Starfish
In mid-March of 2041, Earth’s ground- and space-based telescopes detected the dark comet-like object approximately thirteen million miles from the homeworld. It was moving fast, faster than it should, according to some prominent astrophysicists. The object’s trajectory placed its origin beyond the solar system and showed that Mother Earth was in its sights. The big space agencies christened the object “10-I Plouton“ and immediately began activating contingency plans to intercept the interstellar missile. NASA had already begun stacking a rocket (missile) containing an exoatmospheric interceptor equipped with a 5-kiloton nuclear warhead. The day the world had feared was finally approaching.
A week after the object’s discovery, nearly everyone on the planet knew about the danger thanks to several leaks (mainly to alien-obsessed content creators on social media platforms). As usual, the conspiracy floodgates opened, and speculation flew. Tens of thousands of protesters, who had been idly staring at blank poster boards and half-used paint cans since the last big semi-controversial event, leapt into action. It wasn’t long before different camps were organized.
One group targeted world governments for not warning the people of Earth early enough. Another group was convinced that 10-I Plouton was an alien craft and that world leaders should make preparations to meet its occupants. Another group, a band of professed existential nihilists, welcomed the destruction of the Earth and hoped that 10-I Plouton would be the final solution — this group was the smallest by far.
To the world space agencies, the protesters were an annoyance, but nothing more. They had work to do, and they only had a short time to do it. All the drills and training would finally show their worth.
The day of reckoning came early in June. 10-I Plouton was bearing down on Earth at a fantastic rate. All official predictions suggested that the visitor from outer space would strike the Earth in the vicinity of Hokkaido, Japan, if interception attempts failed. Thousands of sky watchers waited nervously as NASA, ESA, JAXA, ISA, Roscosmos, CSNA, and ISRO launched their respective interceptors.
High hopes were riding on NASA’s interceptor. The people of Earth watched NASA’s bid launch and followed the interceptor’s progress on video feeds linked to boom-mounted cameras on the vehicle’s exterior. Several hours into the broadcast, the feeds showed that the interceptor was closing in on 10-I Plouton. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned.
For one, the interceptor lost one of its primary maneuvering thrusters when it was within 1,590 kilometers of its target, which caused the vehicle to tumble. The images on screens worldwide spun, and many a hopeful watcher got nauseous. NASA engineers rushed to their computers in an attempt to stabilize the vehicle, punching in remote codes and activating backup AI systems. To everyone’s relief, the interceptor eventually responded and righted itself.
What happened next, however, could not be remedied remotely–the interceptor’s warhead failed to detonate when it was supposed to. Panicked, NASA engineers steered the interceptor toward 10-I Plouton; they’d have to ram it.
At 20:32 GMT on 26 June 2041, NASA’s exoatmospheric interceptor plowed headlong into 10-I Plouton. The only explosion Earth telescope peepers witnessed was the result of kinetic energy and the detonation of the high explosives originally intended to initiate nuclear fission. Fragments of 10-I Plouton were ejected, but the core of the object continued more or less on its original course.
Next came ESA’s bid. The agency’s interceptor was solely kinetic. Explosives were deemed unnecessary by ESA engineers. To ESA’s credit, the inert interceptor struck 10-I Plouton’s core. Disappointingly, the impact did little.
The other space agencies tried their hands at intercept, but only ISA’s interceptor made contact. Still, 10-I Plouton continued toward Earth. NASA readied another interceptor while the people of Earth began to lose confidence.
NASA’s second attempt at dissuading 10-I Plouton from its course was somewhat more successful, but the comet-like object still had enough mass to be a problem. Out of viable exoatmospheric options, the world’s militaries mobilized to shoot whatever they could out of the sky.
Despite Earth’s best attempts to defend itself, chunks of 10-I Plouton roared flaming into the planet’s thin atmospheric skin. The chunks impacted Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula and Sakhalin Island, and the Sea of Okhotsk.
The largest impact was in the mountains southwest of Klyuchi in Kamchatka Krai. The strike had created a crater, 300 meters in diameter, and kicked up a towering cloud of dust. Despite the magnitude of the impact, bits of 10-I Plouton remained intact. Inside one of these orange-hot fragments was a nearly sapphire-hard sphere, roughly 30 centimeters in diameter. It was an egg.
The embryo within gleaming sphere at the bottom of the crater had survived forces no earthly shell-encased embryo could have. When the fragment containing the egg had cooled to 212 degrees Celsius, a fine line, like a machinist’s mark, appeared around the sphere’s equator. A “pop” sounded in the depths of the crater a minute or two after the line appeared; the egg’s shell had separated into thick-walled hemispheres, allowing the contents to spill out. A form, very similar in appearance to a sea star, or starfish, lay on the crater floor. Unlike the echinoderm, the starfish-thing in the crater was composed of interconnected crystal plates and metallic, cable-like tissue. The creature’s “arms” spanned just over a meter.
The newly hatched starfish-thing began to move, first tentatively, then with more deliberation. Soon, it was flowing over the ground with an uncanny skimming motion. It halted when it crashed into a boulder. Apparently unhurt, the creature extended two of its arms and began “caressing” the obstacle. The groping lasted less than a minute. Suddenly, there was a flash of movement.
The starfish-thing attacked the boulder, wrapping its arms around it. Then, an orifice on the creature’s underside opened. A tube-like mouth tipped with concentric rows of gunmetal gray teeth emerged from the opening. The dental rings moved, first spinning clockwise a half turn, then counterclockwise a half turn upon contact with the boulder surface. The newly hatched alien from 10-I Plouton was feeding for the first time.
Two survey teams were dispatched from Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy to locate the fragment of 10-I Plouton from which the as-yet undiscovered alien had sprung. One team boarded an ancient Mi-17 helicopter to conduct observations from the air, and the other was transported by truck to the area close to the seismic epicenter. Unfortunately for all involved, unusually harsh weather quickly developed, forcing the teams to abandon their efforts.
The inclement conditions continued for two weeks, forcing authorities to rely on poor-resolution satellite imagery to locate the meteor impact point. In the end, the images were deemed good enough to satisfy mission requirements, and follow-up expeditions to the impact area were scrubbed.
Meanwhile, at ground zero, the baby alien continued to eat rock and volcanic sand. It had more than quadrupled in size since hatching and showed no signs of slowing down. No one would notice its development, however, since the mountains west of Klyuchi were not known to be a popular destination for rational people.
June passed into July, and July into August. Unmolested, the starfish-thing, the monster from outer space, browsed freely on boulders, gravel, and mineral soils. It metabolized these raw materials and quickly grew to a gargantuan size.
As its bulk increase so did the number of its arms. Once fully developed, a new arm would duplicate the attitude of its sisters, hovering just above the ground, its tapered end dipping now and then, like the nose of a bloodhound testing the air. Several gleaming “eyes” occupied the underside of each arm, arranged like a string of super-sized garnet cabochons; these scanned the Monster’s immediate environs.
By the end of September, the Monster of Kamchatka had reached staggering proportions. It had a noonday shadow of nine hectares, and the top of its dome-like body occupied the air column at around the thirty-meter mark. Lines on seismic detector displays across the peninsula danced whenever it moved.
So massive was the creature’s ponderous form that it had attracted the eye of orbital voyeurs across the globe. It wasn’t long before the “terrestrial anomaly” (as many news outlets labeled it) was being tracked by those interested in the fantastic (which meant 99% of humanity watched for updates on the Monster).
It didn’t take long for the world’s curiosity to turn to concern. On 20 October, the Monster of Kamchatka arrived at the outskirts of Klyuchi. The Monster’s industrious tube mouth, with its gunmetal-colored rasping teeth, had created a broad and deep clean-sided trench, one that stretched southward deep into the mountains. The world’s finest mechanical excavators could not have done better work. The homes of just over 5,000 residents now lie before the living mountain.
The first property to be torn from Klyuchi’s substrate belonged to a pensioner named Pyotr Ivanovich Petrakov. Sadly, Pyotr was in an alcohol-assisted slumber at the time the Monster of Kamchatka trained its oscillating maw on his ramshackle cottage, and so there was no chance of escape. Most of Pyotr’s awake and sober neighbors agreed that the attack had been so sudden and violent that Pyotr had been spared the agony of a common death.
The next property to be hollowed out by the Monster belonged to the Apraksin family. Yevgeny, Svetlana and their three children were visiting relatives in Khabarovsk on the mainland when the Monster struck. They were lucky, or blessed, depending on your point of view. Others in Klyuchi were not so lucky or blessed.
Local authorities acted as quickly as one might expect in a city of Klyuchi’s size, but were impotent to stop the Monster’s gluttonous rampage. An evacuation was called for. Megaphones blared, and trucks and vans hurried down streets to collect residents without adequate transportation. A few brave residents tried to dissuade the gargantuan invader from consuming their property by shooting it with buckshot. Others tried fire barriers, lighting tires, and trash piled in hastily arranged rows. Nothing phased the attacker.
The nearest military garrison was contacted. One-way drones, armed with double shape charges, were sent skyward. These buzzed noisily toward the Monster. Ignorant of its fate, the Monster continued feeding. Less than ten minutes after the drone’s launch, flashes of flame and puffs of smoke showed that the target had been struck. Cheers erupted in gathering spots to the east of the ravenous juggernaut. The living mountain paused briefly after the strike, as if noting the sting of a mosquito, then resumed its feeding. The cheering ceased, replaced with cries of despair and loud sobbing.
Twenty minutes into the Monster of Kamchatka’s assault, four helicopter gunships from Ust-Kamchatskiy Airport appeared in the sky. Cheers again erupted, this time wavering and uncertain. The helicopters unleashed their rockets and cannon fire upon the Monster. Moments later, thunderous booms and cracks filled the air. There were more flashes and puffs of smoke. Klyuchi’s residents waited for the air to clear. When it did, cries of despair and loud sobbing once again filled the air.
Those who were still watching the scene saw the Monster shake several of its arms towards its airborne attackers, as if cursing the insectine pests, but that was the extent of its reaction. The Monster of Kamchatka continued its work of destruction, pushing northward until it had reached the old Azs V. P. service station on Ulitsa Kirova, where, for the first time since it entered Klyuchi, the Monster halted.
Dr. Vasily Shamilov had been largely car-bound for the past three weeks. The volcanologist was tired, unshaven, unbathed, and in desperate need of a hot meal. He had traveled from Achaivayam in the north, taking a meandering route designed to take him to several active and inactive volcanoes.
The trip was the brainchild of a newly chartered international research group interested in the characterization of magma movement below volcanoes in Russia’s Far East. His task was to set up instruments at each site of interest and record data. As interesting as the work was, and it generally wasn’t, Dr. Shamilov, being human, had grown bored and was weary of living out of a car. Fortunately, he was nearing the end of his tour of duty. He had one volcano left on his list.
In an exhausted stupor, Vasily managed to roll into the parking area across from the gas pumps at the Ulitsa Kirova service station. It was 20 October and cold outside. He didn’t relish the idea of exiting his mobile studio apartment and filling its tank, so he opted to burn a few liters of A-76 to keep the cabin toasty. A catnap before filling his tank and heading out seemed like a good idea.
He shifted in his reclined seat in a vain effort to make himself comfortable. It didn’t take long for the volcanologist’s leaden eyelids to close. He just needed ten or fifteen minutes of shut-eye, he assured himself. That would be enough. The sleep gods were attentive to Vasily’s need, and soon the thick, woolen blanket of slumber enveloped the scientist. Presently, he was scaling Mount Fuji in his underwear, accompanied by a group of bikini-clad supermodels donning fashionable high-heel hiking boots, when he was jolted awake by what felt like an earthquake.
The lone scientist awoke to a darkened sky. The lack of light surprised him. Had he overslept? Groggy, he brought his seat forward, squinted, and peered up through the partially fogged windshield of the Lada Iskra that had been his home for nearly a month. What he saw sent his thoughts reeling. A colossal Lovecraftian monstrosity loomed before him. He rubbed his eyes furiously and blinked, but the horrific vision did not go away. He realized then that whatever it was, the abomination before him, unlike the scantily clad hikers on Mount Fuji, was real!
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A dark tube, like a tornadic column cast earthward from tempestuous clouds, descended towards the paved surface of the station’s service area. His gaze traced the column upward to its point of origin. Perhaps forty meters up, the cylindrical structure melded into the underside of the monstrosity. At the column’s terminus, he could see, was a whirling assemblage of teeth, much like the working end of a tunnel boring machine. Sharp bits of shredded sheet metal and splashes of what had to be gasoline flew from the spinning rings of teeth as if thrown from a giant lawn sprinkler. The shrapnel and fuel peppered the hood, windshield, and roof of the Lada.
Dr. Shamilov reacted the only way a survivor of an encounter with the Monster of Kamchatka could have: he put his car in reverse, entered the highway, chose the appropriate forward gear, and proceeded east toward Kozyrevsk. Fortunately for the doctor, the terror that was now behind him found dismembering a tanker truck of greater interest than his departure.
A kilometer out from Klyuchi, Vasily switched on the Lada’s radio and searched for a clear station. He had to know what the thing that he saw was and where it had come from. He stopped scanning when he heard a reporter’s voice blaring through the Lada’s less-than-optimal sound system.
“Attention residents of Klyuchi, Mayskoye, and Kozyrevsk! An entity of unknown origin is in your area — possibly a new, advanced US weapon! Please follow the instructions of the local authorities and be prepared to evacuate your homes! Be assured that Moscow knows of the danger and authorities are taking concrete steps to deal with the threat!”
An unknown entity? A possible super weapon? Dr. Shamilov grimaced. The scowl that came to his face was not one of anger or consternation; it was his “thinking face.” Could he do something to combat that thing, the Monster of Kamchatka? He drove on, considering what he had witnessed at the service station; it occurred to him that the monstrosity had been dining on petroleum. Maybe, he thought, the thing could be drawn away from populated areas by presenting it with food. A leaky tanker truck loaded with premium A-92 might be just the thing.
Vasily retrieved his phone from under a plastic bag filled with snack wrappers and empty fish tins and checked his reception. To his surprise, it wasn’t bad. He looked for and found the number to Klyuchi’s police station. He called and was promptly put on hold. He was not surprised. The police were undoubtedly inundated with calls about the Monster’s activities.
After fifteen minutes of waiting, a husky female voice sounded over his phone.
“Yes, how may I help you? Make it quick, we’re swamped!”
Dr. Shamilov gave his credentials, then proceeded to explain how the Monster could be coaxed away from Klyuchi. The voice on the other side grunted as he did so, in what seemed like an insincere attempt to convey interest and understanding.
“Listen, Dr. Shepelev . . .,” the voice interrupted.
“It’s Shamilov.”
“Yes, alright. Dr. Shamilov then. We do not have time for prank calls or wild theories! Shame on you for calling us at a time like this!”
“But — I thought . . .”
The call was terminated before Vasily could utter another word. Frustrated, he called again. This time, he was placed on hold without consent. He waited for nearly twenty minutes for the husky female voice to emerge from his phone’s speaker, but that didn’t happen. He hung up and called again and was once more placed on hold. He reached the village of Kozyrevsk before hanging up in despair.
Vasily parked the Lada in a hotel parking lot just off the Kozyrevsk’s main strip. He then began searching the net for the number of the Ministry of Emergency Situations in Klyuchi. To his relief it was not a long search. He tapped the number on the screen, and the familiar sound of ringing filled the Lada’s interior.
“Hello, you’ve reached MCHS. This is Lieutenant Korobov. How can I assist you?” said a gravelly male voice.
Once again, Dr. Shamilov presented his bona fides and, once again, began detailing his plan to draw off the Monster that was destroying Klyuchi. This time, the listening party appeared genuinely interested.
“Go on, doctor,” said the voice, “You have my attention.”
“I propose we lure the thing away with a tanker truck loaded with fuel. I believe the thing prefers hydrocarbons to other materials.”
That is all well and good, doctor, but how do we neutralize the thing?”
“Yes, about that — uh, I have an idea. If we could get the creature to ingest enough fuel, say three or four tanker trucks’ worth, we may be able to destroy it from the inside. You see, if we can manage to tempt it into sampling an explosive dessert after its meal, the resulting explosion should finish it — or at least slow it down. An antitank mine strapped to a compressed oxygen tank would probably do.”
“I see. It is worth a try. Nothing we’ve come up with here has been effective. Can you return to Klyuchi and help direct the effort?”
“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll be there in about 45 minutes.”
“I hope Klyuchi will still be around,” the lieutenant grumbled. “I’ll arrange for the fuel trucks.”
Dr. Vasily Shamilov made good time. He pulled up to MCHS’ Klyuchi office 43 minutes after terminating his discussion with Lieutenant Korobov. Vasily introduced himself and was quickly led to a conference room filled with senior MCHS officers. There was no time to exchange pleasantries. The Monster of Kamchatka was within two blocks of the office building.
