The Soccer Mom Who Saved Earth
Lubrican
The Soccer Mom who saved Earth
by Robert Lubrican
Bookapy Edition
Copyright 2012 Robert Lubrican
2nd edition edited 2023
Bookapy User License
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to Bookapy.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Rights to use cover art purchased at freepic.com
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Foreword
There are many who would label this exposé as hogwash, lies, or a QAnon or MAGA conspiracy. The veracity of the information is proven prima facie by the names of the aliens who came to Earth to conquer it. Just compare them to the names of drugs big pharma is shilling on TV during reruns of Family Feud. Where did you think they come up with all those "nonsense" names? And who do you think is "inventing" all these new drugs, all of a sudden?
We thought they were all dead, but that's obviously not true. They still live among us.
They would try to hide that, but the information in this "conspiracy theory" will keep you safe. Heed the warning and do what this tells you to do to keep the world as free of these vermin as possible.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Prologue
Xixxnoir, commander of advance scout ship 2654ZR, of the Blagtox confederation, unfurled his two primary tentacles and entwined them behind his back as he paced the bridge.
"Approach the parking orbit with care, Lieutenant. This planet has weapons that have the potential to be able to reach us."
"Give me a break, Sir," said Rilpak, the engineer and second in command of the mission. "We'd see them coming long before they were a danger to us, and we can fly circles around anything they have here."
"Anything we know they have here," corrected the captain, still pacing. "I've been doing this a long time. You are beyond the pupal stage by only what ... fifty or sixty years? Do as I say. We'll park behind their moon. There will be time enough to be seen once the terms and conditions for their surrender and submission have been delivered."
"As you say, Sir," said the engineer, his minor tentacles flashing here and there, adjusting knobs and pushing sliders. Half an hour later he announced they were in a stable parking orbit.
A horn sounded and three compartments in one wall unsealed, letting out puffs of gas. It took another half hour for the three crew members in them to become fully functional after the suspended animation that had kept them from aging while the scout ship traveled to its destination. Munwavvatii, the mission psychologist and first contact specialist took charge, full of himself and overly dramatic, as usual.
"Advance Scout Lieutenant Izzlestax!" he snapped. "As per regulations, to ensure that suspended animation didn't addle your brain, tell me what your primary and secondary missions are on the target planet!"
Izzlestax, a four foot tall cone of blue-green flesh with two primary tentacles and four secondary ones, stiffened his jelly-like appearance.
"Sir!" he burbled. "I will merge my mind into the body of an Earthling, and then use that Earthling to deliver the terms and conditions of surrender to the leader of the nation in which my host is located. That is my primary mission. While completing that mission, I will confirm intel already received, and gather additional information of benefit to our mission, transmitting it to you on a regular basis!"
"Excellent," purred Munwavvatii. "I understand you have inhabited the bodies of aliens before this."
"Once, Sir," said Izzlestax, still stiff. "It was a marine predator, Sir. Very stupid. They turned out to be suitable only as food, Sir."
"Ahhh," said the psychologist. "That was on Barduk, then. I've vacationed there. Very nice climate. And the natives really are delicious. Tell me. What was it like to be in the mind of something that uninteligent?"
The mass of blue green flesh vibrated briefly, but then returned to stiffness.
"It wasn't any fun, Sir," said the scout. "They had to pull me out before I lost it. Had to skip over the normal separation procedure. It wasn't pretty, Sir. I thought I could live under water for quite a while."
"But you've recovered now?"
"Of course, Sir. I'm ready to go, Sir."
"All right then," said the psychologist. He looked at the other first contact scout awakened thus far, who was immediately below Lieutenant Izzlestax in the chain of command. "Advance Scout Sergeant Dulpprizwa, assist your compatriot into the transfer station. Ensure you can achieve mind meld with him. You will be the primary monitor of his mental transmissions during the mission, unless you are required to go down there for some reason."
Izzlestax was placed in a clear plastic tube, surrounded by wires. Contacts from these wires were inserted into his ectoplasm at strategic points. Munwavvatii, meanwhile, hovered over the transfer board that would send the essence of Izzlestax's inteligence into the brain of a native on the planet below. For possibly the thousandth time, the first contact specialist wished they could target the sending to a specific native. It would make things so much easier if the advance scout could take over the mind and body of the actual leader of a planet, rather than some random citizen. Nobody understood it yet, but once an advance scout's mental probe reached a planet, it somehow identified the strongest predatory mind within range and was attracted to it. Of course the best predators were almost always the ones in control. Predators loved to be in control. And the Blagtox were the most predatory species in the empire. At least thus far. Munwavvatii flicked switches and adjusted dials to take into account the mass of the moon behind which they were hiding.
