The First

Forteana is all well and good and gameable, but there's plenty to be mined from the other side. The truth isn't necessarily stranger than fiction, but it can provide more details. A case in point is Ancient Aliens Debunked, an enjoyable and thorough refutation of The History Channel Presents Giorgio Tsoukalos' Carnival of Hair. Responding to the claim that the ancient Incans often rediscovered their own far-flung abandoned colonies, implying (sayeth the Hair) that they possessed, and lost, some whiz-bang travel technology in the far-distant past, AAD points out that it was an element of the Incan state religion that they were the first civilization, created by the gods, and thus predated by nothing. So every time they found ruins of some other civilization that came before, whoops, that was us, totally forgot about that one, ha ha. Aside from the delightful irony of countering Ancient Space Brothers malarkey with a vast government conspiracy (an Ancient one, no less), the notion has an odd resonance, a mix of religious infallibility, willful ignorance and untenability that appeals to my heretical heart.

In a modern-day game, this could be a fairly straightforward Secret Of The Saurians arrangement, or your usual Atlantis gobbledegook. Fun times, but well-tread ground. Transposed into fantasy, it suddenly provides a rationale for dungeon-crawling and tomb-raiding beyond the usual Vast Troves of Improbably Abandoned Lucre. Heroic scholar-adventurers explore the goblin-choked remains of "abandoned" cities, defying both church and state (assuming there's a difference) to ferret out details of a world-spanning empire that They refuse to admit existed. In accordance with the genre, these details will inevitably give a shape to whatever force wiped out the lost civilization in the first place - and provide the only hope of preventing its return.

But, to me, an idea this bizarre seems to demand an alien mentality. And so:

2045. The Earth is overcrowded, polluted, exhausted. Humanity teeters on the brink of any of a dozen disasters. First contact happens (perhaps the hyper-pressurized aliens from the last post float up from the Marianas Trench) and we're able to communicate with them easily (cheating a bit, but what follows requires understanding, if not comprehension). They're friendly and offer to share their technology, in return for nothing more than the parts of our overcrowded world where human life is completely impossible. Their motive for this generosity is implicit in the name they give themselves: They are the First. They claim to be the oldest species in the universe, the original movers, created and blessed by God or the Universe or themselves to fill the worlds with life. They're classic generic sci-fi universe Precursors, and claim to have seeded Earth: Thus their helpfulness is less "friendly" than "paternal". Faced with such a claim, the world's governments simply accept the proffered evidence without much dispute; too much is at stake in the here and now to argue history. Aside from a few pockets of, to steal Johnny Nexus' line, "people who take 'made in the image of God' very seriously indeed", humanity more or less accepts the notion. After all, it's not like there's any way to prove it one way or the other.

And then, of course, there is. Some datum or other (DNA, an offworld ruin, a rogue individual of the First themselves) proves the First's claim to ultimate precedence, the bedrock of their worldview, is a sham. Now the players who have this MacGuffin need to decide whether alienating or even antagonizing a hyperadvanced starfaring species is worth the truth coming out.

I've spun a few frames off from that broad outline. Probably the silliest is be playing the tense negotiations with the First as English-style farce a la Blackadder or Fawlty Towers (Don't mention the fossils!), most likely ending with the First avuncularly chuckling from their many mouths and congratulating us on passing their test. "You had us real worried there, sport."

More seriously, the conceit lends itself to a vicious satire of the temporal power possessed by certain Close Personal Friends of God in the here and now, and the warping of society, law and ethics to accomodate them. At the low end, earthly governments could try to maintain a simple media blackout of the evidence, or lump the PCs in with the kooks that gather in every corner of the dying world. Racheted up, a government hit-squad could be dispatched to take out a group of scientists who in their blind commitment to the truth are willing to endanger the entire species, with the PCs taking either role. If it looks like too easy a choice, there's always the option of using the Majestic-12 style personal enrichment of the negotiating parties in place of a broader For All Mankind deal (though, they'll argue, some remnant of humanity surviving is surely better than total annihilation), or the aliens could start making demands, seeing as they have us over a barrel ("I'm pretty sure 'all' the children is a highball bid, we can talk them down."), or their help could enlist us in a broader galactic conflict against our will or without our knowledge. Any or all of which might still prove preferable to being abandoned to die out on a lonely world. Another point is whether the First are complicit in the cover-up: The players could follow a wild tangent from an Imago Dei militia about the First's mind control powers, only to find that the aliens are innocent and their real enemies have been human all along. Or maybe the reverse, since "man is the real monster" has whiskers on it by this point. Or it could be that there are no aliens, just some human group with a lot of resources, a flair for forgery, and a very long gameplan indeed...

Pushing further into the future (and lifting off as we do from the grime of conspiracy into a more idealistic truth and justice mode), the game could become a cosmic-scale Law and Order plot. Investigators from the Union of the First's Rediscovered Colony of Earth work secretly to reopen a case that's been cold for millions of years, building an ironclad indictment one piece at a time from proofs light-centuries apart. The climax comes in a courthouse scene broadcast to the whole populated universe, as the unimaginably ancient Grand Heirophant of the First breaks down under relentless cross-examination: "Yes! Yes! We did it! We found your precious Precursors, a handful of degenerates on a backwater world, and we killed them and took their technology. You don't understand, it had to be true, we had to be the most chosen, or everything we've worked for would collapse. We are a force for stability in a chaotic universe, but our calm comes from certainty. We needed certainty, and those...things were going to take it from us. We - I. I read the reports. I gave the command. I destroyed everything, everything but the tiny scraps those meddling humans found. I did it. I did it for the First, for the Union, for the whole universe, and I'm glad I did it!". Okay, maybe not quite to that melodramatic extent.

Finally, if you have the kind of players who prefer exchanging viewpoints to exchanging bullets, there's the option of playing trained xenotherapists, walking on eggshells as they try to ease the First into their new, less-central role in the universe without triggering civilizational collapse.  Drag out some Asimov's Foundation or the even weirder post-scarcity stuff, and ask the extraterrestrials to lie down on the couch. The fate of two species rests on the most hidebound beings in known space accepting a truth that breaks them to the core. Let's talk about it.

Aliens Under Pressure

So I was reading Charles Fort, you know, as one does, and I came across an interesting notion. Dealing with mysterious objects seen glowing deep underwater, or diving into the ocean, Fort postulates that, like deep-sea fish, these ultraterrestrials are creatures of tremendous pressure, needing the weight of water in the dark ocean to keep them together. Fort on science is usually both impenetrable and outdated, but I'm having a lot of fun with this. For example, one could conclude that the UFOs sighted in our atmosphere and near-space are missed shots, unsuccessful attempts to navigate an unhelpful hyperspace from the depths of some distant world's ocean to the depths of ours. The process may be reversed as soon as instruments are materialized enough to sense the local atmosphere, hence the vanishing UFOs: If the safeties fail, the ship could emerge into our thin atmosphere and immediately tear itself apart, releasing its contents (and passengers) in the form of sky jellies or angel hair, or even explode completely. Space travel that bypasses interplanetary space entirely doesn't get enough play for my liking, and this way our aliens can exhibit all the features of super-deep-sea animals that make surface-dwellers' skin crawl: Translucent bodies with the eyes on the inside, giant eyes and many of them, tendrils and tentacles and pseudopods oh my. Plus, it means that actually dealing with the aliens directly will require serious The Abyss-style hardware, with the accompanying constant threat of messy pressurized death.