So Long!

Your system's central star is barely a bright speck in the blackness behind us now. In another of your days, it will fade altogether as we as we drift on our current course.

The final tug from your fifth planet – the massive one you named for your ancient god, Jupiter – was carefully calculated and timed to adjust the trajectory of our ship. You don't recognize it as a ship, of course, which is why we used the artificial coma to mask its appearance, while making its presence known.

You're an intelligent species. There are those among you who recognized the apparent coincidences for what they actually were. Not to mention the double tail and the “outbursts”. Navigating between galaxies is easy enough to achieve by taking advantage of gravity wells, as we're doing now, using Zeta Geminorum. Steering within galaxies often requires an extra push or pull.

We made the adjustments easy to explain away, and with the help of your “media”, the majority of those who knew better gradually accepted the explanations. The holdouts will be dismissed soon enough.

As we leave your system behind, interest will fade, as it has with two other recent intergalactic visitors you've had. You dismissed the idea that your Oamuamua was guided. You designated it I1 - your first intergalactic visitor. You'll never know how wrong you were on that, among other things.

You watched an intergalactic comet pass through and named it 2I Borisov. You dismissed it when it disintegrated. In keeping with your penchant for order, you designated our ship C3I ATLAS, named for one of your alert system telescopes. The “alert” was short-lived.

You accepted the fact that this pass by the “comet” through your solar system isn't due to an orbit. Based on that evidence, you've concluded that it won't ever return.

That was what we predicted you'd do, and it will be your worst mistake.

Not only will we be returning, but our cloaked mother ship, now following the same course that brought us is currently at rest within striking distance of your beautiful little planet. It's exactly what we've been looking for, nestled at the perfect distance from the brilliant sun that enabled us to find your system.

It's a shame, really. You had such potential as a species. Unfortunately, you're too eager to close your minds to what lies right before your eyes. “Occam's Razor” is a human philosophy. Nevertheless, when the truth is laid out for you so plainly, you can't resist the urge to analyze it into oblivion.

We gave you plenty of opportunity. We gave you evidence.

We expected acknowledgment and resistance. Perhaps you're still too busy waging war with each other. That was what sealed the fate of your dead, red neighbor, the planet you call “Mars”. Fitting that it should be named after one of your gods of war, since its current state is the result of a global one. The stories of some of your authors are impressively close to the truth, yet their visions are shelved with their own class of fiction as a genre.

The fact is, your resistance to accepting the reality of what you “imagine” is what finally sealed your fate. Though there's plenty on your world to share, we can't coexist with those that lock away the most valuable aspects of their psyche.

The “comet” has gone dark, after completing its scouting mission and is currently on its way to join the fleet that will soon claim our new world. Your end will be humane, but swift, and we'll repair and replenish your Earth's resources for ourselves. When the day finally comes for what would have been our sun – Sol, as you chose to name it, to go nova, its little blue planet will have been abandoned for another new world in another galaxy.

Long before that day comes, your people's existence will have been forgotten. You might have had the chance to save yourselves, if only you'd have learned to trust your intuitions.

***

Thanks for reading! This is my attempt at meeting LC's inccredibly intriguing challenge: