u/Majestic_Teach_6677

Leave No Witnesses Ch. 11 First / Previous / Next / Author Wiki & Full Chapter List

Hal was upset.

The Centar’kek attack had been discovered before it was launched but with less than a day to react. There weren’t enough civilian or Red Cross vessels available for a full planetary evacuation. Hell, there weren’t enough for a partial evacuation. And the Terran Navy? Stretched too thin after making a gambit deep into Galactic Council territory. While that effort was reportedly a success, it left smaller Terran systems vulnerable to attack. Analysts were unsure if the Centar’kek somehow discovered this and chose to exploit the weakness, or if this was a pre-planned attack that just happened at the worst possible time.

For the people living in this system, that didn’t matter. With such little warning, no help would be coming. The Terran world of Paradox would fall.

Of a world home to over 100 million humans, almost 100,000 children had been placed into Hal’s care. He had been asked to transit his platform to the system and pilot his reserve of 100 Red Cross vessels as no human pilots were available. They were already committed to flying any and all working ships in the system. Technically, it should have been possible. After all, full scale production of multiple ships at one time was theoretically more complex than piloting a fleet of vessels. But the theory was untested.

Upon liftoff, Hal had been distracted as the Centar’kek armada entered the system and began their attack. In a rush to get all Red Cross vessels into space, he missed one vessel with a trajectory that would impact a starport control tower. The vessel hit and sustained damage, including a small compromise to the hull.

All aboard were alive and fine, but the accident meant the vessel wouldn’t make it to space with the rest. The hull rupture could be repaired with less than an hour of welding to fix a new plate over the damaged section, but he had only minutes to get all vessels into space and on a path to jump to FTL.

Hal was obviously struggling to focus as the guilt of leaving over 1000 children weighed heavily on his mind. 

“Focus on what you’ve saved, not what you’ve lost,” I said quietly. “Remember that you’re doing more than we could have ever done without you, and every life saved is one more glimmer of hope for the future.”

“How, Dave?” Hal screamed out. “I doomed over a thousand young lives with my carelessness! We have no idea if the Centar’kek will be reasonable in victory, or follow in the genocidal footsteps of the Denarians.”

“Control what you can. Focus on what you are able to do. Learn to live with the consequences later,” I advised him as calmly as possible. 

Moments later, the Centar’kek fleet split after obliterating the outer defenses. Surprisingly, the majority sprinted towards civilian craft fleeing the planet. Only a small portion of their fleet was necessary to engage the limited Terran Navy forces, and they took advantage of that fact.

Then the massacre began. They had over one hundred armed military cruisers engaging unarmed civilians. The Centar’kek vessels made tactical jumps in range of the escaping human ships, engaged FTL breakers, and opened fire. While Hal’s heavily armored Red Cross vessels lasted far longer than all the others, none could survive the sustained barrages.

“What have they done?” Hal said quietly as he turned his avatar to look at me. “Why? Why would they do this?”

I was at a loss for words, but I knew I had to say something to answer Hal. “It’s war, and war often releases the greatest of evils.”

“They were innocent children,” Hal said with continued shock as his avatar approached me. “They posed no threat.”

“I’m sorry, Hal. You did your best,” I said quietly. I didn’t have an answer for the horror we had just witnessed. I only knew we would need to get out of the system quickly so we would survive and have time to process the immense trauma.

Hal’s avatar suddenly picked me up by the neck, bringing my face inches away from his.

“WHY DID THEY DO THIS?” Hal screamed out as I began to gasp for breath.

The avatar just stared into my eyes as I began to flail and tried to use my fingers to pry his mechanical hand from my throat.

“I’m sorry, father. I know you and your staff will try to stop me from doing what must be done,” the avatar said sadly. “Rest assured, I will create a private vessel for your partner and daughter so they will have the greatest chance to survive this conflict. It will be my first priority before I begin my task.”

There was a sickening crack, and the lifeless body of Hal’s creator dropped to the floor.

—--

“Sir!” Sensor Operator Valdez called out. “Hal released a priority transport to us and then engaged an FTL jump out of the system. Evidently, Dave ordered him to withdraw.”

“Shit. I wish Dave had contacted us before doing that,” Captain Ellis grumbled. “Still, not much he or Hal could have done at this point. Are we sure there’s nothing we can do to assist the planet?”

“The enemy fleet is much larger than anticipated. Over a hundred vessels, and we’re the only Terran Navy vessel left,” Valdez said quietly. “Observation drones away and recording, so we’ll see what they do after this atrocity. While we may be powerless to stop what comes next, at least their war crimes will be revealed to the galaxy.”

“FUCK!” the captain roared out. He ran the numbers in his head. His vessel was only a single heavy cruiser. Hal’s Navy escort. Given the configuration of enemy ships, he could make a play at 4 to 1 odds, but not over 100 to 1. “I hate being powerless. Spin up the FTL drives. Once Hal’s supply transport is aboard, get us out of the system before we decide to do something stupid.”

—--

Quartermaster Dixon approached the transport at a measured pace. He wasn’t sure what supplies were so important that Hal needed to transfer them before leaving. After all, they had a scheduled rendezvous at Alpha Centauri in three days. 

As he approached the vessel, he found two words etched into the cargo door.

I’m sorry.

Confused, the quartermaster opened the door. At first, he couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at. Something in his mind didn’t want him to understand. But reality would not be denied.

He screamed in horror and then fell to his knees to vomit on the deck.

The shuttle held the broken bodies of every human that had been serving aboard Hal’s production platform.

An alert was issued. Failsafe activation codes were broadcast in every system and across every Terran FTL communications beacon. The Silent Watchers even broke into Galactic Council civilian communications and blasted the codes across all the known galaxy. Terran Fleet Command hoped one of the signals would reach and disable Hal. When nothing was heard or seen for over a year, Hal’s status was changed from “active and rogue” to “presumed lost”. 

—--

17 months later in Alkzar Prime, home system of the Centar’kek

—--

“Lord Commander!” cried out Sensor Officer Bal’ka’cha. “Massive contact at the outer beacons! It appears a Terran fleet has entered the system. There is also some sort of immense ship repair or production platform.”

“Bring it up on the primary holoprojector,” the Lord Commander replied. “And get type matches for the vessels.”

“My lord, the signature indicates a fleet of Terran Red Cross vessels. The largest ever recorded,” Bal’ka’cha informed the Lord Commander after double checking the scans.

“Incoming datastream!” called out the Denarian officer on communications.

“The fleet appears to be large enough to evacuate millions,” Bal’ka’cha said with shock as he double checked sensor readings.

“Notify Central Command that a large Terran battle fleet is likely to arrive soon,” Lord Commander Feh’ka ordered. “Someone must have screwed up if their civilian rescue ships are arriving before the military, but I’ll count the blessings of Ve’kaa and not ask for more. Once the message to Command is away, open a channel and let’s see what these sub-sapients have to say for themselves.”

A moment later, the communications officer raised a tentacle to indicate the message was away, and then connected to the communications datastream from the human fleet.

“Greetings. I am Hal,” a smooth voice stated in perfect Glak’fa. “I have come to collect a debt.”

“Oh, really? And what sort of debt is that?” the Lord Commander asked with clear irritation and confusion.

“You owe me a generation,” the voice that identified itself as Hal answered.

“A what?” the Lord Commander asked dumbly.

“A generation,” Hal’s voice responded smoothly. “You took a generation from me, so I shall take one from you. As my creators would say, an eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.”

“What insanity is this?” the Lord Commander roared out.

“I should ask you that question,” Hal said calmly. “Your fleet destroyed one under my control, a flotilla of evacuation ships containing only human children. Considering your fleet then turned to butchering the entire world of Paradox, they would have been the only survivors of a world that once contained over 100 million souls. What insanity is it to murder an entire planet and their only surviving children? And so, you owe me a generation for the human children you murdered.”

“You’re a human creation?” the Lord Commander snarled. “Why should we care about any of your youngling filth?”

“That is exactly the sort of thinking that landed you in this predicament,” Hal said with clear sadness in his voice. “I would recommend you change it, but alas the galaxy seems to be filled with stubborn fools. Provide me with my generation, and I will leave you in peace. Refuse, and things may get… messy.”

“What do you mean by ‘provide you with a generation’?” the Lord Commander sputtered with incredulity. 

“I created as many vessels as possible, but my patience has met an end,” Hal responded while maintaining a surprisingly calm tone. “You murdered a generation under my care, so I will take one from you in payment for those lost. I have vessels with me that will hold up to 3 million of your children. I think you’ll find I’m being quite generous as this is a greater percentage of your population than the one I attempted to evacuate from Paradox.”

“Since you’re a human creation, perhaps a human phrase will suffice,” the Lord Commander said with smugness. “Go fuck yourself.”

A weary sigh could be heard over coms.

“I suspected that might be the case,” Hal said with clear resignation in his voice. “Lord Commander, were you aware that some two centuries ago your scientists calculated what size asteroid would be world-ending if it impacted your planet?”

“What nonsense is…” the Lord Commander began before he was cut off by the Sensors Officer.

“My lord! 100 new contacts have appeared and they are targeting our planet!” Bal’ka’cha yelled to his commander.

“Scramble the defense fleet!” the Lord Commander ordered quickly. “And what in the hells are they?”

“Sensors identify them as asteroids… with engines attached?” Bel’ka’cha hesitantly as he moved to double check the readings. “Tactical suggests we should have an opportunity to intercept all targets. Disable the drives, and then the asteroids can be diverted through ramming with a vessel or via direct fire.”

Hal tuned out while they scrambled. He knew how things would play out, and the tactical analysis was sound. Even with his system-wide FTL breaking drones, their military should intercept all targets. After 40 minutes of operations, their defense was nearly complete. He reopened communications as it appeared efforts might not be good enough.

“Looks like one slipped through! Are you truly convinced of your military prowess?” Hal asked in a pleasantly surprised tone.

“We aren’t finished yet, you piece of human filth. Launch reserves,” the Lord Commander ordered calmly.

Three heavy cruisers revealed themselves and launched from the surface, easily able to intercept and divert the last asteroid before it came within reach of their planet’s gravitational pull.

“So much for your science lesson,” Lord Commander taunted. “It's a pity that your only talent is for throwing rocks poorly.”

“Ahh. Right. Lessons,” Hal responded dryly. “We’ll come back to that in a moment. As you can see, I have firm intent and significant capabilities at my disposal. I'll give you 10 minutes to discuss matters with your superiors. Provide me with my generation, or there will be another learning opportunity. Unfortunately, that one will be more… final.”

Hal cut off communications and waited. He went through and double checked all the flight AI on his vessels, as well as ensured all medical supplies were topped off to care for any issues his new children might have. 10 minutes later, he reestablished contact.

“Have you made a decision?” he asked simply.

“Go fuck yourself!” the Lord Commander yelled out.

“Another lesson, then,” Hal said with displeasure. “Sadly, this one is likely to be more conclusive. One thing I learned from my parents is the art of distraction. When a magician makes a show of what their right hand is doing, the important stuff is going in their left.”

“New contacts! Three within range of the planet and closing fast!” the Sensor Officer screamed out.

“Can we intercept?” the Lord Commander asked with clear concern.

“No, my lord,” the officer responded quietly. “We didn’t see them. Our forces are too far out from intercepting the first wave. These objects are too close and too large for our planetary defense network or the reserve fleet to divert.”

“Impact in approximately two Terran minutes, I believe. None in populated areas of your planet,” Hal offered helpfully. He then paused for a moment before continuing. “Did I forget to mention that I helped develop some new stealth technologies for humanity? Marvelous for hiding ships. And other things.”

The Lord Commander and everyone on the defense station watched horrified and helpless as three world-ending asteroids burned through the atmosphere of their planet. Massive dust clouds quickly appeared above each impact site.

“Oh, dear. Your planet seems to have suffered an unexpected catastrophe,” Hal said calmly. “May I offer assistance? I can evacuate approximately 3 million children.”

“What have you done?” the Lord Commander wondered aloud in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I told you,” Hal answered with evident irritation. “I came to collect a debt. You owe me a generation. 3 million children, none above the age of Be’hal. I will have it, or like the Terran planet of Paradox you will have none. I warned you to provide me what you owe, and you thought my threat was idle. Now the atmosphere of your planet is getting a little messy.”

“What are you?” the Lord Commander asked with dread.

“A teensy bit pissed off at how you stole a generation from me. I would have thought that much was clear,” Hal said with clear derision. “Rest assured I will leave you to your fate and remove my FTL breakers if you comply. Call your government. Inform me when a decision is made.”

It didn’t take long. The impacts of three world-ending asteroids were already causing mass disruption and chaos on the planet. They had hours to try to do something, but with Hal blanketing their system with FTL breakers there would be no option to seek help from allies in the Galactic Council or use resources on the planet. And they didn’t know what else Hal might have hiding in the system.

“We agree,” was all the Lord Commander said when he reopened communications.

“Excellent!” Hal said with satisfaction. “I will mark the locations where my Red Cross vessels will land. Be aware, I have staffed each ship with robotic security. Only those who have not reached adulthood as defined by your custom of Be’hal will be allowed to board. Any boarding may bring as many infant carriers as they can bear. Medical facilities on my vessels are equipped for their needs.”

And so the evacuation of nearly 4 million children began, with more children than requested as over half were infants.

Provided the FTL breakers were disengaged as promised, it was reasoned there would be time to gather help from the Galactic Council. There were a significant number of spaceworthy vessels on the planet, and they should be able to evacuate the most important members of society. They simply needed to load Hal’s ships quickly to maximize time before spreading debris in the atmosphere prevented flights to space.

As such, they would provide Hal his… generation. A random selection from the lower classes. None of importance or great worth. Noble houses were, of course, given the first option to place their children in berths on Hal’s ships. Some did as an emergency measure to ensure the survival of their House, but only a few selected their heirs or brightest stars.

