was placed.

While searching for the clamp a rocket driven vehicle showed up. This vehicle must have arrived from the nearby cluster of caves where a group of quadrupeds settled. Great effort has been made to avoid contact with this group to allow nature and evolution to take its time with this emerging society. The fact that they had vehicles and rocket power came as a great surprise. In all the months observing their activities there was never any indication of technology.

A familiar figure emerged from the front of the vehicle. An older specimen with distinctive coloring, his head crested with rows of red and white feathers, becoming solid red down the neck. This specimen designated ‘redneck’. Redneck was familiar to the team, having been observed many times by probes performing its daily activities. A slow moving peaceful character, often clicking to itself as it worked.

On this day Redneck was animated. He charged towards Mayors, the claws on his four powerful legs kicking up rocks as it skidded to a halt a few feet away. Two of his arms pumping furiously in the air, the third holding the blimp clamp, and the fourth pointing a weapon that resembled a pulse cannon used to smash rock by mining companies all over the galaxy.

Redneck tossed the clamp at Mayors’ feet, loudly clicking and clacking, pointing at it with its three free arms and clicking from deep in his chest. For the record Mayors and his team was unarmed. Mayors raised his arms above his head, showing his palms, the universal sign of don’t shoot, I am not armed, as currently being taught at space academy.

Instead of calming Redneck it had the opposite effect. Redneck’s substantial tail stood up straight, his crest feathers fanned out and he threw his head back and made three short and sharp whistles. The vehicle’s sides opened up and multiple cave dwellers emerged, whooping and running towards Mayors and his crew, leveling various weapons at our personnel.

Redneck shot Mayors in the chest. Mayors broke in two pieces, his chest vaporized by the blast of plasma. The other nine crew met similar fates. A particularly large specimen with pastel colored feathers and wearing a leather apron bristling with blades and bullets stepped in front of Redneck and aimed its weapon at our landing craft. The auto cannons on our craft responded, cutting this creature to pieces, its weapon striking Redneck down.

The other creatures were dealt with swiftly. Auto bots commenced cleanup, collecting our dead and scanning and recording the hostile creatures, their vehicle and their weapons.

We recommend that this planet’s status be upgraded from ‘Emerging’ to ‘Developing’, and ground visits be deemed ‘Not recommended’.

Before departing a reconnaissance satellite will be launched to study and monitor this developing society.

End of report.

Recommendations for landing party training.
One: never leave an open blimp anchor unsupervised.

Two: body language is not universal.

End of recommendations.

******

Crazy Joe wakes with a start. The right side of his face broken and bloody where Cathy’s weapon struck him. Cathy scattered about with the rest of the dead townsfolk. No sign of the aliens. All of this could have been avoided if the alien did not immediately tell Joe to fuck off. The nerve it had!

Joe labored to collect his dead friends and neighbors and loaded them into the vehicle. Their bodies will be used in the nursery to feed the young. While working he composes the stories he will tell about this battle. How awful the aliens behaved, how it killed his favorite pet and how well everybody fought. Cathy will get special mention, he will speak long on how she saved his life.

Joe’s attention is drawn upward by the bright flash of the new reconnaissance satellite being launched away from the cruiser. Moments later the cruisers monstrous engines fire and push it away into space.

Later that night a victory ceremony is held, the bodies of the fallen honored and prepared for the hungry young ones. The reconnaissance satellite hangs in the sky shining like a new star. Joe was given the honor of naming this new star.

It was easy, the new star will be known as ‘Cathy the Whore’.