Croak

by linahanson

In the beginning, there was an accident.

A freak particle storm raging through the galaxy's remotest corner entered the solar system and nixed the sun. One moment, the inhabitants of the system's one planet that was both close and far away enough from its central star to survive were enjoying their usual bickering. Then, within a fraction of a second, they had vanished.

The storm parboiled all organic material on the planet, but it left the structures untouched. Ever so slowly, their outlines were getting blurred, covered in layers and layers of soft ash, swirling through the skies like charcoal snowflakes. In death, they all were united--the great and the small, the rich and the poor, animals, insects, bureaucrats and racists.

Including those hunkering in the bomb shelters.

Whoever was out in space at the time fared no better. The flotilla of satellites was blinded in a nanosecond and shredded to pieces as debris, the biggest the size of a sand corn, the smallest invisible to both naked eye and high-tech sensors, powered through them.

The wreckage tumbled through the dense mass of clouds that shrouded the doomed planet. It was fortunate that nobody was left down there to get in the way of those freshly created asteroids.

The space station was far too big a target to survive the apocalypse. It imploded with a muffled oomph heard only by those sitting inside the sardine can, staring at monitors that spelt out their imminent demise with daunting accuracy.

The particles hammered into the debris just for another second, then they were gone, and it was all over.

What had been the pride of a whole planet had just got particle-blasted into twisted strands of metal, plastic and rubber. Eventually, they too would drift down towards the surface.

Not that it would make any difference. Not anymore.

From the centre of the wreckage lifted a small tubular object, fired its engines and sped away, towards the bigger outer planets. From there, it got bumped into deep space, the last experiment of a world that had ceased to exist.

The probe carried seeds from the dead planet. That and bacteria, a whole range of them. If the seeds didn't find fertile earth, perhaps the bacteria would turn barren lumps in space into a new world. To be quite sure, the builders of this lifeboat had added a few more developed organisms.

Just in case.

It had been the result of a last minute decision and much debate. Many a species had been put on the list, only to get removed again. In the end, the probe got boarded by lichen, mutant termites from a nuclear testing site - and a handful of tadpoles.

The latter had been the biggest stone of contention and nearly didn't make it on board. They needed water to survive, which wasn't a given on a foreign world.

But somebody had put their foot down and here were the tadpoles, caught in cryo sleep like their companions, snugly hidden away in the core of the probe.

They all drifted through space for a long, long time. So much time that the powerful mini-batteries finally failed. The fuel had run out long ago, but that was to be expected and had, in fact, been planned for. The insulation and the cryo freeze would have kept the passengers going for a while longer.

Not that it was necessary.

For the probe had landed. Had splashed into the shallow waters of an emerald ocean light years away from its origin. The colour of that ocean was owed to microscopic algae cooking the primordial soup.

Life had already started on this foreign world.

Life had just pulled the card of doom.

The probe rolled in the shallows until a stronger wave pushed it against a gaggle of rocks and withdrew with the receding surf. Sunshine glittered on the metallic skin of the probe, found the hidden solar panels and caused electronic eruptions inside. Next came electricity, it flowed through the conduits and triggered a domino-wave of activity.

The probe flashed red and, with a screeching noise, the top panel opened, and the cargo got ejected.

The bacteria came first. They landed in the mud behind the rocks. There are no records of either their failure or success to take hold. For all that matters, they might still be bobbing in the tide pools.

The seeds got catapulted to the other side and landed in the water. For a moment, they were buoyant on the algae cover until they absorbed water, got too heavy and sank below the surface. The seeds were a spectacular non-success.

The lichen came next; they won the lottery ticket and landed on the rocks. It wouldn't take a year, and every single stone in the area would be covered in migrant lichen. From there, the foreign invader set out to conquer the world.

The termites, like the seeds, were biologically ill-adapted to cope with the layout of their landing site. They crawled around on the muddy surface, until, one by one, they succumbed and got sucked into the wet sands in an awakening that was as rude as it was brief.

It was the tadpoles who won the jackpot. Not only did they find themselves in an environment well suited to their needs--sweet water--but also a whole ocean full of it. Plus, there was something else. Perhaps it was that long-forgotten radiation from when an entire planet had blown up. Perhaps it was sun-storms, suction created by black holes during their journey. Whatever it was, something had happened to the tadpoles. And the tadpoles only.

Well, the termites might have been of a different opinion, but they were gone so quickly, they never got to comment.

The tadpoles had gone sentient. They were self-aware as soon as they came out of the cryo-freeze. It didn't strike them as odd. It just was. They also had a swarm-intelligence, all forty-six one of them.

Strike that.

Forty-five. One had just got washed too far onto the beach and found out, much to its terminal disgust, that the solar radiation of their new home was rather lethal.

The rest decided a shift towards deeper water was called for and acted on the motion. Chewing on the yummy algae, they swam and dived and explored their new environment. And they got bigger and bigger and started changing. Developed little legs, first at the back, then at the front. Their skin got tougher, darker and warty and, covered in a screen of algae it was no problem to promenade the shoreline anymore.

Nothing much happened for quite a long time. The forty five toads lived out their lives on the shores of the far-distant ocean. They lived much longer than any toad would have, back in their home world. Their progeny, of which there were many, lived even longer.

The toads were already into their seventh generation and had joined the non-sentient lichen in its conquest when the miracle happened.

A spaceship landed. Suited figures got out and waved all sorts of instruments around.

The toad colony watched from below the algae, only their eyes showing, staring at the newcomers.

A thought sparked through the toady web of brains.

We shall overcome!

Like one organism, the toads surged forwards and advanced on the space travellers in a wave of green slime and wildly paddling legs.

The suited visitors dropped their instruments and made for their vehicle, tinny sounds of distress emanating from the speakers in their suits.

They never made it. With a mighty croak from many toady throats, the amphibians swarmed the space travellers, ripped their space suits to shreds and covered their pale bodies until they wriggled no more.

The person in the shuttle, for that was what the vehicle was, tried an emergency take-off, but the toads were faster. A second group surged inside (note: always keep your spaceship locked when exploring) and overcame the third traveller in no time.

Now, the toads were in control of the command panel from where issued frantic squeaking and babbling.

The group of toad elders, the ones with the strongest legs, hopped forwards and pressed a button through their sheer weight.

Stop this, the toads thought.

The babbling ceased. Silence ensued.

We are divine. You shall serve us. If you do so well, you shall be rewarded. Fail, and you shall be punished.

More frantic babbling from the speaker, but it ceased once a brain wave burst from the toads, like a bubble in the mud.

We shall not repeat ourselves. You shall serve. Or die.

It would have to be assumed that the hapless crew of the unnamed spaceship valued their lives, for they took the toad commando on board and followed their instructions to the letter. From the planet of the emerald seas, the toads spread all across the multiverse. On many planets, they have since been openly worshipped. On some less so.

But believe me. No matter where you go. There's always a toad running the show.