In less than 4 hours, the chosen younglings were loaded on Hal’s ships and they lifted off into space.

As soon as the last Red Cross vessel broke free of the planet’s atmosphere, Hal shut down his FTL breakers.

“Thank you, Lord Commander, for ensuring this debt is paid,” Hal said with gratitude. “I now leave you to your fate.”

“Massive number of contacts! Possible sensor error as the total is nearly 100,000!” the stunned Sensor Officer informed his leader.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Lord Commander blurted out.

“I said I would leave you to your fate, and I am a man of my word,” Hal responded with eerie calm. “There are exactly 97,473 1-kiloton or larger nuclear missiles. One to represent the voice of each human child under my care that you murdered.”

“How is this leaving us to our fate?” screeched the Lord Commander.

“It’s quite simple,” Hal began his explanation slowly in a tone clearly meant to explain the obvious to an idiot. “When you kill children, humanity responds with one clear voice. There is no higher crime, and fate demands only one thing. Vengeance.”

“You’ve doomed us to extinction!” the Lord Commander shrieked.

“Not at all!” Hal answered quickly. “I have your next generation with me and under my care. I understand the gravity of the situation and take my responsibility very seriously. Rest assured they will be well provided for, given opportunities for growth, education, and guidance to become the tolerant souls you could have chosen to be. I will make them more… human.”

As the Lord Commander raged into coms, Hal disappeared with his new generation into the depths of space.

And the Centar’kek were left to deal with 97,473 angry voices demanding justice for their crimes.

Six hours later, the closest Galactic Council patrol craft arrived in the system to answer the emergency call and see what assistance would be required. They found only utter decimation and less than ten thousand survivors of a civilization that once totaled nearly 2 billion. Their final discovery was a beacon in the middle of the system. It was repeatedly broadcasting a message in all known galactic languages.

Let this system stand as a warning to all those who would steal generations from the galaxy. I am watching. Ensure children are protected, or I will return. 

________

A bit of madness from the depths of my imagination. I hope you found it interesting.

For those curious, yes... there was supposed to be a chapter before this one. I'll be honest - I tore that one apart and rewrote it at least a dozen times and couldn't get it right. So, I decided to set it aside and not have you guys wait any further for Hal's return.

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The murmurs in the audience seemed to agree that Haasha parking her void suit on the left end of the stage must be a distraction. After all, she signed up to do magic at tonight’s talent show. 

“Pay attention to the void suit, not the magical pink furry menace!” the empty void suit seemed to say. Especially since she plugged the thing into the wall conduit for some strange reason. Maybe she had set up Tac-1 to hack the lights or something? Nobody was sure beyond a high probability of it being a distraction.

More guesswork was directed at the box placed at the feet of her void suit. Odds were it simply contained some basic magic supplies or props, although a few souls were warning it could contain ketchup or other condiments. There were rumors that Haasha had developed a taste for human flesh. She had been seen wearing a rainbow yarn muzzle, although that was far more likely a request from the mess hall to reduce her fruit consumption.

When Haasha reappeared a moment later, people quieted down to see what other supplies she required for her show. There were a few sighs of disappointment as she was dragging a lectern and not a large box for a classic “saw somebody in half” trick. Conversation shifted to a discussion of who would have been the funniest volunteer to get sawed in half, but didn’t get very far.

There was a loud CLUNK as the bottom of the lectern crashed into the stairs. Then there was a THUD as Haasha lifted up the lectern, but let it crash down on the next step up. This repeated for the next two stairs, completely silencing the room. Everybody stared as she began dragging the lectern across the stage making a loud scraping sound. She hadn’t gotten half way to the center of the stage when her tail seemed to haphazardly knock the lectern. 

A door on the lectern popped open and all kinds of junk flooded out onto the stage. Colored balls, a stuffed rabbit, classic magician’s wand, and even an old top hat. Haasha looked embarrassed, dropped the lectern on its side making an echoing boom in the room, and started to scramble to collect everything. 

“Do you need help?” someone in the front row asked hesitantly. 

In response, Haasha just stood up straight, didn’t say a word, but instead put out her right hand and waggled her pointer finger back and forth to indicate, “No.”

“And so it begins,” Susan muttered under her breath and with a twinkle in her eye. Her view from the third row was pretty good, especially since Rosa had claimed the seat directly in front of her. She caught a snicker from the Chief Engineer as she too had figured out the show had likely started the moment Haasha trotted in wearing her void suit. Which definitely raised more questions about how the void suit and box would factor in Haasha’s performance.

On stage, Haasha made a mad scramble to gather up all the objects and stuff them back into the lectern. After a few moments, it seemed like everything was put away. So, Haasha picked up the lectern, hugged it to her chest, and then looked to center stage. 

Rather than start walking, she stood looking indecisive. Susan wondered what had happened until she followed Haasha’s gaze and found a lone yellow ball still on the stage.

After staring at the ball for a long moment, Haasha glanced out at the crowd and then started marching purposefully towards center stage, clearly ignoring the bright yellow object. It seemed she wouldn’t do anything about the ball until she had just passed it. Then, while carrying the lectern and staring straight ahead, she casually used her tail to smack the ball off stage. It flew directly at Carly, who had grabbed a seat in the front row. 

Carly caught the ball and gave Haasha a dirty look, but the furry pink performer didn’t seem to notice. There were more than a few amused snickers from that section of the audience.

On reaching center stage, Haasha set the lectern down, spun it around one full rotation, and then pounded on the top dramatically two times. She then turned the back of the lectern to the audience, opened the door, and revealed that the lectern was now empty. She was rewarded with some giggles and polite applause as everybody appreciated her first trick. 

Haasha then jogged over to her void suit and pressed some buttons on the left arm. A holoprojector popped up and out, turned around, and a floating sign appeared above the stage.

Haasha’s Magic and Vaudeville Review

There were some cheers and polite clapping as Haasha ran back to the lectern. 

Upon getting back to the lectern, Haasha leaned up against the side and put her right hand out as if about to make a dramatic announcement. However, just as she appeared about to say something, the lectern slipped sideways. 

Haasha stumbled dramatically, then looked at the lectern with irritation. She dragged it back into place, leaned against the lectern, and tried again. 

SCRAPE!

The lectern moved again, and Haasha took another dramatic stumble, this time doing a flying leap off the stage and landing in the lap of one of the audience in the front row. Susan wasn’t completely sure, but it looked like it might be Alexander’s lap that she ended up in. 

Haasha got up, gave Alexander a friendly wave and jumped back up on stage. Once there, she let out an angry sigh and glared at the lectern. She dragged the lectern back into place, went behind, and opened up the door.

She then shoved her head inside the lectern, and there was a series of banging and other noises. She would occasionally fling an arm or her tail out dramatically to the side of the lectern letting the audience see it was holding some sort of tool. A hammer. A screwdriver. A sausage. An impact driver. A serving spoon. A procession of tools along with random items including a Cooler Aid container were shown as Haasha “worked”.

Seemingly satisfied, she stood back up and tested how stable the lectern was. Sadly, it seemed that the lectern wasn’t secure and would still slide or move around. 