“We have to lure it outside the city with the fuel trucks,” Dr. Shamilov explained. “We need four trucks and four brave drivers. Once far enough away, the drivers should park the tankers at intervals of 100 meters. The lead truck will be fitted with a cluster of antitank mines attached to cylinders of compressed oxygen. The idea is simple: the Monster will ingest the tankers’ contents then blow itself up from the inside.”
The officers at the table looked around the room with expressions of surprise and hope.
“Let’s do it!” they practically shouted in unison. The conference room emptied quickly. The sound of revving diesel engines could be heard behind the building. The sound of rending and debris impact could also be heard. The Monster of Kamchatka had noticed the tankers and was closing in.
For its size, the Monster was fast. It was a mere 50 meters from the last tanker when the tractor-trailer turned onto Ulitsa Kirova. Once on pavement, however, the tanker trucks accelerated, leaving the ever-expanding, multi-armed destroyer of cities behind. The truck’s departure seemed to have enraged the creature, and it quickened its pace, plowing through buildings, breaching walls, and smashing vehicles in its wake.
The drivers parked their trucks as instructed on the southern portion of Ulitsa Kirov’s return loop, more than 600 meters west of the city. After parking their rigs, the drivers made their way to the KaMAZ truck with MCHS’ white livery. The truck proceeded to the northern portion of the loop, where the driver parked it.
The Monster of Kamchatka barreled forward, its mass proving to be its greatest impediment. It fell upon the rear tanker truck, extruded its drill-tipped tube mouth, and tucked in. It gulped in the tanker’s load with apparent relish, then tossed the trailer and the attached tractor into the forest bordering the road. The living mountain then advanced and attacked the next two tankers, quickly draining them and tossing everything solid into the forest.
Dr. Shamilov, the truck drivers, and a handful of MCHS personnel watched the Monster from the safety of the KaMAZ with fascination. The small audience held its breath. Would the thing take the bait?
Upon reaching the head tanker truck (the only one remaining), the Monster of Kamchatka hesitated. It was as if it could sense that the last truck was somehow different. It ran the tips of several of its eye-studded arms over the cylindrical body of the trailer. Then, seemingly satisfied with what it found, it directed its rotating maw to the top of the trailer. It wrapped its arms around the trailer as a crab spider would an inattentive fly.
The Monster of Kamchatka maintained its embrace on the hapless tanker truck for about thirty seconds. At the end of that time, there was a tremendous flash, a blinding light that enveloped the monster and its meal. The improvised bomb had worked!
The detonation, though muffled somewhat by the body of the Monster, created a ground-shaking boom that frightened birds from their perches for nearly a hundred kilometers. The explosion also produced supersonic shock waves that tore limbs from trees and propelled loose items — including smoking chunks of monster — in every direction. So powerful was the blast that the spectator-filled MCHS truck nearly toppled over. Pieces of the Monster of Kamchatka pelted the truck, denting body panels and cracking windows.
An awed silence followed the destruction of the Monster of Kamchatka; it lasted for several minutes, but was itself supplanted by an eruption of spontaneous and boisterous cheering. Dr. Vasily Shamilov was led out of the damaged KaMAZ and hoisted in the air like a youth at a rock concert. He was the hero of Klyushi’s darkest hour.
All told, Klyushi’s losses to the Monster included twenty souls (including five from one family), a dozen dogs, at least ten cats, thirty single-family homes, two apartment buildings, eight shops, one governmental administration building, scores of minor structures, and at least twenty-two vehicles. Most of Klyuchi’s residents agreed that recovery from the Monster’s assault would probably take years. In the short-term, however, specific issues needed to be addressed. For one, the rapidly expanding forest fire east of the city.
Two days after the demise of the Monster of Kamchatka, uniformed officials from Moscow arrived in Klyushi to inspect the city and investigate claims made by shell-shocked residents. The group stayed for a week and a half, and in that time recovered thousands of samples of the Monster’s tissues, which they claimed were needed for analysis.
A day after the officials’ departure, construction workers assigned to the cleanup of the southern portion of Ulitsa Kirov’s return loop reported thousands of shiny, metallic starfish swarming about the area where the Monster of Kamchatka had been dispatched. They described the movements of the creatures as “gliding,” similar to how an air hockey disk moves when struck.
