Bad Fluffy Bunny

Below is the pre-cursor to a cute sci-fi story I have brewing in the back of my head. It's the story of attempted conquest by a race of vicious conquerors, and how mankind is saved by one of its inventions.

Oh, and I forgot to mention... The vicious conquerors look like cute, fluffy bunnies.

Enjoy.

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Bad Fluffy Bunny

"I have achieved my objective. The atmosphere here appears to be quite breathable and I am outfitted for the long journey into one of their metropolitan areas. I will probably be out of radio contact for a short while and then I will contact you with my coordinates. Do you have any further instructions before I set out?”

The radio crackled once and then there was silence. Bob waited patiently; he knew that transmitting a signal through layers of atmosphere could sometimes be difficult. They would make the proper adjustments soon enough. Bob was right and the radio crackled into life. "Commander Bob, we have received orders that you must reach the metropolitan area by nightfall. It appears that some of the leaders are beginning to lose their appetite for this mission, and if you are not able to achieve some measurable and immediate progress on your own down there, they may pull the plug. Do you understand what is at stake in this?”

Bob shook his head. This was just like those lily-livered pansies. No guts for what needed to be done. “How many other worlds have I landed on and accomplished the objectives they’d set before me?” he thought. “This world with its backward technology will be like any other. Walk in. Set up base camp. Find a suitable area for landing the armada. Piece of cake.”

“I understand what is at stake, sir.” Bob said. “It will be no problem to reach the nearest metropolitan area and set up base. If research is as correct as it has always been then we should have control of this world long before the nay-sayers get any foothold with the world council.”

"Then go to it, Commander. And may the gods watch over you.”

More and more often, it seemed, the leaders of the world council were losing their stomach for this kind of work. Some of them seemed to think that they no longer had the right to take what they wanted, to do as they pleased. A few even suggested that they had never had the right to do it.

“Bah!” Bob said aloud as he stepped over to the airlock door. He could see the image of himself in the glass, and admired the handsome face looking back at him. The airlock buzzed and then opened onto a still and quiet morning in the forest glade he had chosen for his landing site. Bob walked forth and breathed deeply the clean fresh air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brightly colored flash moving past him. He watched as it landed on a branch and began to sing. He quickly pulled something from his pack and then just as quickly replaced it. Humming to himself, he was walking out of the glade by the time the cardinal’s body dropped from the tree.

The travel was easy in the countryside, and he made good time. Bounding between the tall trees and over the moss covered rocks, Bob didn’t have time to notice the other creatures quietly watching him from their hiding places. He didn’t have time to wonder that some of them looked curiously like his own race. The long ears and twitching noses of any heathen impostors held no interest for him; he had work to do. His legs worked furiously and he covered the ground as he never had before.

When he stopped briefly to rest, he reflected that this world seemed as if it had been built for his people, and if circumstances were different it was a world upon which they could have lived quite happily for many generations, but that was not the plan. Soon, his people would have harvested everything they wanted from this world and then, like so many worlds before it, they would lay waste to those things they did not want. Bob smiled at the memories of the dozens of worlds that lay behind him—scorched and dead—and the hundreds more that lay ahead.

The sun was high overhead when he finally reached some sign of the civilized races that inhabited this world. “Civilized?” he thought as he reached a hard gray surface, painted down the center with parallel yellow lines. “Bah,” he exclaimed as his weapon appeared once more and blazed a hole through the center of the road. “These beasts will soon learn what civilization is all about. When my people come and take this world, they will see.”

#

"Ah was born to be a truck-drivin’ cowboy,” Hank sang from his perch over the 330HP diesel engine of his Mack. “Ah was born to be a cowboy drivin’ truck!” His voice filled the cab; his only accompaniment, the sound of the highway beneath his wheels. “An’ if Ah die today, pleeze let the good Lord say… Sunuvabitch!” His song stopped abruptly as he whipped the steering wheel harshly to the left, narrowly avoiding a sinkhole that had developed in the road ahead.

His brain barely registered the critter trying to get out his path.

#

“Mission Control to Commander Bob, come in Bob,” the radio at the ship crackled to life, but the ship itself was cold and silent.

“Sir. We have been unable to reach Bob for several weeks now. How should we proceed?”
Inside a vast metallic ball hidden safely behind the moon, a large gray rabbit stood thoughtfully scratching the fur between his ears. It was unlike Bob to stay out of contact with the ship for longer than it took to complete his mission, and his mission should have been completed within several days not several weeks. Although he was loathe to abandon Bob, he had to admit that if no word had been received from the commander by now, no word would likely ever come.

The captain stood in thought so long that the young communications officer was afraid the old buck hadn’t heard. “Sir?” he ventured. “About the mission? Homeworld is expecting an answer. We need to…”

“I’m well aware of what we need to do, young one,” the gray said quietly but firmly. He’d been at this game too long already, and he was one of the many who had lost his taste for the job of conquest. Still, he’d worked with Bob too long to just give up. On the verge of commanding another sweep of the surface, he stopped. He knew already what the answer would be. No sign of his advance officer. No sign but the soft crackle of a radio in a ship that would never be used again. After all this time, he had to finally admit to himself that Bob was dead.

"Tell Homeworld that the mission was a bust. Announce this world as unconquered and unconquerable.”

"Sir? Why? We’ve never had to do that before.”

"Any world that could take out Bob, is more world than we can handle. Initiate auto-destruct for Bob’s ship. We cannot leave any trace behind.”

Later, in his quarters deep within the metallic ball rolling quickly through the galaxy on its way home, the captain sat in thought. After some time, he began a job he never thought he’d have to do, and prayed he’d never have to do again. He needn’t have worried. This would be their last mission—their last attempt at conquest. The mission had failed and it was that failure that had finally swayed the great Homeworld council to leave behind the days of conquest and pillage.

But not only had the mission failed, a great warrior had been lost in the process.

"Let it be written on this day, that Commander Bob was sent forth to scout the fourth planet from the star in the system locally known as Sol with the intention of initiating a landing zone for our armada. Let it also be written that the commander was lost during this mission to forces on that planet which were beyond his abilities. The planet, known locally as Earth, is hereby posted as ‘Off Limits’ to all of our brethren and our allies.”

"If we cannot have this world, let no species have it. Bob would have wanted it that way.”