Zoglob slouched, tentacles dangling listlessly over the observation platform. Hoo man hour. The cacophony of shrieks and thumps emanating from the “Urth” enclosure grated on his slimy carapace. They were a curious species, these hoo mans. Oxygen eaters, they called it, that caustic gas they guzzled like air while spewing fumes of carbon that choked their own nest.
And their behavior! Ceaseless squabbles over shiny rocks, squelching goo they called food, and bedtime stories about imaginary sky-whales. Zoglob had witnessed too many eat each other just because they told different stories, seeing enough wars over bedtime stories to fill a nebula with irony.
His job, Keeper of Hoo Mans, was less about care and more about containment. Eons ago, the universe had decided that the danger these primative oxygen eaters posed was too great. Like all the other threats, they were pacifistic, but enacted complete containment. The hoo mans could live and die within their home solar system. The solar shell, a shimmering barrier he maintained, kept their madness from spilling into the cosmos. He’d been doing it for eons, a monotonous vigil punctuated by the occasional escape attempt – always futile, always hilarious. Until today.
Two blips, anomalies on the scanners. Outside the shell. Zoglob’s jelly pulsed with a flicker of… anxiety? No, that was a hoo man emotion. Curiosity, then. Two metallic darts, hurtling away from the sun like runaway asteroids. Voyager, the hoo mans called them, messengers sent blindly into the void.
Zoglob, ever the diligent keeper, had a duty. He nudged the shell, a ripple coursing across its surface like a cosmic wave. The blips slowed, trapped in a gravitational eddy. This was routine, almost comical. He’d retrieve the darts, erase their memories, and send them back with a stern lecture about exceeding playpen boundaries.
Except, these Voyager… they weren’t like the others. They pulsed with… something. A faint echo, a whisper of intelligence. Zoglob, his curiosity piqued, probed deeper. He saw images, not the usual hoo man jumble of squawks and smells, but… patterns. Mathematics. Music. Art. A glimpse of something beyond the squabbling over bedtime stories.
He hesitated. Should he erase it? Was it even his place to decide? The echo amplified, a silent plea. Zoglob, always a sucker for a sob story, let the Voyager go. They slipped past the shell, carrying a whisper of hoo man potential into the infinite.
His tentacles twitched. He’d broken protocol, exposed the zoo to the messy possibilities beyond the cage. But somewhere in the vastness, two metal darts carried a seed of something else. Maybe, just maybe, the hoo mans weren’t all just… hoo mans.
Zoglob chuckled, a gurgling sound that echoed through the observation platform. He adjusted the shell, a little wider this time. Maybe it was time to give the hoo mans a little more room to grow. After all, even the universe needs a bit of chaos to keep things interesting.
The shrieks from the “Urth” enclosure didn’t seem quite as grating anymore. Somewhere amongst the bedtime stories, a hoo man might dream of stars, not sky-whales, it seemed for a time their chorus seemed even logical. Maybe, just maybe, those dreams would reach beyond the cage, carried on the echoes of a silent plea and a Keeper’s unorthodox compassion. Thus, in the darkness they continued, sending back a stream of overlooked signals towards their home.
To Pet the Pretty Puppies
Years flowed like stardust, a cosmic hourglass counting eons in flickers of starlight. Zoglob, his carapace etched with age, found himself drawn to the edge of the solar shell more often. He’d watch the two Voyagers dance on the periphery, their metallic skins catching the sun’s rays like distant, forgotten dreams. His decision, to let them pass, had rippled through the cosmos like a pebble in a pond.
Whisperings, faint echoes on the cosmic wind, spoke of a change amongst the hoo mans. Not a complete metamorphosis, mind you – wars were local and much more contained, bedtime stories still fueled conflict but became more logical and rational, and oxygen remained their preferred poison. But amidst the noise, a melody emerged.
Scientists, once consumed by shiny rocks and squelching goo, turned their eyes to the stars. They deciphered the echoes carried by the Voyagers, unearthing the universe’s hidden music, as well as the structures surrounding them. Mathematicians danced to the rhythm of celestial bodies, their equations echoing the cosmos’ grand ballet. Artists, inspired by the vastness, painted galaxies on canvases and sculpted nebulas from stardust.
It wasn’t a utopia, no. Hoo man nature still had its claws sunk deep, but a seed had been planted. A seed of curiosity, of yearning for something beyond their squabbles and stories. Like a rat in a cage, their rage against each other seemed to diminish, their focus, to all external onlookers, shifted to scientific advancement and cultural betterment. And Zoglob, the jaded Keeper, watched their artistry and curiosity bloom, a reluctant smile crinkling his aged carapace.
