Humans: Trailer

IF YOU KNOW WHO WROTE IT, PLEASE TELL ME SO I CAN PUT THERE NAME HERE

THIS IS NOT MY STORY
I found pieces of it on Pinterest and It gave me some Idea's for some stories I want to write latter.

If you know who wrote it, please tell me so I can give them the recognition they deserve.

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We knew about the planet called Earth for centuries before we made contact with its indigenous species. Of course, we spent decades studying them from afar.

The first researchers had to fight for years to even get a grant. They kept getting laughed out of the halls. A class H world (Generally uninhabitable-death world) that had not only produced sapient life, but a stage two civilisation? It was a joke. Obviously. It had to be a joke.

And then it wasn't. And we all stopped laughing. Instead, we got very, very nervous.

We watched as human civilisations not only survived, but grew, and thrived, and invented things we had never even dreamed of. Terrible things. Weapons of war. Implements of destruction as brutal and powerful as one would imagine a death world's children to be. In less than two thousand years, they had already produced implements of mass death that would have horrified most callous dictators in the long, dark history of the galaxy.

Already the children of Earth were the most terrifying creatures in the galaxy. They became the stuff of horror stories, nightly warnings told to children. Huge hulking brutish things that hacked and slashed and stabbed and shot and burned and SURVIVED. That build monstrous metal things that rumbled across the landscape and blasted buildings to ruin.

All that preserved us was their lack of space flight. In their obsession with murdering one another, the humans had locked themselves into a rigid framework of physics that thankfully omitted the equation necessary to achieve interstellar travel.

They became our bogeymen. Locked away on their prison planet, surrounded by a cordon of non-interference. Prevented from raging the galaxy only by their own insatiable need to kill one another. Gruesome and terrible, yes - but at least we were safe.

Or so we thought.

The cities were called Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the moment of their destruction, the humans unlocked a destructive force greater than any of us could have ever believed possible. It was at that moment that those of us who studied their technology knew their escape to be inevitable and that no force in the universe could hope to stand against them.

The first human spacecraft were... exactly what we should have expected them to be.

There were no elegant solar wings. No sleek, silvered hulls plying the ocean of stars. They did not soar on the stellar currents. They did not even register their existence. Humanity flew in the only way it could: on all-consuming pillars of fire, pounding space itself into submission with explosion after explosion. Their ships were crude, ugly, bulky things. Huge slabs of metal welded together. Built to withstand the inconceivable forces necessary to propel themselves into space through violence alone.

It was almost comical. The huge, dumb brutes simply strapped an explosive to their backs and let it throw them off the planet.

We would have laughed if it hadn't terrified us.

Humanity, at long last, was awake.

It was a slow process. It took them nearly a hundred years to reach their nearest planetary neighbour. A hundred more to conquer the rest of their solar system. The process of refining their explosive propulsion system (now powered by the same force that had melted their cities into glass less than a thousand years before) was slow and haphazard. Year by year, they inched outwards. Conquering and subduing world after work that we had deemed unfit for habitation. They burrowed into moons, built orbital colonies around gas giants, even crafted habitats that drifted in the hearts of blazing nebulas. They never stopped. Never slowed.

The no-contact contact cordon was generous and was extended by the day. As human colonies pushed farther and farther outward, we retreated. Gave them the space they wanted in a desperate attempt at... stalling for time, perhaps? Or some sort of appeasement? Or sheer, abject terror?

Debates were held daily, arguing about whether or not first-contact should be initiated. And how. And by whom. And with what fail safes. No agreement was ever reached.

We were comically unprepared for them. It was almost an accident. The humans had achieved another breakthrough in propulsion physics and took an unexpected teal of several hundred light-years... coming into orbit around an inhabited world.

What ensued was the diplomatic equivalent of everyone staring awkwardly at one another for a few moments and then turning around and walking slowly out of the room.

The human ship leapt away after some thirty minutes without initiating any sort of formal communications, but we knew that we had been discovered. And the message of our existence was being carried back to Earth.

The situation in the Senate could only be described as 'absolute, incoherent panic.' They had discovered us before our preparations were complete. What would they want? What demands would they make? What hope did we have against them if they chose to wage war against us and claim the galaxy for themselves? The most meagre of human ships was beyond our capacity to engage military; even unarmed transport vessels were so thickly armoured as to be functionally indestructible to our weapons.

We waited, every day certain that we were on the brink of war. We hunkered in our homes, and starred.

Across the darkness of space, humanity starred back.

There were other instances of contact. Human ships (now armoured) entering colonized space for a scant few moments and then leaving upon finding our meagre batteries pointed in their direction. They never initiated communications. We were too frightened to.

A few weeks later, the humans discovered Alphari-296.

It was a border world. A new colony on an ocean planet that was proving to be less hospitable than initially thought. Its military garrison was pitifully small to begin with. We had been trying desperately to shore up its defences, afraid that the humans would sense weakness and attack, but things were made complicated by the disease.

The medical staff on the colonies were unable to devise a cure, or even a treatment, and what pitifully small population remained on the planet was slowly vomiting themselves to death.

When the human fleet arrived in orbit, the rest of the galaxy wrote Alphari-296 off as lost.

I was there on the surface when the great grey ships came screaming down from the sky. Crude, inelegant things, all jagged metal and sharp edges, barely holding together. I sat there on the balcony of the clinic full of patients that I did not have the resources or the expertise to help, and looked up with the blank, empty, numb stare of one who was certain they are about to die.

I remember the symbols emblazed on the sides of each ship, glaring in the sun as the ships landed inelegantly on the spaceport landing pads that had never been designed for anything so large. It was the same symbol painted on their helmets of every human that strode out of the ships, their faces obscured by dark visors.

It was a crude image of a human figure, rendered in simple straight lines with a dot for the head. It was painted in white over a red cross. It was the first flag that humans ever carried into our world.

The first human to approach me was female, though I did not learn this until much later, (It was impossible to ascertain gender through the bulky suit and the mask) but she strode up the stairs onto the balcony, carrying that black case that was nearly the size of my entire body, and paused as I stared up at her blankly. I was vaguely aware that I was witnessing history, and quite certain I would not live to tell of it.

Then, to my amazement, she said in halting, uncertain words, "You are the head doctor?"

I nodded. The visor cleared and the human bared its teeth at me. (I learned later that this was a 'grin.' An expression of friendship and happiness among their species.) "We are the doctors without borders," she said, speaking slowly and carefully. "We are here to help."