Abstract:
Designation One Four Two of the Conglomerate for Better Management documents its experiences preparing for a critical demolitions job, including its attempts to ingratiate itself with local quasi-intelligent fauna.
1.
Designation Aught Two Eight–#28, as we often call her–is my administrator for the demolition of Earth. It is a mid-sized nitrogen-atmosphere terrestrial planet rich in water in a small solar system approximately two-thirds the distance from Galactic Center. #28 is usually a quiet administrator; all she will say is that it is "unremarkable" and that "none will mourn its destruction." Then she sighs. #28 sighs a lot more than the other administrators.
The planet is meant to be cleared for a fueling station; apparently, this small solar system is getting quite the buzz with its sideways-spinning ringed planet, the fascinating geography of another nearby terrestrial planet, and its ring of asteroids. Earth is less remarkable, inhabited most prominently by bipedal apes with body types akin to celestial fey like me and #28. Apparently #28 wants to make a big deal out of the demolition, manifesting myself from among the population as a living god. She wants me to keep things quiet for about three of their years (0.781 standard galactic year), then emerge with the standard destruction and announcement of the grand opening of the new fueling station--with several tourist attractions to come in the next few years.
Pretty standard. #28's marketing acumen is impressive, so I've been studying Earth's history, architecture, and religious history. They favor powerful men of impressive stature and musculature, and despite the diversity of their own skin tones, for some reason they depict their gods as mostly being a sort of light brown-pink color.
So shall it be.
For three of their years I shall be limited in my power, remaining "human"--as the apes call themselves. In the third year, I will reveal myself. I will give the galaxy quite a show.
The humans will call me Gregory Blightwing.
2.
Three days in the human world. #28 warned me that there were complications with the human form. I'm... starting to see that.
First of all. The stimulus. It's overwhelming here. There's so much noise and light, and the pace of communication is incredible. I've used a small portion of my incalculable power to insert myself into a local university as a student of religion; I'm hoping to study them a bit further, learn what really impresses these people. But how can they be impressed with anything? They're constantly, persistently bombarded–messages, spectacles, entertainment, news, even a constant dread about the end of their world. What could even shake these creatures?
When I get my powers back, I'll need to fundamentally revise at least part of their reality. #28 wants shock and terror as their world is undone. These humans have no real powers of their own beyond force of personality and ingenuity; revising their perception of the universe will be fairly trivial.
But that brings me to the other problem.
I, curiously, like them.
#28 warned me that human physiology was a tricky matter. Their minds and their bodies have a strange disconnect; they're creatures of impulse, with a powerful subconscious. In my natural form, I can easily compartmentalize my thoughts, sort the ones I don't want from the ones I do. As a human, I am forced to deal with every thought I have–even the ones I do not want. Attraction is powerful. Even in the strong masculine body I made for myself, I'm cursed by feelings of... is this inadequacy? Am I doing this properly?
Many of them are beautiful, but the way the women adorn themselves in particular is... I don't know how to explain it. It transfixes me. Shiny stones and baubles, paint and powder to brush on their faces, the swoop and style of their hair, the folds of the dress as it wraps around the curves of their bodies...
I've never had a gender myself. I chose one because their own social mores imply I should have one. And I feel deeply that I chose the wrong one.
Why does it haunt me so much? Why does any thought haunt me so much?
3.
I hate this form. I hate it so much. Why did I agree to let #28 lock me in a human shape for three of their years? The days are torturous and long, the classes dull and contradictory. The tales of these religions are fraught with cliches, and I find it difficult to focus on anything but my classmates.
The women especially. They're so... God, I find myself drawn to using their idioms more and more. They're just so hot, and soft, and I'm endlessly jealous. Most men in human social circles seem to just want to copulate with the women--and maybe I share that desire as well.
Would that it were so simple, though.
The humans have built a vast storehouse of digital knowledge they call the "internet." Access is easy, though their input devices are strange--why are the letters arranged so on their keyboards, and why this "clicking" interface with the "mouse?" But I've begun mastering the use of a home computer in my living quarters, and I have begun research on a "transition."
In theory, I could wait three years. Change myself with the snap of a finger. I could become whatever I want to be when my power returns.
But I can't wait that long. I want to become who I should have been from the beginning. The means are here--these humans have taken amazing steps to seize control of their own biology, even if so many of them do succumb to disease and malnutrition.
God, they're so cute, these humans, that I wonder if I can bear to wipe them out. #28 is going to hate me if I say that.
4.
The hormonal medicine they've given me has had an unusual effect: pain. I'm not used to pain. It hurts to be a human; the ache of being in the wrong shape hurts more. I ingest one pain to fight another.