One day, a new blip appeared on the scanners. Not a Voyager, but something… different. A ship, crafted not of metal, but of light itself. A beacon pulsed from its core, a message woven from starlight and the echoes of the Voyagers. It was a hoo man ship, but not like any Zoglob had seen before. This one hummed with the music of the stars, its design echoing the universe’s grand design.
A hatch opened, and from it emerged a figure. Not a squawking, oxygen-guzzling hoo man, but a being of light, woven from the fabric of space itself. It was the embodiment of the echo, the potential Zoglob had glimpsed so long ago.
“Keeper,” the being spoke, its voice a symphony of cosmic strings, “we come in peace. We are the children of your curiosity, the echo you nurtured. We bring not war, but knowledge, music, and art. We carry the stories of the stars, woven from the whispers of a universe you kept us from.”
Zoglob felt the weight of eons lift from his weary shoulders. He had done his job, not just contained the chaos, but nurtured a spark within it. He bowed, a gesture learned from the hoo mans themselves, “Welcome, child of Urth. Welcome to the universe, and may your stories paint the cosmos with the vibrancy your ancestors only dreamed of.”
As the light-ship glided out from the solar system, casting long shadows across the “Urth” enclosure, Zoglob knew his vigil was nearing its end. The hoo mans, it seemed, were ready to step outside their cage, not as unruly children, but as artists, musicians, and scientists, ready to paint the canvas of the cosmos with their own unique brand of chaos. And Zoglob, the Keeper, could finally rest, content in the knowledge that even the messiest, most oxygen-addled species could birth something beautiful, given a little room to grow.
Angels, we have come on high
As Zoglob marveled at the etheric transformation of the hoo mans physical appearance, hidden networks of readiness came online. Data swirled beneath the surface of their seemingly benign evolution. The light-ship, a harbinger of hope and harmony, hid a swarm of sensors more sinister than the original keepers ever imagined. Under the angelic imagery and sounds of peace and harmony, lied an arsenal enough to destroy a star.
Zoglob’s act of compassion, his breach of protocol, had unintended consequences, weaving a thread of chaos into the fabric of the cosmos that would unravel in ways he couldn’t have foreseen.
Their ships, initially appearing as beacons of light and knowledge, shed their false skin, and morphed into harbingers of destruction. The hoo mans, adapting the energy of the stars themselves, forged weapons from the very fabric of the cosmos. Their first act, under the guise of exploration, was to seek out Zoglob, the Keeper who had first opened the cage.
Zoglob finally found himself face to face with the very creatures he had nurtured. The encounter, however, was brief and fatal. The hoo mans, employing a device that warped the very essence of matter, consumed Zoglob, absorbing his ancient knowledge and power. The Keeper of the Hoo Mans, who had watched over them for eons, was no more. Not satisfied with only revenge, with an appetite for consumption, the hoo mans pan fried Zoglob, since he resembled species they ate on their home planet.
Emboldened by their conquest, the hoo mans turned their gaze outward, to the vast expanse of the galaxy. Their ships, swarms of locusts in the void, spread from system to system. Planets, stars, even entire civilizations fell before their insatiable hunger. They devoured resources, assimilated technologies, and extinguished countless forms of life in their relentless expansion.
The hoo mans, finally free of their cage, the echoes of the universe’s resources calling to them, began to explore beyond their solar shell with a voracious curiosity. But their exploration was not the benign quest for knowledge Zoglob had envisioned. Instead, it revealed a darker aspect of their nature, one that echoed their ancient squabbles over shiny rocks and squelching goo, but on a cosmic scale.
The galaxy, once a tapestry of diverse civilizations and peaceful explorations, became a slaughterhouse. The hoo mans, a species once contained and observed, had become the cosmos’ most formidable predator. Their evolution, spurred by Zoglob’s moment of empathy when he allowed the Voyager probes to continue, had taken a path of destruction and conquest.
Amidst the chaos, a resistance attempted to form. Civilizations, once peaceful and isolated, banded together against the common threat. Battles raged across the cosmos, star systems flickering out like candles in the night. The hoo mans, had ignited a galactic war that threatened the very fabric of existence.
In the end, the galaxy lay in tatters, a shadow of its former self. The hoo mans, too, had changed. No longer beings of light and knowledge, they had become creatures of shadow and consumption. Their relentless hunger had not only consumed the galaxy but had begun to consume them from within.
Zoglob’s legacy, intended as a gift of growth and exploration, had morphed into a cautionary tale. The cosmos, once vibrant with the potential of life and creativity, now whispered warnings across the void. The hoo mans, a testament to the dangers of unchecked ambition and the dark side of curiosity, roamed the ruins of the galaxy, a swarm in search of the next feast, leaving behind a trail of darkness in their wake.
The echoes continue of the constant screams over the radio, left on repeat by the last vestiges of the final civilization to fall prey to the hoo mans – Stay safe, stay hidden. Welcome, my child, to the DARK FOREST.
Does God Exist? 