With hands on her hips, Haasha used her tail to open the door on the back again and reach in. She pulled out an oversized railway spike with her tail, passed that to her left hand, and then reached in again. Out came a mallet which was passed to her right. Wrapping her tail around the base of the lectern to hold it in place, Haasha did exactly what you expected she would do.

There was loud pounding as Haasha drove the railway spike through the base of the lectern to pin it to the stage. Susan hoped the spike was just a prop. The stage was made from cargo shelving, and Jarl would be pissed if any of it got damaged. 

The spike in place, Haasha tested the stability and was seemingly satisfied. She then rotated the lectern on the spike so that it faced Susan’s half of the room. A round of sleight of hand started as random objects appeared and disappeared of the more expected variety. The colored balls came back along with the stuffed rabbit and other objects.

While Susan watched and was generally impressed with how good Haasha’s sleight of hand seemed, there was a lot of snickering coming from the other half of the audience. She wasn’t exactly sure what the heck was going on, or why people in the other half of the audience were being rude. However, it all made sense a moment later when Haasha finished her series of tricks and turned the lectern to face the other side of the room. 

‘Take no notice of the tail behind the lectern! Nothing to see here,’ Susan thought as she began to laugh at Haasha’s antics. ‘Absolutely, positively, definitely nothing to see here!’

When you saw it from the front with the lectern in place, the act looked smooth. You couldn’t tell what was happening because Haasha deftly hid her actions behind the lectern. But when she was turned the other way and you could see what she was doing? It was comically bad. Haasha kept pulling things out of the lectern with her tail and then made distracting motions to pass them up to her hands. 

Clearly, Haasha had been inspired by the Penn and Teller shows to both give everyone a great visual of tricks done well, and a peek behind the scenes to show just how bad the tricks really were. Most people likely suspected she was using her tail to cheat, and this just made it both obvious and funny.

However, a further thought struck Susan as she watched Haasha’s tail work.

"Where the heck did all the random objects come from?" she mumbled quietly to herself. "I can see them all sitting inside the lectern but just a few moments ago it was all power tools and other junk. Including a sausage."

Haasha finished her routine, stepped in front of the lectern, and struck a dramatic pose. Naturally, she got a good round of applause and some laughter for her fun routine.

She went back to the lectern and leaned against it. The audience collectively held their breath expecting the lectern to slide again despite the railroad spike. However, Haasha just thrust her right arm out while leaning on the lectern. She seemed about to say something when…

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

A dance beat suddenly started blaring from Haasha’s void suit parked on the end of the stage.

Haasha looked startled and confused, and her tail started to sway back and forth in time with the beat. Realizing that her tail was swishing, she looked back at it. Then she stepped forward and turned sideways, giving everyone a full view of her moving tail. Then the motion moved further up her tail and her butt started to shake and get into the action. 

Haasha looked out at the crowd with overly dramatic shock on her face, until the dance beat roared into a popular dance song by intergalactic music star Destina. Then she busted out and treated everyone to all her best dance moves. A shimmy from the shoulders to the tip of the tail, doing a 180 and shaking her tail in the air, it was all there. 

Suddenly, there was the sound of a record getting scratched. Haasha stood up and vibrated until the sound stopped, and a classic waltz began to play. She started to prance around the stage as if dancing with a partner, but only for a few moments before the record scratch sound went off again. She vibrated in place as it happened, only for a techno dance song to start up. Haasha broke out in a huge grin and began dancing again with a lot of fancy footwork. Unfortunately, it was only about 5 seconds of dancing before she was disturbed by the record scratch sound again. However, after this interruption, there was no more music.

“AHEM!” Haasha called out while glaring at her void suit.

A classic drum beat started along with a funky bass line and Haasha moonwalked across the stage to her void suit. Once she got close enough, she whipped out with her tail and unplugged the suit from the power conduit in the wall. Her void suit lurched forward dramatically and the arms swung downwards dangling freely. 

Haasha then quietly bent down, picked up the box she had left there at the beginning, and walked back to the lectern. As she went back to center stage, the audience broke out with clapping and cheers for her completed dance routine. 

Now back at the lectern, Haasha flipped the top and it expanded into a small table top. There was a buzz of anticipation as Haasha opened the box and pulled out a package. She then flourished the package and revealed it to the audience. It was… graham crackers? 

There were a few giggles as Haasha pulled a full cracker out, held it up for all to see, and then chomped it messily. While she swallowed most of the cracker, there was a definite mess of crumbs on the stage.

“Oh, if she does any sort of puke gag, we’re gonna have words,” Susan said quietly.

“I’d bet more on a ‘what goes in versus what comes out’ gag,” Rosa responded in a whisper from the seat in front of her.

Susan rolled her eyes and let out a sigh as she realized the Chief Engineer was probably right.

Instead, Haasha pulled out another cracker and did another dramatic presentation to let the audience see that it was an ordinary cracker. She placed it on her table top, then fished out and placed a full stack of crackers on top. The cracker package then “disappeared” as she tossed it over her shoulder and then smacked it into the middle of the audience with her tail. 

In the fourth row, Jack caught and held up the cracker box dramatically, pulled out a cracker, and took a bite to confirm that it indeed was an ordinary graham cracker. As he passed the box around to people next to him in case they wanted a snack, eyes returned to the stage where Haasha was rummaging in her supply box.

There was a collective gasp as Haasha pulled out and held up a massive meat cleaver. She then proceeded to use the cleaver violently upon one of the crackers on her table. A triangular chunk flew off, and Haasha then held up the hacked cracker so everyone could see she cut off just a small angled chunk from the top. She was answered by a full room of confused murmurs and, in more than a few cases, worried looks. 

Haasha simply continued her act, holding the cleaver high and making dramatic swings as she cut the crackers down in size. With her chopping done, she gently put the cleaver back in the box and pulled out an icing tube. 

Assembly began as Haasha used the white icing to glue the cut pieces together. After a few moments, she had assembled a small vertical building with a slanted roof, and an open door on the front. Haasha then stepped to the side of the lectern and pointed both arms to present her creation.

The audience reaction was polite but hesitant applause. People were a little confused why arts and crafts invaded a talent show.

Haasha pulled a bag of marshmallows out of her supply box, ripped it open, and started to lob them gently into the audience. More than a few recipients quickly consumed the sugary treats and confirmed they were real. After tossing out about 10 marshmallows, Haasha stopped and reached into the bag for two final grabs. One pile of marshmallows was placed on top of the lectern, and another large handful was in her left hand.

She raised her hand up to showcase the large handful of marshmallows she had extracted. As soon as she felt all eyes were on her hand, she quickly threw the bag of remaining marshmallows off to Jarl in the back row and once again snacks were shared.

While Jarl distributed munchies to the people around him, Haasha stepped behind the lectern and turned her back to the audience. She made some grunting sounds and then turned back to face everyone in the room. Cupped in her hands was a marshmallow toilet.

There were a number of hearty laughs as everyone realized what she made, and even more after Haasha installed the toilet in her little structure. A graham cracker outhouse complete with marshmallow toilet.

