Attack of the Drones

By J. M. Allison

“Night, Alex,” my buddies called as they climbed into their car.

I waved as they drove away, then headed inside to clean up. I brushed popcorn off the sofa and collected plates of half-finished pizza. The end credits of the sixth movie continued scrolling on the TV and I bobbed my head with the music.

A movie marathon was the best way to celebrate May 4th, a day dedicated to our favorite franchise. I tossed empty red party cups into a trash bag, then grabbed the broom and brandished it at imaginary enemies, creating my own sound effects and sweeping the broom handle to block imaginary attacks. Thirty minutes later, the house was back in order.

“You will submit and surrender.”

I thought I’d turned off the TV…

I poked my head into the living room. It was quiet, the TV screen dark.

“Surrender or face the consequences,” the gruff mechanical voice demanded.

Searching the shadows, I tried to pinpoint the voice’s source.

“Is someone there?” I grabbed my eighteen-inch collector’s edition brass bounty hunter statue from the bookshelf and held it ready in defense.

A high-pitched hum filled the air and I turned toward it. Three baseball-sized drones hovered just above my head. A small alien sat in the center of each one, managing an array of tiny controls with tubey little fingers. Their sleek ebony skin complemented their green-and-yellow flight uniforms.

“In accordance with Camin Law 8793b, subsection 5, paragraph 16, you are hereby notified of the following: Observance of the subject verifies guilt in anti-Camin bias. To protect Camin interests, the threat must be neutralized before the subject reaches full potential.”

I squinted at the drones. “What?”

The lead drone buzzed a few inches closer. “Digital briefings witnessed today indicate sympathies with anti-establishment ideals. Activities after briefings indicate potential training in rebel ideologies. Artifacts found within residence indicate a strong connection to leaders identified in briefings.”

I reached toward the aliens, my body seeking to confirm what my rational brain struggled to comprehend. Visualize to realize. The words from my motivational podcast buzzed in my mind. It wasn’t possible my imagination had conjured these creatures into existence, was it? “You’re who? You think I did what?”

The drones buzzed in short bursts up and down, a string of beeps and whistles exchanging between them.

“The Cami Imperium is the recognized ruling order of the galaxy,” snapped their leader, “At last, orders have arrived directing us to make our presence known. Our silent infiltration of this planet has ended. We will tolerate no opposition. Guilt is undeniable. Termination must proceed.”

I rubbed my eyes and shook my head. Perhaps I’d fallen asleep…

Pew! Pew! Pew!

I flinched at the red flashes. They seared my arm on impact. “Ow!”

The lead drone screamed toward me. I dove behind the couch, considering my options. If this was really happening, I had only one choice before me: make them sorry they ever decided to invade.

I scrambled for the den. The whirl of drones crescendoed as they zipped after me. Just a few more steps. I threw myself against the wall, ripping my weapon from its display rack.

I had always dreamed of defending the galaxy, wielding supernatural powers, defeating enemies with the practiced swings of my laser sword. Today, I would settle for whacking those devious little creatures back to wherever they came from. Visualize to realize, I coached myself.

I adjusted my grip on the hilt and flipped the switch to power up the blade like a giant hot-pink glowstick. The drones hovered in formation. The red lights of the lead drone blinked an irregular pattern. The pilot barked at his companions, communicating some battle plan.

I swung. The drones swerved, avoiding my blow. I swept my weapon overhead, visualizing my next downward strike smashing the lead alien into the floor. I swung. The drones drifted back, unscathed.

“Ahh!” I leapt forward and swung wildly. With every swipe, the drones drifted higher, out of range.

“Get down here so I can whoop your tiny alien butts!” I snarled and lunged again. I hopped up and down to improve my weapon’s reach.

One of the aliens gave a clipped chirp, then dove his drone toward me.

I’d never been good at sports. Visualize to realize, I repeated and swung. I spun. My glowing weapon sliced nothing but air.

Pew! Pew! Pew!

I growled as I felt their fire sting across my side. I swept my weapon in a large arc and snatched a large pillow from the nearby overstuffed chair. They didn’t call it a throw pillow for nothing. I launched my unconventional ammo at the invaders.

Whum! The pillow found its mark, knocking all three drones against the wall and sending them tumbling to the floor. I jumped forward and repeatedly smashed my sword on top of the pillow-covered invaders with all my might. After a dozen whacks, and a few stomps for good measure, the mechanical beeps and chirps fizzled away.

I frowned down at the crooked, flickering stick in my hand. My once prized possession was now just a broken toy. My folks had rolled their eyes at my overpriced juvenile purchase. But this weapon had been essential in defending myself, the house, the world—probably even the galaxy.

I nudged the pillow aside to find the damaged drones. Sparks jumped from the mangled remains. One of the aliens lay crumpled amongst the wreckage. I poked at him with the battered and bent tip of my sword. The other two aliens were nowhere in sight.

“Your resistance will fail,” croaked the dying alien, “Long live the Camin Empire!” He raised one fist defiantly into the air, then forced out a wheezing cough and went still.

Visualize then realize. I might never travel the galaxy or boast of amazing powers, but today, I had defeated enemies with the wild swings of a glowing sword and the force of a fluffy throw pillow. I smiled. Sometimes dreams did come true.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. M. Allison, more commonly addressed as Lisa, or Mommommommom, grew up captivated by the magic and wonder of fairy tales. She finds daily adventure in raising four rambunctious younglings, teaching musical theatre and dance, sewing, drawing, cosplaying, writing, and reading. Stories can communicate so many things, and she hopes her stories will bring a smile and inspire others to courageously live their own adventures.

---

More Stories | Facebook