‘Ginger’ – A short Sci-fi story
Ginger gripped the controls tightly and focussed his mind on the instruments. The computers were perfectly capable of handling everything themselves. He knew that. The machines had successfully guided them through the multilayers of space on their intricate hyperspace journey. But now they were reaching the end of their voyage and he knew that it might require the reactions of a calculating brain rather than the linear responses of a machine. Everything depended on him and the exactness of his decision making.
Ginger knew that they had selected the right person. There was no doubt in his mind. He was cold, efficient and ruthless and he knew it. That was just what was needed. His whole life had honed him and prepared him for this command. All his long existence he had been bullied, victimised and baited. Most would have collapsed under the relentless barrage but not him. He had stood up to it, absorbed the blows and stood defiant. Where others would have melted inside it had only served to make him full of steely resolve and sharpen his robust mind. He had become as heartless and ruthless a killing machine as anyone could devise. That is why they had entrusted this mission to him. He was the person for the job.
Ginger allowed his eyes to scan the flight deck. The crew were equally absorbed in their tasks. They might call him ‘Ginger’ behind his back, but with a great deal of fear, but they’d never dream of doing so to his face. Those days were long gone.
He turned his attention to the plexiscreen and noted that the rest of the flotilla, making up their task-force, was in tight formation. Everything was as it should be. They were as prepared as Ginger could make them. Shortly they would emerge from hyperspace and the battle would commence. They all knew it was one they had to win.
Behind them their planet was dieing. The ecosystem had been wrecked long ago and with the demise of that delicate system, their own life-support was severed. The atmosphere was changing. Already the oxygen was severely depleted and carbon dioxide was building up. They were heading for a greenhouse catastrophe. The scientists were doing all they could to hold back the inevitable but everyone knew that it was just a question of time.
Ginger and his task-force were their last desperate gamble.
The scientists had frantically searched for another planet they could escape to. Unbelievably they had come up trumps. They had found the ideal world. The only downside was that it was already occupied. Everything else about it was ideal. It would have afforded them the chance of a new start if it wasn’t for the fact that there was a bunch of gormless aliens already there. And what monsters they were. The whole scientific community had all looked at the images with disgust as the loathsome creatures went about their lives. Nobody could imagine anything so hideous, no science fiction story had conjured up something so sinister and malevolent; no imagination could have created such grotesque creatures. It made Ginger’s skin crawl to even think about them. He put the thoughts to one side. Right now they were all that stood between Ginger and the salvation of his species. They had to be eradicated and swept aside. The fact that those aliens were so nauseating, resembling escapees from some terror of a nightmare, only made Ginger’s job easier. The crew were horrified by the vision of those beasts. Those aliens deserved to be eradicated, if any creature did. Nothing that sickening deserved to live.
His task-force were the vanguard. Their job was to establish a bridgehead that could be adequately defended until such time as the main body of more vulnerable craft could land and unload their serious weaponry. The whole world was depending on the success of this mission. They only had one shot at it. It was all they could afford.
Ginger caressed the controls for the death-rays the ships had been equipped with. Soon he would be using them to good effect.
The plan was simple. They would come out of hyperspace and swoop down in a surprise attack. The aliens would not know what had hit them. When they had secured a landing site they would quickly summon up the lumbering transporters and unload the heavy equipment. That was when they would be at their most vulnerable. The role of Ginger’s task-force was crucial. They had to destroy all aliens in the vicinity and defend the landing site until support arrived.
Ginger was confident. He would show no mercy. Those repulsive aliens were as good as dead meat. In his mind he could imagine their flesh searing in the heat of the death-rays. It filled him with a glow of satisfaction.
The chronometer hit zero and he felt the warship shudder as it emerged from hyperspace. Ginger already had a firm hold on the firing buttons.
‘What are you doing?’ Pete enquired, standing on the court as the tennis ball bounced away harmlessly to the back fence, chuckling at the comical antics of his friend John. He stared in disbelief at the crazy antics John was going through, swatting and batting at what looked like a swarm of gnats with his tennis racket.
John continued to bash away at the air in a series of rapid swats while rubbing his cheek ruefully and grimacing.
‘Bloody things stung me!’ John explained, swiping one last time at the last of the damn insects. ‘It really hurt!’
Pete could see from the other end of the court that he wasn’t kidding. Even at that distance he could see a redness flaring up on John’s cheek. It highlighted his orange hair and freckles. He laughed. ‘Serves you right,’ he stated, unsympathetically. ‘That’s forty love to me.’
‘You can’t count that!’ John replied indignantly rubbing his sore crimson cheek as he turned to retrieve the ball. ‘I was bloody stung! There was a swarm of them. Play that again!’
Pete shrugged. ‘OK – thirty love. First serve.’ They resumed their game.
To the side of the court Ginger found himself miraculously still alive. He lay stunned and in agony, his body broken. Painfully he extricated himself from the wreckage of the flight-deck and with what remained of his mangled tentacles dragged himself out of the ruins of his craft. He paused to allow the untainted air to flow across his gills. The yellow sun glistened on the slime coating his flesh creating a ruddy glow. As the colour drained from his skin, removing all traces of the red complexion that had dominated his life, he knew that he had failed.
Opher 3.9.2015
I wanted this story to revolve around the ‘Racism’ associated with ginger haired people. They are abused, bullied and suffer a great deal of unwarranted victimisation due to their hair colour. If it was skin colour it would not be sanctioned or allowed but people are quite happy to target ‘ginners’.
It is racism because that vivid hair colour is a Celtic attribute. The targeting goes back hundreds, if not thousands of years.
It’s about time it stopped!
My ginger alien was hardened and twisted from the abuse he had suffered. Many people are.