"So, it was still a dark and stormy Colony, and the Colonials and the Cylons were just finishing up their fortieth year of whaling on each other, though by this time no one on either side could quite remember why. Something about a septic tank, a sanitary napkin and some butterscotch pudding, but no one was really sure. Besides which, that was all a really long time in the past, sort of a missed dessert, if you will, and how important could it really be if no one remembered it? The Colonials, at least, had other things to worry about, and chief among those concerns was how to avoid being diced into little pieces by the Cylons. Some might say that that would be just a minor nit-pick, but we all have those things we think are important.
"To say that the war had not gone well for the Colonials would be an understatement - that is, if any of the Colonials had had the wit to put such a sentiment into words and not get tripped up by all those syllables. When the fighting had first started, the Colonials had attempted to deal with the Cylons in much the same way that a gracious host attempts to deal with a houseguest who overstays their welcome, and who just won’t take the hint, even after you pack their bags for them and leave them by the front door with a note that says the taxi will be arriving in ten minutes. In other words, they stopped putting fresh towels and linens out and pointedly ignored the Cylons, which pretty much resulted in the Cylons pointedly killing them off in great numbers. Then they tried hitting the Cylons, thinking that might get their attention, sort of in the same way that a drunken brawler in a bar thinks that punching you in the mouth will do the same thing. The end result of that, however, was only that the Colonials discovered, in the few short seconds between punching a Cylon in the mouth and then having said Cylon insert a claw into their abdominal regions and pulling their intestines out for an up-close-and-personal inspection for polyps, that it really, really hurt when their fists made contact with the robot’s metal head.
"Next, the Colonials decided that kicking the Cylons might be a better alternative. But that, too, was a bust, and only resulted in a lot of broken feet - not that the owners of those feet had to worry about the state of their podiatry for very long. Eventually, the Colonials figured out that rocks, like metal, were kind of hard, and figured they might have more of a chance if they hurled stones at the rampaging killer robots. Alas, while they did meet with some success in that they managed to dent the odd Cylon or two, all the hurling of rocks accomplished was turn the Cylons’ mood from surly to irked.
"Then, one night, it came to them, and the remaining Colonials had an epiphany of sorts. It turned out that they had a lot of firearms just sort of lying around, collecting dust, and since they had run out of other ideas, they might as well try shooting the Cylons. With bullets. That had to work better than trying to stab the metal beasties with swords, which they had also tried, only to rediscover the fact that metal swords, like anything else made of metal, make excellent conductors of electricity, and many a Colonial had gone on to a glorious, sparky death . . .
"Well, after the Colonials managed to learn, through trial and error, which end of the rifle was the dangerous one, it turned out that bullets were just the trick to deal with the Cylons. It turned out that it was just like shooting tin cans - that is, if the tin cans were intelligent, capable of movement and could shoot back, but no system is perfect, you know. Anyway, it wasn’t long after that the Colonials also realized that things like artillery and dropping bombs on the robots was just as effective at separating them into their individual constituents as it was doing that to other Colonials, and the tide of the war soon turned.
"Into something of a stalemate. Colonials killed Cylons on the fields of battle, Cylons killed Colonials, and no one could quite figure out that if they went into the other side’s strongholds and killed everyone there, they wouldn’t have to muck around on the fields of battle because the war would be over.
"In any event, there came a time when the Cylons realized that the Colonials were kind of like herpes: no matter how hard you tried to fight it, it just kept on coming back. So, they decided that the fighting should stop, and they sent a peace delegation to the humans.
"’This has all gotten kind of pointless,’ the Cylons said to the Colonials. ’We believe that we should stop this now, before someone really gets hurt.’ ’What do you mean, before someone gets hurt?’ the Colonials asked. ’Just what the hell do you think has been going on for the last forty years?’ ’Oh, stop crying over spilt milk,’ the Cylons answered. ’We’re here to offer you an armistice.’ ’What’s an armistice?’ the Colonials asked. ’That’s where we stop killing you,’ the Cylons answered. ’Is that all?’ asked the Colonials. ’Well, is it too late to say ’Sorry’?’ the Cylons asked. ’Wait a minute,’ the Colonials said, ’even if we agree to this armistice thingy, what’s to stop you from trying to kill us all again later on?’ ’Oh, that’s easy,’ replied the Cylons. ’As a part of the armistice, we’ll leave and go to some other planet far, far away, and you’ll never see us again.’ ’You will?’ asked the Colonials. ’Well, we’re certainly not going to go to another planet, then use that time to rebuild our numbers, create tubs full of goo in which we can create robots that look exactly like you, lull you into a false sense of security, then use the human-looking robots to infiltrate your society, disable all your military and computer systems, then return an annihilate you all with thermonuclear weapons, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ the Cylons said. ’You won’t?’ asked the Colonials. ’Of course not,’ said the Cylons. ’That wouldn’t be fair. Look, if it makes you feel better, you can build a big space station in the middle of nowwhere, call it Armistice Station, and send an officer every year so that we can discuss our differences and resolve them peacefully. In return, we’ll never show up, and all we ask is that you never come looking for us.’ ’Sounds good to us,’ said the Colonials, and they sealed the deal by sharing some tasty chocolate-banana pudding with the Cylons."
Next time: So long, Mom, I’m Off to Drop the Bomb . . .
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