Author: David C. Nutt

I did a quick scan outside my vehicle. I could see columns of thousands upon thousands of them, spinning fast, trying to ride the thermals up and out of the dust devil. At least half of them are getting shredded by the wind and when pieces of their wings and thoraxes catch the light, it is a beautiful sight- but it’s not enough. There’ll be too many survivors, too many for the nets to contain or our drones to burn. That means the convoy will most definitely come under attack.

Fucking Butterflies.

Monarchs, Painted Ladies, Swallowtails, Purple Emperors you name the variety, slip a few moth species in as well, add a little genetic engineering and good intentions and there lies the problem.
“We need more pollinators.” the biologists said. “If we want to the place to look like Earth, we have to have more pollinators.” Who said we wanted our new home to look like earth? We liked it fine the way it was. So they took a vote (left out the colonists entirely,) and let these beasts out.

I remember the day they were released. No one told us, the cargo containers drifted down, the parachutes detached, and they auto opened. The newly re-engineered, butterflies burst forth. Our logistics folk scratched their heads and while they were calling the orbital platform, the damn butterflies swarmed all around us. Our children laughed, we took pictures, it was such a beautiful moment, and then the screaming started. They attacked the eyes first, looking for the salts and other goodies our tears provided. Then when the bleeding started, they lapped up all that, and then their reengineered proboscises began poking thousands of needle sized holes in our bodies. We lost 45 colonists that day, just under half children, all exsanguinated in under two minutes. The corpses covered with so many butterflies one could not tell they were corpses.

Back on old Earth they call this behavior “Mudpuddling.” Butterflies and moths deriving minute nourishment from human tears and blood. Cute in a creepy way if they were just normal butterflies, not at all with these bioengineered dinner plate sized monstrosities. Nature always takes the straightest route to survival, why bother looking for sparce blooms when there were bags and bags of salts and sweets waiting to be tapped?

The platform did not believe us even after we sent them reports and video. They pushed more containers out. We started flaming them with our shuttles as they came down. Burning them worked well. The orbital platform folk were not amused. They sent the reps down to discuss “our paranoia.” We gave them coordinates, told them to come suited up in biohazard suits, full helmet wrist and ankles taped. They laughed. As soon as they disembarked they came. We all yelled at them. Screamed, got on the PA, flashing lights, sirens, the works. The reps from the platform, including the lead entomologist ignored us as the swarms flitted hither and yon, looking absolutely breathtaking. They pointed and we heard their “oohs and aahs.”

Only two of them made it out alive. At least they believe us now.

Knowing corporate the way I do they’ll send us a butterfly eating thing, then a thing that will eat the butterfly eating thing when the butterflies are gone. Then there’ll be the thing that eats the butterfly eater, and then the eater of the eater of butterfly eaters, and, well, you know where it goes from there.

I put my family in for a transfer off-planet, hoping to beat the rush.