A Tarnished Halo
"For fools rush in where angels have fallen through the floorboards once already . . ."
"The Extraterrestial-in-Disguise, Making Observations"
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"I've figured out that there are two kinds of men on this world: the sniveling, pathetic sort who will run away from an imposing woman whose intent is to do them bodily harm, and the sniveling, pathetic sort who will run towards such a woman."
"That fact aside, everything will take care of itself when the invasion fleet arrives. In the mean time, business calls. I'm looking to pick up the lease on a new Porsche. . ."
Not that it matters, but who is that in the photos?
If you don't recognize Bianca Beauchamp, then it's possible that you have spent the last several years living under a rock that didn't have Internet access. The French-Canadian is an adult and fetish model who – as the first picture probably suggests – specializes in latexwear.
While the model's height was an issue that played well in another characterization, it's worth noting that Ms. Beauchamp only measures 5'2". However, if this fact surprises you after looking at the pictures, then things will work out, since the sketch I plan to make involves upsizing the character's height in a manner that is in line with Bianca's other . . . ahem, more imposing measurements.
What's the attraction?
Did you look at the pictures?
What's the angle?
Story time. Stay with me on this one.
Earth has a long and varied history of extraterrestrial visits. It is relatively close to a naturally-occurring, semi-stable wormhole, and this fact has made journeying to an out-of-the-way world easier for most starfaring races than simple stellar distances would otherwise indicate. But for better or worse, this was about all that the tiny blue-green planet had going for it, as for centuries almost nothing of importance happened on Earth that was worth the notice of the oldest galactic explorers.
So for hundreds of years, these infrequent visits were little more than sojourns of charting:
"We found another backwater planet on this no-account arm of the galaxy."
Classification:
"This one has these hairless apes on it."
And cursory scientific comparison:
"Are you kidding? They're still burning wood for fuel?! Wood!"
To some extent, this started to change at the dawn of the human civilization's twentieth century, with the advent of its first radio broadcasts. Speaking broadly, this is the kind of thing that makes starfaring races take note. As a general rule, a species will reach the point where it can indiscriminately beam radio signals into space, spend some number of years doing exactly that, and then have an epiphany about how exceedingly bad an idea it was to light up its homeworld in the otherwise non-descript blackness of space. From there, the species generally makes some degree of progress towards discovering light-speed and FTL travel, until they eventually join the fraternity of galactic explorers. As you might also have deduced, species who have already made the trip learn quickly that this is the best time to scope out the next new kid on the block.
​Hilarity has generally ensued when first-timers have stumbled across the Earth without also having made contact with the older starfaring races. When they approach for the first time, they often find themselves making snap judgments about the planet based on what they can detect quickly. During Earth's Radio Age, new visitors were wary of going to the surface based only on what they could hear. There could be anything down there! You've probably never heard of the "Venus Flytrap" planet in the Virgo constellation, and you definitely don't what to know what it was broadcasting to lure wayfarers down to the surface. During the Television Age, unlucky and ill-prepared first-timers led themselves to believe that they were beaming down to a worldwide dose of I Love Lucy, Happy Days, Dallas, The Cosby Show, or Seinfeld – depending on the decade, or course.
Now if you think that's funny, let's fast forward to the Internet Era.
---
620 light-years from Earth, in the constellation that we call Cygnus, one will find a star that we call Kepler-22. This star is believed to be much like our own Sun. Orbiting Kepler-22 at a distance that is considered within the star's habitable zone is a planet – the star's first companion body, and one that Earth astronomers therefore designate Kepler 22-b. What its natives call their planet or the star it orbits is – as you must have expected – secondary in this story to the fact that the planet does, in fact, harbor life. The species inhabiting this planet developed into a matriarchal society having three castes. Males of the species outnumber females two to one, but this has not prevented the female of the species from taking leadership since the beginnings of its technological advancement.
The civilization is ruled by its scientist caste; the caste does have male members, but women both predominate in numbers and firmly hold the reins of authority within the caste. The rulership of the scientist caste is maintained by its "sponsorship" and control over the warrior caste, which consists of all women who are not scientists. Labor is provided by the worker caste, which consists of all men who are not scientists. Whatever strife it may have caused through the species' history, this particular division of labor was good enough to get them to the point of being a starfaring race.