"Transfer ready?" called the psychologist to the two advance scouts.
"Transfer ready!" they both called back.
"Request permission to transfer!" said Munwavvatii.
"Permission granted," said Captain Xixxnoir, sounding bored. He'd seen this dozens of times before. At least the natives on the planet below them had sufficient technology that it clearly demonstrated basic inteligence. He hated dealing with stupid natives when it came to demanding they surrender to the whims of the empire. Beings who had a sufficient level of technology were always smart enough to recognize superior empire tech when they saw it, and they always surrendered. Always. The trick was ensuring that the natives didn't destroy themselves, or at least use up too many resources in the process of being defeated and then surrendering.
One of Munwavvatii's primary tentacles pressed a button. The light in the tube surrounding Izzlestax turned to blue and his gelatinous body relaxed, becoming almost round as all conscious control of it left the ship with the advance scout's mental identity.
The essence of Izzlestax wasn't aware of the density of the moon as it flew effortlessly through the 2,159 miles of rock. It was even less aware of the 238,857 miles of relatively empty space between the moon and Earth. But when it landed in the prefrontal cortex of Chuck Dillworthy, coach of the Kingston, Missouri Fatal Femmes soccer team (a name that would be immortalized in history) the effect on both Izzlestax and Chuck was both immediate and spectacular.
Inteligence, as a general concept in the universe, is almost always based on a chemical interaction that a brain can interpret and decode, or make sense of. If one had examined the statistics of other species the Blagtox had colonized, he would have noticed that almost without exception, the brains of native species were only as large as was needed to contain the amount of inteligence present in that species. In other words, just about every being in the universe used almost all of whatever sized brain it had.
They had no way of knowing therefore, that a species existed on a lonely planet the inhabitants called Earth, which used only ten percent of the brain each Earthling was equipped with.
Basically, when Izzlestax's mind landed in Chuck's brain, it was a little like a grain of sand had been pushed through the skin of a ping pong ball, and then bounced around inside it. This was, in reality, Izzlestax's essence trying to find some kind of inteligence in the brain that he could latch onto to control the creature. Imagine, if you will, a brain in which ten percent of it is wired like the wires in a house. They make sense, are attached to the right things, and can be used to make predictable things happen. The other ninety percent of the brain is just a mass of tangled wires, some of which work their way into and among the ten percent. Now imagine a huge electrical spike zapping that big mass of tangled wires.
The effect on Chuck was that he had what appeared to be a grand mal seizure. He rose from the bench where he had been talking to Mitzi Hampton about her footwork, spun in a circle, collapsed and flopped like a fish while his vocal chords vibrated, making it sound as if he had swallowed a Jew's harp. His feet exhibited exactly the footwork he was trying to describe to Mitzi (though to be honest, she missed that) while his body arched up completely off the ground and spun in a complete 360 degree circle.
All of that might have been academic in the long run, as Izzlestax's consciousness flashed here and there in the echoing brain, desperately seeking a place to latch on to some kind of inteligence it could control.
But then Coach Dillworthy's body did a violent sit-up which brought his head into contact with the underside of the aluminum bench he had been sitting on, and which Mitzi was still sitting on. The bench didn't give. Chuck's brain, which had been traveling about ten or fifteen miles an hour, along with his head, tried to keep going when his skull suddenly stopped, and his prefrontal cortex banged off the front of his skull before flopping backwards. That led to the occipital bouncing off the back of Chuck's skull, which was why he saw stars, even though his eyes were clamped firmly closed. The rest of Chuck's brain, recognizing imminent danger, simply shut down like a circuit breaker that has blown.
Chucks' body went limp as he lost consciousness.
Mitzi screamed.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Rilpak stared intently at the board he was monitoring. "We have a problem," he said.
Munwavvatii had seen the same data on his board. "Try to reestablish contact," he said. This wasn't unusual. Most advance scouts needed a few minutes to take over the mind of a new species. But the techniques Izzlestax was using were tried and true. They always worked ... or at least had never failed thus far. Some brains were more difficult to take control of than others, but it was just a matter of determination and persistence.
Rilpak pushed a button and spoke softly into a microphone that was plugged into a jack on his forehead.
"Base calling Izzy. Come in Izzy."