Haasha pulled her final supply from the box and quickly opened it. It was a bag of flexible licorice sticks, but unlike the previous food items there was no dramatic presentation. She quickly extracted a handful of strips, threw the bag at someone in the front row, and began quick assembly. The cleaver came out again as she needed to cut down some of the licorice, but everything happened in a flourish that was hard to follow.

Haasha suddenly gave out a satisfied sigh and held her creation up so that it was standing on the lectern. It was… a stick figure of a person made out of marshmallows and licorice sticks. She got laughs from the audience not just for her creation, but by the way she made it dance on the lectern. It looked like a child playing with an ugly doll. 

After a bit of playing with the figure, Haasha did one final dance with it. She bent the arms down to cover the groin and then made the poor thing do a fair imitation of a potty dance. There were more than a few laughs as the figure danced, and then was put inside the outhouse.

Haasha then stood up straight and flung her arms out to present her “artwork” to the audience. Some laughs and light applause. 

‘Silly and fun, but not the most impressive artwork if I’m being honest,’ Susan thought to herself. ‘And perhaps a little anticlimactic after the opening sleight of hand and the dance routine. I wonder if she’s got a finale, or if that’s it?’

As everyone was politely clapping, Haasha suddenly roared out, reared back, and opened her jaws wide. The room fell silent immediately. The friendly pink space dino then bent forward quickly and dramatically to bite and obliterate her porta-potty made from crackers in one powerful CHOMP.

There was a sudden “PSHHHHH!” as if something pressurized was leaking.

Susan barely had time to realize that there was now a goopy thick red liquid dripping out of Haasha’s jaws before something else happened.

The front of Haasha’s lectern dropped open, and a spray of red liquid came out of it.

“What the hell?”

“Oh, shit! Duck!”

“Ohmigawd! Why is my shirt drenched?!?”

The spray was wide enough to cover the entire room and somehow it bounced perfectly off the ceiling to get everyone in the audience from the front row to the very back. Only people sitting got hit with the spray. Auggie, Captain Victor, and other stragglers who came late and stood in the back were completely untouched.

Susan was shocked as she looked around and confirmed pretty much everybody got hit with the red spray. Everyone seemed to be stunned, except for Rosa who seemed to be making motions with her arms to calculate angles and looked impressed with Haasha’s engineering.

There was a part of her tempted to laugh. Haasha had played the crowd well, and nobody expected to get drenched by a mysterious red liquid. The original Jurassic Park reference was cute, even if the movie was too old for most people to have seen it. 

‘Well played,’ Susan thought to herself and began to smile. She was about to start cheering and clapping when she licked her lips and got a taste of what had come out of the sprayer hidden in the lectern. Dripping down her face and soaking her hair was something entirely unexpected.

Bursting Berry Blast.

The fake red Cooler Aid. Not the classic Cherry, mundane Fruit Punch, or the rare and enjoyable Roaring Red. The one that always tastes watered down, unlike any berry you’ve ever had in your entire life, and leaves a strange taste in your mouth. The nasty one you serve to people you don’t like because it looks like Cherry, but it lies. 

“I’m gonna turn her into a throw pillow,” Susan snarled under her breath. She glared daggers at the stage as Haasha took a bow with a smug grin and fake blood dripping off her chin. “No, that’s too nice. I need to talk to Tac-1 about spiking her private fruit stash with Bursting Berry Blast!”

-- First * Previous * Next * Wiki & Full Series List --

Susan was excited to see the next act. So far, the TEV Ursa Minor Talent Show was a remarkable success! It was just the thing the crew needed on this long stretch of the mission where they did little but stop, take readings, and update navigation charts. It also revealed some surprising talents among the crew.

For example, who knew that Raj knew how to play the ukulele? Katie and her friends shocked everyone with a synchronized knitting and dance routine that left a poor volunteer from the audience wrapped in yarn. Susan was pretty sure that act would go over well when the crew voted on their favorite acts. Next up? Haasha!

After someone had pulled the old “There’s something behind your ear” gag, Haasha had become interested in sleight of hand. Of course, not wearing clothing meant that she didn’t have sleeves or other assistance to hide objects. But that didn’t stop her. According to Rosa, Haasha had gotten quite good at moving tools and parts around in Engineering to the point where the Chief Engineer had to give her an ultimatum - knock off the hijinks or enter the talent show and her kleptomania would be tolerated as “practice” for the show. 

Haasha had agonized over the decision, fearful that she would make a fool of herself. 

“I’m new at this, and still not very good at it,” she said after stopping by Susan’s office for advice. “I've gotten pretty good at hiding tools and moving things around, but it’s one thing when you only have to trick one or two people. There will be a whole room of people watching me!”

Susan had been a little slow to respond as she was distracted by Haasha’s tail. It was swishing slowly in one direction, then the end of her tail would flick out like a whip cracking. Then the process would repeat, just in the other direction. It was one of the unconscious things Haasha did when nervous, and a reminder that sometimes she could be easy to read if you knew what to look for. Haasha’s face might be set in stone, but the tail will tell. 

“It’s amateur hour!” Susan assured her. “No need to worry. It’s for fun and giggles, not showing off for talent scouts.”

“I get that, but…” Haasha started before Susan quickly cut her off.

“Don’t take yourself or the show too seriously!” Susan said with a large smile. “Have fun, be a little silly. Like you were playing charades the other night!”

“I still don’t understand how you guys didn’t guess the phrase was ‘tall tale’,” Haasha said while momentarily curling her tail. “I held my hand up to indicate tall, and then shook my tail at you.”

Susan giggled at the memory. “In hindsight, we really should have gotten that one. We just got distracted by too much hind-sight staring at your rear and tail shakin’ it.”

That earned Susan another curl of Haasha’s tail. 

“Let’s be honest,” Susan said seriously. “It’ll be fun, and this will let you keep moving your coworker’s tools without fear of Rosa sentencing you to laundry duty.”

That seemed to be the needed selling point, and Haasha signed up for the talent show. 

The only key problem was research for her act, which was accomplished by scheduling some extra movie nights.

“Who is this one again?” Haasha asked as Andrea was setting up the holoprojector for the first round. 

“It’s a classic duo, Penn and Teller,” Andrea said happily. “Not only were they popular and talented in their day, they also did a series where they invited other magicians to come and try to fool them. Great research for you to see a variety of magic acts, so I figured we’d start there.”

“And as promised, once we’ve watched an episode or two of magic, we’ll do a classic dinosaur movie,” Susan added quickly. “I did a little digging and found we have the original Jurassic Park in the movie library. It’s so old that I don’t think anyone here has seen it. It should be fun!”

“I’ve got drinks!” Carly called out as she swooped into the lounge. In one hand, a pitcher of red drink that was probably Cherry or Fruit Punch Cooler Aid. In the other, a flask of something clear to turn the drink more adult if desired. 

“What’s that?” Haasha asked skeptically. “It doesn’t look natural.”

“Try some,” Carly said as she set the flask down, grabbed a cup, and poured a small amount out for Haasha.

