They came, in their motherships and scout craft. They told us that we would surrender and turn over administration to them. Our governments, predictably, refused. Our military readied its weapons: air superiority, quick transports, nuclear weapons. None of it mattered.
The aliens would ray us down. The victims of their beams didn’t die. Indeed, they were organically unhurt. They simply… fell in love with the aliens.
Whole platoons of soldiers would throw down their weapons, then run toward the extraterrestrial craft that hit them. Civilians lined up to be filed into the motherships. Politicians who didn’t go into hiding immediately announced the surrender of their country, then would disappear before a patriot or CIA strike team could kill them in retaliation.
We captured several victims, of course. They all agreed on the nature of the weapon. It was a transference of knowledge and experience, a way of transmitting memories into the human mind. They all told us the same thing: the aliens’ culture was better, more peaceful, more fulfilling, than anything humans could manage. They knew things, and could describe them in enough detail to satisfy us that this was real knowledge.
There’s still a few of us who haven’t been converted. Some of us have surrendered, even without being struck by the memory beam. If all these people are right, they argue, maybe we shouldn’t be fighting. If it’s really factual, then…
No. We’re fighting for something more important than happiness, or peace. We’re fighting for our way of life, our self-determination as people. Losing ourselves isn’t any different than being killed anyway.
Victory or death.