There was a hum, but no other sound.
"Base calling Izzy. Come in Izzy."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chuck's eyes popped open. Mitzi had gotten down from the bench and was leaning over the coach, her blue eyes inches from his. When his opened, she saw them dart around and then fix on her cleavage. She looked down to see her jersey hanging loosely. Her sports bra was clearly visible.
"Braaaaaaaaaaack!" groaned coach Dillworthy.
"Geesh, Coach" said Mitzi tensely. "I thought you were hurt. But if you're staring at my boobs you must be okay."
Chuck blinked several times. Finally, explosively, he said "Boobs!"
Mitzi looked around. "Shhhhh!" she warned. "Nobody's supposed to know you've seen them!"
Chuck's abdominal muscles bunched. Again he sat up. This time his twenty-eight-year-old skull impacted Mitzi's eighteen-year-old one. She flopped backwards and his head dropped to slam against the dry turf.
It was like somebody was playing ping pong with the ball Izzy's consciousness was in.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The speakers in the scout ship suddenly belched sound: "Bodanna maplethorp suspenny magatoop bugatana."
"What?" If Rilpak had had eyebrows they would have risen.
But there was no further communication from advance scout Izzlestax, except the final word which boomed through the speakers.
"BOOBS!"
Chapter One
Robin Hampton and Megan Watkins skidded to a stop beside the coach as Robin's daughter, Mitzi sat up, her right hand going to her forehead.
"Owww," she complained.
"What happened?" asked Robin.
"I don't know," moaned Mitzi. "He went all goofy and started flopping around and then head butted me."
"He's unconscious," said Megan, who was Robin's best friend. She also happened to be the mother of Todd, who was Mitzi's boyfriend.
"Do you think he had a stroke?" asked Robin.
"He's a little young for that, don't you think?"
Chuck groaned.
"What should we do?" asked Robin. "Should we call 911?
"What if it turns out he just fainted or something?" asked Megan. "Do you know how much they charge for an ambulance ride these days? It's obscene!"
"We could take him to the ER," suggested Mitzi.
"We're not an ambulance," said her mother.
It must be noted here that while stereotypes are rarely good things to employ, that is not always the case. Robin Hampton was a natural blond, ex cheerleader, for whom math, science and just about any other subject had been a challenge. Robin was the epitome of the dumb blond, primarily because she was a dumb blond. That said, she was still a wonderful mother, in spite of being a single one. She had a good imagination, but some difficulty in recognizing the difference between fantasy and fact. That was mitigated by the fact that her children kept an eye on her. They were a very close family.
"Since he's not bleeding, we don't have to be an ambulance," said Mitzi, who knew exactly how to phrase things so that her mother understood them. "We can just give him a ride."
"Oh," said Robin. She leaned down to slap coach's cheeks gently. "Wake up, Chuck," she said. "We can't carry you to the car."
Coach Dillworthy opened his eyes. They focused on the deep cleavage between Robin's heavy breasts which were, at the moment, gently cupped in a straining halter top.
"Boobs" he whispered, and smiled.
Robin, who had had a thing for Coach Dillworthy for over two years now, but had never acted on it because she was six years his elder, felt a familiar tingle in her loins.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Izzlestax strained harder than he had ever strained in his entire existence. He'd found a set of pathways that he sensed would control his host, but he also sensed something was amiss. Logically, he should be in complete control by now. He explored, sending his senses further through the tissue and felt something that, he had a gut feeling was pain in the host. It was remarkable how similar thought patterns were between species. His host was injured. That must be the problem. He found and explored autonomic nervous impulses that controlled major organs. They seemed to be in good condition. He didn't want to ask for recall and try again. Getting control over this host had been difficult enough. He suddenly realized he hadn't made an initial report and opened a comm channel.
"Izzy to base," he projected.
He waited for someone to answer the comm channel.
Nothing.
He sent again: "Izzy to base, come in base."
Still nothing.
He switched over to mental impulse, which would establish mind meld with Sergeant Dulpprizwa. Dulpprizwa's consciousness should have appeared in the host's mind as a shining blue sphere that Izzy could touch with an imaginary tentacle. That was how Izzy had always visualized a mind meld. He communicated through the tentacle.
But there was no sphere.
He came to the conclusion that he was cut off from the ship for some reason. He had no idea why that was, but he suspected, instinctively, that it had something to do with that pain tag he'd noticed as he explored the host brain. He decided to explore further.