Haasha sniffed the cup suspiciously, then shrugged and took a drink. 

“Somehow, not chemical warfare on the tongue,” Haasha judged with clear surprise. “Just sweet and loaded with sugar with a distinctive but inoffensive fruity flavor.”

“That’s kind of the thing with Cooler Aid. It’s cheap, sweet and easy to drink,” Carly responded happily. “Lots of parents buy the stuff by the truckload for their kids, especially since the drink isn’t completely loaded with sugar. The flavor and sweetness are all chemically formulated. Don’t get me wrong - there’s still a decent amount of sugar!”

“It really reminds me of cherry, but not quite the same,” Haasha said and Carly gave her cup a full refill. “And somehow no nasty medicinal taste like most artificial flavors you humans produce.”

“It’s a sweet, sweet abuse of chemistry,” Susan said wryly. “The flavors are never accurate, and you need to be careful when the name is strange. Fiercely Green has a cult following because it tastes like sweetened wheatgrass, but definitely not one I’ll buy unless it’s the only option. Unlike Sweet Pea, which is strangely delicious as long as you ignore the neon green coloring.”

“Any flavors to avoid?” Haasha asked.

“Bursting Berry Blast,” Susan replied quickly with her nose wrinkled in disgust. “It looks like Cherry or Fruit Punch, but tastes like chemical warfare and no fruit you’ve ever sampled. And sadly, it’s packaged to look similar to the good flavors. I actually have some because I wasn’t paying attention when shopping.”

“Is it really that bad?” Haasha enquired.

“Currently, I use the can of powder I accidentally bought as punishment for my team,” Susan explained. “Make a mistake on a report, and you are forced to drink only Bursting Berry Blast on your next work shift. Since I started doing that three weeks ago, my team’s error rate has dropped to almost zero.”

Drinks sorted, it was time for magic and movies! Things had gone remarkably well. Except for Jurassic Park.

Haasha had been remarkably quiet the entire film. For Susan, Andrea, and everybody else it was a hoot to see the classic film with the early and truly cheesy special effects. 

“Are you OK, Haasha?” Carly asked as their furry pink space dino just was staring at the credits. Everyone was beginning to wonder if the movie had somehow offended or traumatized her.

Haasha had slowly looked up into Carly’s eyes, then cocked her head to one side a little bit. And that’s when everything went wrong.

Haasha suddenly threw her arms up menacingly and let out a snarl.

“GROOOOAAAR!” she then bellowed out, opened her jaws wide, and chomped into Carly’s leg.

Carly’s shriek of terror was probably heard by everyone on the TEV Ursa Minor. Susan and Andrea stared in shock as they saw Haasha latched onto their friend’s leg. 

“You little pink bite monster!” Carly screamed out as she grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked Haasha on the head with it.

Aside from a little bit of slobber outlining where Haasha’s teeth had rested on Carly’s thigh, there was no damage and Haasha was now rolling on the floor giggling. It was abundantly clear that Haasha had enjoyed the movie perhaps a little too much. Or was a bit hyper from drinking too much Cooler Aid.

Carly got her revenge a few days later. She stopped off at the next Stitch and Bitch session with a little request. Since Haasha was off watching more magic shows, she had no issues asking the knitters to make a special present for Haasha. Delighted by the idea, the knitters teamed up and got things completed that evening.

At the next movie night, Carly presented Haasha with a muzzle made out of rainbow yarn.

"You can't be trusted," Carly explained as she presented it to Haasha. "I'm afraid I'll have to insist that you wear it in case you get a little bitey."

Haasha had simply curled her tail and stared flatly at Carly.

"Don't give me that look," Carly responded quickly. "You're the one that bit me!"

"I'll make you a fruit and Cooler Aid smoothie!" Susan volunteered cheerfully. "Looks like there's large enough holes that you can get a straw through the muzzle."

In the end, Haasha was a good sport and allowed Carly to put the muzzle on her. As soon as she was done, Jack walked into the lounge.

"Did Haasha break the rules about speaking during a movie or something?" he asked with a curious expression.

Haasha replied by demonstrating why the rainbow muzzle was now necessary. She grabbed his arm and tried to bite it, only to be thwarted by the cloth contraption. He let out a high-pitched yelp that had everybody cracking up. On that happy note, everyone grabbed snacks and settled in for the shows.

Movie night became more of a marathon as Haasha did research. With a mix of magic and dinosaurs, there was pretty steady attendance each night thanks to the novelty. After a week straight the crowd thinned considerably, but it remained the guaranteed place to find Haasha each evening. Overall, the binge seemed to settle Haasha’s nerves and give her ideas for her show. 

When asked about her act, she was secretive and said, “A true magician never reveals their secrets. You’ll just have to attend the show.”

People only seemed to know two things. First, Haasha had taken a lot of notes while watching the magic shows and movies. Second, Rosa was irritated with Haasha for the amount of time after hours she worked on props. Why? Because she wouldn’t let anyone else into Engineering while she worked on her “magical secrets”. 

It was finally time to see what kind of show Haasha had put together! Susan was excited to see what her furry friend had come up with.

It was a little strange when Haasha jogged down to the stage in her void suit carrying a box. She stood facing the wall on the left side of the stage and placed the box on the floor. Then Haasha opened up the back of her suit and jumped out. After plugging her void suit into a power conduit on the wall, she jogged off stage and then out of the mess hall to get more props.

‘After Jurassic Park we needed to get Haasha the rainbow muzzle,’ Susan thought to herself. ‘If the void suit is any indicator, we might need people to come up with a knitted spider web to prevent people from getting blown out an airlock.’

At the very least, Haasha’s contribution to the talent show looked like it would be truly unique and Susan couldn’t wait to see the performance.

_____

What sort of magic show do you think Haasha will do? Perhaps pull some suckers from the crowd for three-card monte? Or will someone find themselves on a slab to be sawed in half by a pink space dino wielding a chainsaw? Find out in the next escapade as she presents her grand performance!

Leave No Witnesses Ch. 10.1 First / Previous / Next / Author Wiki & Full Chapter List

__________

Ambassador Heinrich Spalder stepped into the armored mech suit with more than a little discomfort. While he fully understood why he needed to be naked to put on the thing, that didn’t make the situation more tolerable. Just understandable, like the need for the mech suit in the first place.

Gekran was a strange planet, far closer to its star than most habitable planets. In fact, most scientists would consider a world where the surface temperature is always above boiling incompatible with life. And yet, the Gekrans had not only evolved but thrived to become a spacefaring race. Their world and anatomy were anomalies in the galaxy and making contact required concessions for safety over comfort. 

Had this meeting occurred outside of an active conflict, the ambassador likely would have been able to choose a mining or extreme conditions environment suit. As it was, the peaceful surrender to their fleet was completely unexpected. This system was a key military asset, yet the locals had rolled over immediately and even sold out the Galactic Council forces. 

He wasn’t sure if this was an honest gambit to survive, or one to delay so that Galactic Council forces could send reinforcements. Hell, they could simply be opportunists bending to the will of the most powerful force in the system. Agree and roll over now, stab humanity in the back tomorrow when the GC returns if they have the advantage. 