The craft that "discovered" Earth was an advance ship. It was capable of FTL travel and possessed warp technology, but it was long-planned that the present vessel would be superseded by the craft that eventually came to relieve it. All that remained then was to complete their primary mission by inserting a well-concealed observer into its society. Using their own defense and security protocols as a guide, they infiltrated the Earth's Internet capability with what they thought to be surprising ease. The victory was quickly chalked up to their superiority as a species, and work began in earnest. This might have been their biggest mistake: assuming that the Internet was a pathway for high-security information was reasonable, since its analogue served the same purpose on their homeworld. But our visitors never realized the very thing that most halfway tech-savvy people in the industrialized world realize by their teens: on Earth, the Internet is for porn.
---
Six months passed. The advance ship possessed all of the technological capability available to their species at the time of their departure, but limitations in power, personnel, and knowledge have a way of turning routine tasks into difficult ones, and difficult ones into complexities. Still, several of the innovations that were conceived during the process of creating the original bio-organic environmental suit would no doubt earn accolades for the scientists leading this mission once they returned home. With that said, the magnitude of their task left neither the time nor the personnel to visit the planet for additional reconnaissance, while the nature of their work taxed the vessel's data acquisition and transmission capabilities. Altogether, this left them without the means to correct their misconceptions.
The day that the senior crew gathered to marvel at their creation was the same day that a male ensign chose to forward a report to the mission commander. He had taken it upon himself to conduct a more detailed study of the planet they had discovered and the nature of its society. To say that the commander was unamused by this revelation would have been quite the understatement.
"So . . . you diverted resources from our mission to undertake this study without My order?"
The ensign put on his bravest face. Occasionally one of the younger males would perform some act of "defiance" in an effort to have his talents noticed. "Yes, Matriarch."
"And what I see here would seem to indicate that certain aspects of our work have been a waste of time and resources."
The question had not been asked in a way that invited candor, and for whatever reason the ensign suddenly found himself with reason to worry. "Yes . . . yes, Matriarch."
"Do you not believe that there was a better time than now to bring this to My attention?"
The look of determination that she fixed on him froze his answer in his throat just long enough for her to signal with two elongated digits. The ensign quickly found himself being dragged from the command center by two warriors. He had the good grace to realize that he needed to be crying out for mercy, even if those cries were going to go ignored.
Meanwhile, the mission commander thought. Her career was on the line, and advancing it was now going to take creativity equal to her analytical skills. There had to be something in this new information that would synthesize with their original strategy. And then she had it. She turned to address her chief of security.
"Of the warriors currently aboard this vessel, who is the most resourceful and most
. . . forward?"
Where are the stories going?
Humor: The ship's chief of security – a lieutenant who had ambitions of her own – decided that she fit her commander's description the best. So it was that she found herself "installed" into the suit – the "six-one in flats and built like a brick shithouse" suit – that the aliens had designed and built as a representation of the "average" Earth female. After another month spent learning to control the suit (via a combination of physical and telepathic cues) and going through what amounted to a crash-course on a wider range of cultural elements, she beamed down to the planet to begin her mission of observation and infiltration.
The first "laugh out loud" notion is to imagine the character of Sally Solomon from 3rd Rock from the Sun, with the primary difference being that the creature in the "woman suit" is actually a woman – even if she is every bit as soldierly. Of course, the infiltration happened years ago, which has given our extraterrestrial-in-disguise time to have made a meteoric rise in the world of adult, bondage, and fetish modeling. Hey, some people just have a figure for it.
Comedy and drama have the same wellspring, so imagine the hilarity that might ensue from trying to balance the demands of a continuing mission undertaken for the glory of her species, her own ambitions within the strata of her species, and the comfortable lifestyle and burgeoning fame that come with being an in-demand "human" entertainer. All of this while adjusting to the idiosyncracies of human beings – a never-ending quest if ever one existed.
Hey, 3rd Rock ran for six seasons, and the Solomons never did get humanity quite right . . .
Conflict: Coming soon.
Casual: Coming soon.