Alien contact with humanity has been long and, for the most part, inconspicuous. They have, by and large, had the upper hand, relentlessly pursuing their secret agenda. They have not, however, prevailed in every encounter with our species. History is littered with story of human courage and ingenuity in the face of unexpected circumstances and of often overwhelming odds. These extraterrestrial encounters have provided us with an opportunity to learn from their mistakes, and has provided a framework for our current understanding of how they can be defeated.

106 AD – Rome

In early September, 2003, workmen renovating a long disused cellar in a rectory outside of Naples, Italy, unearthed a box containing a bundle of old manuscripts. Museum staff were called and soon pronounced that they had discovered the long missing annals of the Roman historian Cornelius Tacitus, covering the years AD 66 – 188. Amongst this priceless collection were a number of personal letters, including one from the author’s cousin Markus Quintus Sentius, the private secretary of the prominent Roman Senator, Lucius Julius Turannius. One letter includes an account of the celebrations ordered by Emperor Trajan after the defeat of Darcia in 106 AD. The festivities lasted one hundred and twenty three days during which time 10,000 gladiators fought and 11,000 animals were butchered.

Dear Cousin,

I accompanied the Senator to the colosseum today, where we viewed the animal exhibits prior to the day’s performance. The caged animals from the provinces were most striking. Lions, bears, tigers, an elephant and giraffe, all destined for death in the arena. What captured my attention, though, was the display of oddities and freaks from Cyrenaica and Aegyptus (modern day Libya and Egypt). A calf with two heads, a man with an extra arm, and a giant of monstrous proportions. There was one wretched creature, wizened and deformed, hardly human. The public were kept at a distance from it’s enclosure and warned that it had magical powers that could render a man unconscious. I stood transfixed by it’s enormous eyes, until prompted to move on by a guard.

I do not, as a rule, enjoy the games. I find them most distasteful. They cater for the common man’s basest desire for blood. But I have never been one to resist displays of the supernatural and resolved to keep my eye open to see how this creature fared in battle that very afternoon.

I did not have long to wait. During the luncheon interval, the creature was dragged into the arena on a long tether. Two lightly clad gladiators approached with trident and net, but before getting within striking distance, they dropped to the earth as if dead. A murmur of surprise arose from the crowd. Another gladiator, wearing mail, leggings, a helmet, and wielding a heavy sword, came at it from behind. But within three paces he collapsed at its feet as well. This certainly gained the attention of the spectators, who had now begun returning to their seats. They started abusing the fallen gladiators and demanding real men to slay the beast, which remained, throughout, crouched motionless, close to the ground.

The onslaught continued, gladiator after gladiator falling before the creature until it could barely be seen behind the bodies. The crowd were incredulous that so many could be defeated without a single blow falling and were suspicious that it may be just a pantomime. They bayed for blood, outraged that their wishes were being mocked. At last, the morning’s champion, Manius Dentatus, entered to rapturous applause. Keeping his distance from the creature he seized a javelin and hurled it, without ceremony, into it’s back. It toppled over on it’s side, dead. Unsheathing his dagger, Manius removed the creature’s bulbous head, plunged it on a pike and paraded it around the arena, much to the crowd’s pleasure. One by one the fallen gladiators arose from the ground, dazed and heckled by the crowd. All were publicly executed before nightfall.

As Ever,

Markus

June 1, 1862, Richmond, Virginia

Confederate captain Uriah W. Smith, working under orders from Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, lead a small company of confederate soldiers on a nocturnal reconnaissance mission behind Union lines during the two day Battle of Seven Pines. Three hours before dawn they spotted what they thought was one of the Union’s aerostats, or manned surveillance balloons, positioned over a nearby hillside. The following extract was taken from his recently discovered private journal.

We saw it through the trees, at first. Shaped more like an up-turned bowl than a balloon. Larger and
more graceful than the ones we saw yesterday. It hung there for some time then started drifting towards
us. Thinking it had broke free of its moorings we waited to see where it would go. It stopped over a
small clearing not more than two chains away and alighted as gentle as a feather. It was a solid
structure, the color of polished iron in the moonlight. Hiding in a thicket we watched as a door opened
and its occupants came out. Children, by what we could see; four of them. Thinking that we might
capture them I gave the command to the men to redy their weapons, whereupon, the Union Balloon Corp
men, hearing us, instantly turned and ran towards us with a speed and agility that was frightening. We
opened fire, seeming to hit one before they all disappeared into the undergrowth. Shortly after, the
balloon rose into the air and flew off towards the east so quickly that it was out of sight within moments.
A single, loud canon shot rang out as it disappeared.

Both Captain Smith and his men returned unscathed to their camp. Captain Smith survived the war and
work as a postmaster in Raleigh, North Carolina, until his death in 1893.

May 27, 1888, Equatoria, Africa Sir Henry Morton Stanley was a Welsh born explorer and journalist. He is most remembered for his 1867 expedition, commissioned by the New York Herald, to search for the missing Scottish explorer David Livingston, in central Africa After a journey plagued by disease, desertions and insurrection, Stanley found Livingston on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, in present day Tanzania, were he uttered the immortal greeting, “Dr Livingstone, I presume?” After a number of subsequent, well publicised, expeditions in Sub-Saharan Africa, he returned again in 1887 to lead the ill-fated mission to ‘rescue’ the Governor of Equatoria, in current day Sudan. In a previously unpublished journal entry he records: