By Michael P. Rogers
Copyright 2013 Michael P. Rogers
The sleek silver craft initiated braking manoeuvres half a million miles from Earth. The occupants of the craft needed time to think. Plans had to be assessed, tactics analysed, simulated and proven before the next move, which would only be taken when one hundred per cent success could be guaranteed; a possible failure was not something to ponder over.
They wanted planet Earth to add to the long list of worlds that they had taken over and colonised; poisoning their atmosphere and destroying all indigenous life forms as coldly and casually as treading on an insect, in their path through the universe. They hadn’t any feelings, for they were not flesh and blood.
Their ship’s sensors had been analysing the many broadcasts emanating from Earth, and they used these to build up a detailed picture of our habits and way of life. A cunning plan was carefully devised, and the craft continued on towards the third planet with its deadly intentions; more were to follow. In the small hours it descended covertly through the clouds and fog, landing in waste ground somewhere in the London suburbs.