He started looking for the hosts sensory inputs.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Chuck?" Robin let him look. That was normal for a man, and she wanted him to be normal.
"Thirty-eight dee," said Chuck, blinking.
"What?"
His hands rose from the ground beside him and came to grip her breasts, as though they were rocks on a climbing wall. He twisted them in opposite directions gently and said "I lust for thee, orbs of desire."
Robin gasped and leaned back. His hands, now claw-like, attempted to follow and reattach to the mounds of her breasts.
"Chuck!" she scolded. "I can't believe you did that!"
"I can," muttered Mitzi under her breath. Ever since she had succumbed to coach Dillworthy's rather blatant attempts at seduction, she had noticed that he had a breast fetish. Not that she minded. He was very very good at nipple love, and he didn't short her on foreplay. But she saw how he looked at other girls' breasts. He was a horndog, plain and simple. But he was a much more mature horndog than guys her age, including her boyfriend, who truly had a one track mind. But coach, as lusty as a good pair of breasts made him, had never been this bald-faced about things. Something was wrong with him. It was obvious. "We need to get him to a doctor," she said. "Something is really wrong with him."
"Help me get him up," said Megan. "Let's get him to my car. It's the closest."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The essence of Izzlestax couldn't sweat, because its physical shell was in a climate controlled cylinder. And making the host sweat wouldn't do any good. Izzy's problem was that this host was unimaginably difficult to control. He had found the portion of the host brain that was active, and held the host's essence. That essence was incredibly strong. While Izzy could exert complete control over various parts of the host brain, he could not yet control the whole package, small as it was. And trying to use the rest of the brain was like yelling in an empty cavern. All he got were echoes of his thoughts.
The host's visual organs suddenly began working and Izzy analyzed the inputs. The host was operating on his own for the moment. Izzy decided to just ride along and gather intel. He needed more information and practice before he could completely take over all the functions of this human brain.
He secured the part of the brain he was currently inhabiting. Idly he explored, trying to find what tasted like memory centers. Locating some he explored and found a stash of information on the body he was inhabiting. His current resting position was in something called the prefrontal cortex. It had something to do with behavior, but wasn't used all that much, which was why he was able to wrest control of it from his host. He was quite sure now that the host had some kind of injury, but still seemed to be functioning reasonably well.
He felt the host attempt to gain control over the prefrontal cortex again, and retreated into that part of the brain to secure his control. The barrier he put up could not be breached by a mind this undeveloped. He was sure of that. He would just watch for a while and figure out how to control this human. He wasn't about to admit defeat to those on the scout ship. He tried again to establish contact with the ship, but there was still nothing.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Captain Xixxnoir was no longer bored. Lieutenant Izzlestax's communications had cut off after that last word, which meant nothing in the language the Blagtox used. He snapped to Rilpak to research it in the archives of intel about this planet. Rilpak was under the hood, where he could call up any of the electronic communications that had been intercepted coming from this planet for years. The Blagtox were always scanning the universe, looking for primitive electronic communications. Such signals meant the inhabitants had achieved a certain technological level that allowed them to locate and harvest resources and flourish in the process. That almost always meant that the Blagtox could flourish there too. If the natives couldn't be co-opted into the empire as slaves, they were simply destroyed and used for food. Or mulch, if they tasted nasty. In addition, the signals could be used to learn a lot about the inhabitants as a scout ship approached.
"Got something!" came the muffled voice of Rilpak. The hood rose. Rilpak punched a button which sent information to the big screen so they could all see it. Two Earthlings appeared on the screen. They were Earthlings of the human variety, which were suspected of being the most intelligent on the planet. Much was known about humans. They had sent thousands of hours of descriptive information out into space, as if they were showing someone what they were like. It was through these signals that their language was decoded. It turned out there were different languages, which suggested they had co-opted beings from other planets, though that was not agreed upon. The only vehicles they had that appeared to be able to leave the atmosphere of the planet were incredibly primitive, inefficient tubes powered by chemical combustion. They seemed to be proud of that. Many of their electromagnetic signals displayed those vehicles rising from the planet in clouds of wasteful thermal reactions. The spectra collected over the years was difficult to interpret sometimes. For example, the earliest of recordings always showed humans covering most of their bodies with clothing, some of it obviously functional, most of it not. Later signals, however, sometimes showed them with little or no clothing on. The most recent interceptions had tons and tons of data showing them with clothing on, then taking it off and interacting physically, only to put clothes back on. There was an intense debate on whether parts of the planet were heating up due to volcanic activity.