In Which We Forgot About Magellan

Somebody with a less politically correct grasp of history had named the initial probes to Xithe after Columbus’s ships, obviously intending some grand gesture.

The Nina, largest of the three, miscalculated the entry angle and crashed, killing all but three of its crew of seventeen. They managed to convert their living quarters into a make-shift escape pod and fly out of the atmosphere, where a passing garbage ship picked them up.

The Pinta was infiltrated by an eco-fanatic who disabled the landing gear and trashed the guidance systems. They jettisoned him but could do nothing about the damage, so were forced to turn back home without making landfall.

The Santa Maria made it onto Xithe without any problems. However, the ship touched down in the territory of those people later nicknamed “Wildings.” An attempt at communication ended with the Wildings eating all eight crew members and pushing the Santa Maria into a lake.

When the Santa Maria’s flight recorder returned with the news, (the ‘bot so upset from its dunking that it gibbered and threw sparks), the UN of E urged calm. But the released photos of the crime, and the Wildings’ appearance (lanky apes with dinner-plate-sized squid eyes,) created a public outcry that couldn’t be quenched, so the Lusitania was duly equipped with a double cargo of peace-keeping materials—loaded with both heat- and bio-seeking missiles, just in case.

But Earth is civilized, so the Lusitania hovered in mid-air above the Wildings camp and offered up their terms of surrender.

It was then that they learned the Wildings’ aquatic nature, as the still-working gun turrets of the Santa Maria erupted into action, a grinning Wilding clambering over each weapon. A lucky shot hit the fuel tanks and the Lusitania exploded. A few made it to their parachutes and jumped out.

At which point the Wildings emerged, tracked them down, and ate them.

Furious, the UNE sent a dozen warships over, each bristling with the latest in planet-cracking arsenal. Giving the order to fire, the commander was surprised to see the Santa Maria limp out of the atmosphere, battered but transmitting the desperate cry of a Lusitania crew member, who had somehow hidden from the Wildings. The commander told the nearest ship—which happened to be the Hindenburg—to assist the wounded vessel and bring the survivor aboard.

It took only fifteen minutes for the Wildings, who were giggling in the voices of their various meals, to sweep through the Hindenburg, gain access to the controls, and blow up half the fleet. The rest of the ships fled.

As they sped away, they noticed that the Wildings were busy collecting the few intact bodies left in the devastation.

Closer examination revealed that they were licking their lips.