I've started buying women's clothing exclusively. #28 gave me a "credit card" that can be used for unlimited purchases, manipulating human currency systems in whatever fashion I wish. It's my only "real" power--unlimited financial resources, with the promise that I lie low. Skirts, heels, gowns, I bought many of them to try. The fit is awkward, but I can feel the medicine reshaping my body even in this nascent stage. I'm going to be filling them soon--I'm so excited!
Listen to me--I sound like an excited groupie at a musical concert. #28 never told me that this was part of being human, too--that boundless enthusiasm. The rush is incredible. Feeling anything is incredible after so long wiping out planets for marketing gigs abroad.
The humans in my class have been... mixed in their reaction to my transition. My instructors in the classroom have been universally positive. Many of the students cite religious reasons for rejecting who I am--remarkably, many of the people drawn to religious study already have rigidly defined beliefs. I don't want to pressure them, but their rejection has shown me another type of pain. Apparently, the thrill of being human has a companion: emotional frailty. I feel small around them when they reject me, and all I ask is that they acknowledge who I am and call me by the new name I've chosen.
Natalie.
5.
It's been several months. The hormone therapy has produced obvious physical changes. My face is reshaping. A treatment known as electrolysis has stunted traditionally masculine hair growth around the beard. I'm keeping my hair cut short--I enjoy what they call the "pixie" look, and the idea that they use this term is not lost on an actual celestial fey like me. It's cute. I look cute!
I'm still fairly alone in my classes. My grades have started to suffer; I'm having a hard time concentrating on my studies because of the constant pressure from these social circles. It makes no sense. I'm a superior being; when my power is at its full, I'll be able to rewrite the entire history of this planet with a mere thought, to reduce every member of their species to a whimpering worshipful mass with but a snap of my fingers. I understand every single impulse that is happening to me--as it's happening to me.
But I'm still weak. I still feel small. I still don't know how to overcome humanity now that I'm forced into their skin.
6.
I made a friend.
She found me on the quad struggling to study, looking upset and forlorn, and she was so insistent. Big smile. Big bow. Big sweater. Short skirt. Big hips. Big... big thighs.
"You don't wanna be alone right now reading some dumb book about..." she said. And she paused. "What's the dumb book about?"
I was five words into explaining the apologetics of St. Augustine of Hippo before she had me by the hand, dragging me out to a sports game. The humans call it "field hockey."
I sat and watched. It was a wonder. I knew the humans engaged in sport, but professional athletics seemed a secondary pursuit to religion. But seeing the way this woman threw herself into her fun, seeing her knock over men larger than her with a thrust of her hips, laughing with delight as she helped them back to their feet and gave them a firm pat on the shoulder that sent even the biggest and strongest of them wincing...
I've never felt that way before. I clapped and cheered and chanted with the other fans.
Samantha Kruse was her name; we went out afterwards and had sodas and hamburgers together. I must have spoken to her for an hour straight, explaining--insofar as I could--my struggles with transition, the rejection of my classmates, the strange emotional baggage I should never have to carry.
Why did it feel so good to just... say things? Why was it so nice?
She wasn't judgmental. She didn't care. "You're who you say you are," she said with a smile. "Natalie. That's you. That's who you've always been, even if you didn't know it yet."
I blushed so, so, so hard. She's so cute and she's so nice and I just want to hug her forever!
How am I going to destroy this planet again?
7.
I can't do it. I can't destroy this planet.
Sometimes when my classmates were at their most hateful, I imagined myself raining down fire and brimstone upon them--just like in their prophecies. Armies of locusts with the faces of men. Perhaps a nice cleansing flood. When the hormonal treatments began to turn--when my form became so markedly feminine that those who doubted me were forced to acknowledge what I'd become--I hated them so, so much. I hated them because I've done my research, and I know not every story of transition is as successful as mine. Not everyone can access treatment. Not everyone can find the support that I've found in Sam and the field hockey team, even if I'm a better cheerleader than a player.
I hate them because they treat me well now... because they think I'm an exception. I'm one of the good ones.
Sometimes I want to see them all explode.
But I just can't. Not anymore. Not after this journey. I want to heal them. I want to help others.
I've used the credit card to make donations--as many as I can, anonymously, without upsetting currency markets. Support for transgender youth gets a massive donation. Women's shelters. Battered, abused women. Education programs. Anything I can think of. All told, I spend fifty million dollars in one day, and the magic of this special card means there's not even a dent on my finances.
It feels good.
8.
#28 came to call. She's not happy.
"You aren't supposed to call attention to yourself," she said evenly. In the form she chose here, she was the size of my palm, light blue skin as usual, the small horns and pointed ears atop her head revealing herself if any cared to look. Sam--did I mention we're living together now? We're living together now! She's a wonderful friend and I can't imagine where I'd be without her support. I haven't even felt like writing any observations in so long because of...
Where was I?
Right, Sam was still asleep. I'd rather talk about her than the scolding little celestial fairy on top of my kitchen table.
"You are on this planet to learn and study how best to make an impact on the human race when our promotion is complete. The card was meant to facilitate this study and allow you to move easily in human circles without the stressors of their outdated 'market capitalism' ideology. Fifty million dollars in donations does no such thing, Gregory, and--"
"Natalie."
She glared up at me, eyes narrow. "Natalie?"
I shrugged down at her, stirring my coffee. She can't touch me, fortunately; the terms of our contract prevent her from intervening in any way but to scold and redirect so long as I remain on mission and don't reveal the truth of our relationship. "Natalie. Call me Natalie."
She sighed. As usual. "This is foolishness," #28 said. "You are not human, and you cannot allow yourself to think you are. When our term ends, you had better be prepared to make an impact."
Again with that term. And she was gone.
I sat for a long time, drumming my nails on the table. Make an impact. Three months from now, my term will be complete. #28 will be expecting... something to usher in the end of the human age. I want to do so in a big way.
Samantha came downstairs. Sat right down on my lap, wiggling her butt into my hips. She loves doing that because it makes me blush. I don't know how someone so short can be so... so much larger than life.
But she's given me an idea.
9.
I called it the Converse Operation.
Samantha's friend Nina is very into Converse shoes. They look good on her, too! So I used my power to create an event on the occasion of--
Oh! My power is back. Three years on Earth. I'm now officially a cute transgender human alien demigoddess with the power to do whatever I want. And #28 expects something big. The camera crews expect something big.
Anyway. I sent the feed live into the pan-galactic camera crews. Nina Jenson, putting on Converse shoes, suddenly growing to three miles tall in the span of a few minutes, exploding outwards in height.
While the humans reacted like... like nothing had happened.
It was supposed to be my destruction of Earth. Instead, they got a three-mile Earthling, a creature larger than almost any in the galaxy, unique among its kind. And the tagline.
THE SOL SYSTEM: Who Knows What Might Happen?
They loved it. The stunt tested positively all throughout the galaxy. The fueling station company couldn't possibly put a station in Earth orbit; they opted instead for the asteroid belt.
#28 was furious. But she had to--begrudgingly--admit that my idea had been impressive.
I have a station set up in my house with Sam now, down in the basement, where I can revise this world from a screen, unweaving and weaving the threads of reality as I need. I've already played around with the concept a bit more, shrinking one of Nina's friends who'd been cruel to me back in my college years (Don't worry--she liked it. I made sure of that.).
#28 hasn't spoken to me in weeks, though. I've not been called back. I'm beginning to find that strange.
10.
I understand now--why I've been cut off.
They're going to destroy Earth anyway, with or without my consent.
They're going to destroy Sam and Nina--now safely back to her "normal" height.
They're going to destroy the cruel bigots, but they're also going to destroy the kind and caring souls.
They're going to do it because they can. #28 is going to do it because she had a plan to do it, and I defied that plan. She's going to do it because she thinks of me as a human now--knowing full well what I am, and what I can do.
I'm not strong enough to stop this on my own--that much I know. I don't even understand their motivations. I don't even understand how I know; it's just the impression I get.
#28 is going to destroy everything I've grown to love these past four years. Just to spite me. I can feel it.
I can revise this. I can't stop them on my own, but I can revise their history. I can set something into motion that can keep this planet safe. My powers of revision are such that I'm sometimes unsure of what the consequences of my actions will be.
Coupled with human emotions, I've often found myself... revising myself. Big at times. Small more often. Sam's thighs are nice. They're... they're much nicer when you're the size of a grain of--
I'm getting distracted. I can't do that. Not anymore.
The humans need power. They need a means of accessing power in secret--in a way that #28 can't see coming. A secret magical order. I'm revising the planet's history now.
I've done this before. The introduction of magical power onto a nascent, non-magical planet like this has increased odds of producing a singular person of incredible power--someone for whom the very fabric of reality is theirs to cut, to shape, to design.
Setting it in motion is possible. Predicting the outcome is not. I will increase the odds that a being like this will arise… and hope.
I hope they can control that power.
I hope they can find it before #28 does what I'm sure she's planning to do.
I hope they're a kind enough person to save Earth rather than joining in its destruction.
...God, I hope I can find them and give them a shove in the right direction.