But they weren't invaders—they came in peace. They were a race of wanderers, nomads of the galaxy, gypsies of the stars. Their people had left their home planet eons ago, breaking up into smaller groups upon massive starships, drifting amongst the vacuum of space until they came across other sentient beings to trade with or learn from. They never wanted anything from us that we weren't willing to give and they offered up some interesting technology. Initially, relations were amiable, a few hundred of the thousand that made them up ventured to the surface to interact with us. That is when shit hit the fan.
Nothing emasculates a man more than one who can please a woman with little effort and that is what the male wanderers were capable of—mind blowing, sating sex. At first it was just a few curious women, some odd fetish to fuck an alien but after word got out more and more women flocked to them. Afterwards, lying with a human man was unsatisfying. Frankly, I always thought it was the quality of the human men that they chose—if I'm going to be honest though, men as a whole were lazy sons of bitches. It took too much effort to ensure a lady's satisfaction especially when our own could be had within a couple of minutes if we pushed it.
So, we fell into the age old trap of our gender: fear of losing our women—just like the cavemen did to other tribes, the white man to the black, the civilized to the savages. Since the world was run by a bunch of misogynistic idiots who viewed women as a commodity, the wanderers became a threat. And what do humans do to a threat? That's right—they blow it the fuck up.
For as smart, as industrial, as perceptive as humans can be, we're a bunch of dipshits most of the time. Either those in charge disregarded the unknown technology the starship possessed or they were too stupid to think ahead that far but that was Day One. I can still remember it clearly; I was sitting at my kitchen table, at my ranch in the desert stretch of California, a cup of authentic dark roasted coffee in my hand, watching the news as it unfolded on the TV. The starship was roughly the size of Texas, hovering outside of the atmosphere but still visible to the naked eye. Dozens of missiles launched, hitting their target; the dark alien metal buckled inward before the explosion shattered it into millions of pieces. Whatever mysteries were inside disintegrated, sending out a shockwave across the entire world that blew out all electronics, shattered every single window and knocked out every living being.
When I came to hours later, the world was in chaos; my truck didn't work so I had to saddle up a horse and search the ruins of the city for my family. Luckily, they were all still alive but it would be years before we made another startling discovery—not only did most of the wanderers escape to Earth but the technology that we destroyed devastated our own planet. Greenhouse gases went through the roof, ice caps melted allowing the swelling oceans to reclaim our land, millions died and those that lived, well, were changed to put it bluntly.
The wanderers didn't age—some of the ones that came to our planet initially were the same ones that left theirs eons ago; whatever it was that kept them from succumbing to time was amongst the things we destroyed and its power was sent through the planet. I was in my late sixties but each year that passed I was shocked to discover my face, my body got younger and younger. By the time I was nearing a hundred I looked like I was barely twenty five; it seemed a horrible fate, to unage back to a child but that's when I noticed myself getting older. I thought I would finally have the opportunity to die old and grey, a silver fox, but alas, those of us who had survived Day One wouldn't be that lucky. Our internal time clocks were glitchy; it varied from person to person but for me I was stuck in a perpetual cycle between my twenties and my sixties, aging to one extreme, deaging back, repeating over and over again. Richie was subjected to the same fate, though since our cycles were opposite we were often on opposing ends of the spectrum; visually meeting in the middle for a few years made us appear to be brothers.
Carolyn, though, wasn't as lucky. She continued on until her eighties before reverting back to mid fifties; the physical appearance always bothered her no matter how much I assured her of my loyalty. It was the same with most women who survived Day One, perhaps it was some sort of cosmic middle finger for them wanting physical pleasure from the wanderers but the women who lived through that day remained perpetually stuck between old and older. It took almost a century for any of us to discover that our fate wasn't inflicted upon future generations—those born after, grew, lived and died like normal. It changes something about you, watching your grandchildren, your distant genetic progeny life a life that alluded you. Richie felt the same way which is why we got on so well together. In our solitude, venturing across the ruins of a once great nation, we found a sort of peace with our existence. Our wives lived in the cities; they didn't want to get divorced, though they didn't really want us around when we were young because all it did was make them feel old. Every fifty years or so I'd see Carolyn, when our physical appearances were close in age; we would make a go of it, like old times, until she inevitably grew older and I younger. Eventually it would get to the point that she'd be too self conscious about herself and kick me out; I'd join up with Richie and we would guard the caravans for a few decades until he got old enough to meet up with his wife.
It took a few times of this before I came to terms with it; I loved my wife, heart and soul, yet when we were apart, when she turned me out it killed me, Richie too. We knew why they did it, we understood it even but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt; Carolyn gave me her blessing to satisfy my needs however I saw fit, as long as I returned to her as her husband at the end of my cycle. I did a few times, I mean I'm a man after all but sex with strange women was simply that—sex. Not that it happened often enough to matter, though there was always one woman in each caravan who'd take a shine to me. I would never get near enough to her until we were at the end of the trek—then I'd spend a week fucking her every chance I got before kissing her goodbye and riding off into the sunset.
In this caravan though the only single woman took a shine to Richie. Sure, a few of the married ones had turned those doe eyes to me on occasion but I'd never touch one of them—too messy. Sighing, I returned my focus back to the sprawling grassland, looking for a glimpse of black, some darkness out of place to give me an inkling of any wanderers nearby; those that were left or at least those that attacked the caravans were all half breeds, bastard spawn of a male wanderer and a female human. After Day One, any woman found carrying bairn of theirs were forced to abort it; that didn't stop them from getting retribution though—the women, that is. Many left the human populous, seeking out the safety of the wanderer tribes, living out their lives among them, baring their mutt kin. The mixing of the two DNAs changed something, though—the full blooded wanderers by nature were kind and gentle, almost demure creatures but when paired with human genetics they became brutal, powerful, domineering beings that hunted and killed with little remorse. Physically their appearances were different, their golden skin the same but their hair always became darker, almost pitch black and their slender build was shorter. If any in the caravan were lucky enough to see a wanderer and live, it was a half breed. All of them were hard to kill but it had been centuries since I last saw a full blooded wanderer; the government had a habit of rounding them up for experimentation.
The temperature began to drop slightly as the sun dipped in the sky, changing the terrain from the gates of hell to barely tolerable. Ahead of me I could see the caravan begin to curve in on itself, forming a large circle, preparing to bed down for the night. There was maybe an hour of sunlight left but Richie never liked to chance not finding a decent camp before the solar power was cut. I followed the tail wagon as it filled in the last open spot, glancing around one final time though I saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Judge and I wandered over to the center of the circle where I took off his tack and tended to his needs, Richie doing the same.
"You feel it too?" He asked quietly.
I nodded in response—out of necessity we had come to rely on our gut feelings over the years. Something was off. Once our animals were fed and watered, we both grabbed our weapons, rifles included and headed off towards the direction we had come, prepared to meet the hunters. They were still a ways off down the trail and it took them about half an hour to come close enough for me to size them up; both men were rough looking, dark hair and eyes, skin tanned from hours of searching the open landscape. I figured right off that they were the age they looked, men of nowadays instead of long ago like myself. Their bounty was still well covered, hands bound behind its back, the angle of the leather hood told me its chin was down, possibly sleeping.