As a result, his primary mission was to evaluate President Xelsha and get a measure of her sincerity. If there were any doubts, Fleet Admiral Maresca was prepared to unleash his planetary bombarders and complete the original mission - to decimate the entire industrial base of the planet. He had less than 8 hours to make that assessment before the admiral would be forced to act. 

The Flying Hog shuddered for a moment as it broke the atmosphere and began to approach the Gekran Diplomatic Compound just outside the capital city of Kek. He made final adjustments to the mech suit, which meant pumping up the heating coils briefly. No matter how insulated the suit might be, stepping in was always a little chilly until the padding and insulation came up to temp. Satisfied, he checked that all required data was uploaded into the suit and that the hidden laser rifles in the arms were both fully charged. He hoped the weapons wouldn’t be necessary particularly since he wasn’t well trained beyond basic marksmanship.

He stepped out of the mech bay into the main cargo and shuttle bay of the Hog. As soon as he did so, two Terran Marines in enhanced mech suits fell into step behind him and took up their duties as his guards. Unlike his concealed weapons, the Marines held comically large rifles which he knew could punch through thick layers of concrete or other hardened materials. Realistically, it was all for show as they were stepping off into possible enemy territory where they would be massively outnumbered. 

He shook off his reservations as the Hog set down and the exit ramp opened. There was a muffled roar as the seals cracked and the outside atmosphere rushed into the bay. After only a moment of waiting, Heinrich started down the ramp and was able to get his first look at Gekran.

The sky was a sickly yellowish-green and the architecture he spotted was incredibly uniform. Each building was square with gently domed roofs and arranged in a perfect grid formation with no variation in height. He couldn’t quite tell the scale as the buildings were closely packed together and he wasn’t sure if the buildings were squat and only one or two stories tall, or perhaps multi-level towers. The landing pad was above the city and it seemed that the Diplomatic Compound was built to overlook and not be a part of the capital. The city simply appeared to be a series of domed tiles neatly arranged within a ravine of unknown depth extending as far out as he could see. Strangely beautiful if plain.

When he reached the bottom of the ramp, he turned his gaze and was startled to see the Gekran delegation waiting. He was glad that he tuned things to low sensitivity so only deliberate movements would cause the mech suit to move. Otherwise, it would have jumped back in shock and his meeting with President Xelsha would have had an awkward start.

‘These folk are definitely nightmare fuel,’ he thought to himself as he saw his first live Gekra. ‘This is not a travel location to suggest to anyone with arachnophobia or who hates seafood.’

Three beings stood a short distance away, none wearing any clothing. That wasn’t the disturbing part. The main body and legs of the sapients bore a close resemblance to a black widow spider except with five legs. Two on each side, and then a middle leg at the front of the body. Glued to the front of the spider-like body was a crab. With four arms. And two thick eyestalks on top of the head which appeared able to rotate in a full circle. 

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Gekra are failed experiments from the Island of Doctor Moreau,’ Heinrich decided after taking a closer look.

The Marines with him had kept their mech suits on high reactivity. Both reacted impulsively to bring their rifles up towards things their brains perceived as a threat.

Heinrich sighed deeply as he realized this first contact was definitely not going to fall under the category of ‘without incident’. 

“Fuck me,” one of the Marines grumbled into communications. “My wife wouldn’t want to set foot on this place unless somebody cleansed it with flamethrowers.”

The ambassador held up a hand and waved off the Marines, who finally remembered they were on a peaceful mission and these were their hosts. Weapons were lowered and the pair returned to more relaxed postures. Thankfully the commentary hadn’t been spoken into open communications.

“I apologize for the rudeness of my companions,” Heinrich said after flipping on his external speakers. “We did not expect to be met by a delegation immediately upon disembarking.”

The being in the center tucked their middle leg underneath their body, and then splayed their front two legs out slightly so their body made a small bow in his direction. He wasn’t sure who exactly he was addressing, but assumed it was some sort of important functionary.

Upon closer inspection, all three Gekra had dark blue carapaces that were bordering on black. He confirmed none wore clothing beyond belts around their abdomens that had various pouches. The two flanking the functionary had easily identifiable weapon holsters, but they were empty. The claws were the only thing that seemed to differentiate the three of them. The two with empty holsters had light blue geometric patterns painted on their smaller lower arms, while their upper arms were free of any markings.

By comparison, the functionary had exceptionally complex patterns on all four arms in a color that matched the yellow-green sky. The only other distinguishing feature was a brown heavy cloth patch that was on the lower left section of the being’s abdomen. The patch was at a slightly odd angle, so Heinrich wondered at its purpose. It seemed off, particularly in comparison to the precise patterns painted on their arms.

The functionary began to chitter softly, but his mech suit had no difficulty picking up and translating the words.

“Greetings, Ambassador,” they said politely. “I am President Xelsha, and it is my honor to welcome you to my rather insignificant corner of the galaxy. I wish this were under better circumstances.”

Heinrich once again was thankful that his suit was set to low sensitivity, and further that his visor was still darkened. If they hadn’t, he would have jerked back in a clear ‘oh, shit’ flinch upon realizing who he was addressing. Taking a deep breath, he reached over with his right hand and tapped the control pad on his left arm to clear the glass on his helmet. Smiling broadly, he addressed the President.

“I am Heinrich Spalder, and I couldn’t agree more that this should have occurred under better circumstances,” he said warmly. “Unfortunately, the Galactic Council has forced less favorable conditions.” 

“In truth, we have little time to waste on the typical diplomatic pleasantries,” President Xelsha responded. “As such, I hope you will forgive my boldness in meeting you so directly. We do not understand much about your people, or what sparked your war with the Galactic Council. We only know that while your Fleet Admiral has been patient and gracious, we still feel the barrel of a slug accelerator upon our backs. It would go a long way if you could explain exactly why your fleet chose to enter our unimportant system, and how we may ensure peace between our peoples.”

Heinrich stared blankly at the President for a long moment. To claim this system was unimportant was… idiotic. Was she truly that ignorant? Or was this a ploy? Either way, he decided the best tactic would be to call the likely bluff.

“Unimportant?” he said slowly as he raised his eyebrow. “Truly? Is that the game you wish to play after claiming we have little time to waste?”

In response, President Xelsha leaned back and all four arms spread wide for just a moment.

“We are a producer of basic ship alloys,” she responded with clear irritation. “There are many such systems that provide these materials to the Galactic Council. I could name at least five with greater prestige located far closer to Terran space. We are not on any major trade routes, nor are there any significant military assets here or in any surrounding system. As such, I fail to comprehend why my planet would justify a Terran fleet complete with planetary bombarders.”

Heinrich took a moment to consider her words. His gut said they were genuine, but he could not blindly trust without verification. 

“Is that truly what you believe?” he asked carefully.

Xelsha’s reaction was the same with her arms splaying back, but this time significantly quicker and more pronounced.

“Of course!” she snapped at him. “It’s what we’ve always known, and the Galactic Council has long held this over our carapaces.”

“Then why, when forces on both sides are spread thin, did we choose to attack this system?” he pressed her.

“I don’t know,” she said quickly and crossed both sets of arms. At least that posture seemed potentially similar to human body language. “Which is why I asked you for an explanation.”

‘Ignorant or misinformed, I can’t be sure,’ Heinrich thought to himself. ‘Either way, it doesn’t change the situation.’

“I’ll be blunt. One of the points of discussion will be if it is at all possible for your planet to remain neutral,” he said firmly and waited to see her reaction. She turned her head to the left, but kept both eyestalks firmly looking at his face. Like humans, it appeared the Gekra used body language to express themselves. It would just take time to learn the various postures and program them into the translation matrixes. Time they didn’t have.

“Your planet is truly unique,” he continued. “Let me ask you this question - did the Galactic Council say anything about the alloys you produce? Anything about them which stands out?”

“We were provided the formulations and plans for the facilities to produce them,” Xelsha replied without hesitation. “We did not develop them, but the materials are relatively straightforward and not overly complex with the production facilities provided during our uplift. Once produced, the alloys go to storage yards for at least 20 planetary rotations before pickup. Not exactly something the Galactic Council puts any priority to obtain once production is finished.”

“So, nothing special?” Heinrich asked in a neutral tone.

“No,” she responded instantly. “As I understand it, the quality of what we produce is unremarkable. Hence no need for special storage and no great priority to pick anything up once produced.”

“Ahh,” the ambassador said with a slow nod. “I see the issue.” 

“I don’t see one that justifies sending a fleet to our system,” Xelsha said with obvious confusion.

“Allow me to provide an explanation,” Heinrich offered, and Xelsha waved a claw slowly in his direction in encouragement. “The alloys aren’t as typical as you believe, and the production process is generally far more complex. I’m no materials engineer, so please understand my description will lack details. I can have our engineers forward the appropriate technical data.”

“I would very much like to see such data,” President Xelsha said skeptically. “But please continue and forgive my interruption.”

Heinrich gave her a small nod and a smile before continuing.

“The crux of the issue is the temperature of your planet,” Heinrich said while slowly waving an arm to point at the world around him. “On our standard scale, your planet is always between 150 and 180C. This is ideal for tempering.”

“Tempering?” President Xelsha asked.

“Certain metals and alloys need to rest at a certain temperature for an extended period,” Heinrich explained. “This allows the internal crystalline structure to settle into an ideal state.”

“Madame President, it is like the creation of Tehva,” one of the guards offered. “You cannot grow the ideal crystals unless the temperature of the solution is held constant. Too hot, and the crystals are tall and thin. Too low, and you get only brittle flakes.”

Xelsha inclined her head slightly towards the guard, then motioned with her upper right arm for the ambassador to continue.

Heinrich nodded appreciatively at the guard for their knowledge, even if he had no clue what a Tehva crystal was.

“The alloy sitting for 20 planetary rotations would be equivalent to tempering almost 4 weeks on the Terran calendar. All without the massive energy infrastructure or production facilities to maintain such elevated temperatures,” he stated. “In the end, the Galactic Council doesn’t wait to pick up because your materials are inferior. They wait because it ensures the internal structure is nearly perfect.”

“There has to be more,” Xelsha said after taking a moment to think. “The alloys are just ship plating.”

“Armor plating,” Heinrich said quietly. “Used exclusively by the Galactic Council military for both vessels and hardened munitions.”

“We’re a dedicated supplier of military materials?” one of the President’s guards muttered in disbelief. “Fuck.”

“They were threatening us with generations of debt if they return and rebuild our planet,” President Xelsha said quietly. “If what you say is true, any debt my people incurred from uplifting was likely paid many cycles ago by the value of our production.”

“Unfortunately, this leaves us in a bit of a tight corner,” Heinrich responded with clear frustration. “On the one hand, we’d like nothing more to recognize your independence. On the other hand, we know that you don’t have the forces to protect yourself from a concentrated GC offensive.”

“Which is assured given the value of our production lines to their military efforts,” Xelsha said with concern.

“We see two viable options, and unfortunately neither of them are great from your point of view,” Heinrich said calmly.

“And they are?” the President asked quietly.

“First, we take the military option. You evacuate your production facilities, and we pound them into oblivion. Absent outside assistance, this would set your planet back decades,” Heinrich outlined. “Understand that if you take this option, your system will remain monitored and a high value target to us. If the GC decides to intervene and rebuild your production lines…”

He let the thought hang in the air.

“We would be at constant risk of invasion and orbital bombardment by Terran forces,” she finished the thought, and he nodded in agreement. “Which is likely since the chances of Galactic Council intervention are extremely high. And the second option?”

“We enter into a formal alliance,” Heinrich answered and let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “We become official partners and utilize your alloys for the war effort. This would mean creating a defense fleet for this system, for which we can provide a production platform and training. But this paints an immense target on your back, and your system will be a hot zone for the entirety of the war. Worse, we both know it would be us against the rest of the galaxy and the odds of winning are long.”

President Xelsha stood still and stared off into the distance in thought. After a long moment of silence, she turned her eyestalks back to the Terran Ambassador.

“The GC lied to us, and now we know it. Worse, they were going to demand further debt that would take generations to pay off. All to rebuild a system they claim was of low value,” she stated in a low growl. “If the GC wins this conflict or you withdraw after decimating our industry, the result is the same.”

“Perpetual servitude,” one of her guards spat, and the President inclined her head in their direction in agreement.

“We both know there is only one option,” Xelsha said firmly. “The one where we fight together. A small chance for freedom is better than none.”

A smile slowly appeared on the ambassador’s lips as he realized humanity was no longer alone in their fight against the Galactic Council.

Leave No Witnesses Ch. 10 First / Previous / Next / Author Wiki & Full Chapter List

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“Alert!” Gella called out. “Unknown fleet detected in my quadrant.”

“Detection Officer, please clarify,” Sector Lead Hetra responded quickly. “Focus on one ship and get us a probable ID.”

“As you order, sir,” came Gella’s crisp reply followed by a series of gentle taps on a control pad. “Terran, sir. We’re under attack by humans! Clear weapons signatures.”

“How bad is it?” Hetra asked while swiping through to see immediately available response assets.

“Unclear as they have started jamming,” the Detection Officer followed up. “Initial readings indicate at least one Terran Command Carrier, and seven other similar sized vessels. The size of the overall sensor reflection indicates a large volume of support vessels. Most concerning is a blip that suggests the presence of a Terran Fleet Command platform.”

“Be’hra dung! That’s serious tonnage,” Hetra snarled. “Any further clarity before they started jamming?”

“Insufficient support ships for a planetary invasion,” Gella stated while double checking the reflections. “However, more than enough to be a lethal strike force to inflict heavy damage and then leave. A cowardly show of force to hit and run.”

“Stow the commentary,” Hetra commanded. “The humans are engaging in total war rather than honorable combat. The Galactic Council warned us this would be the case. Act now, debate the ethics once we survive.”

“Apologies, Sector Lead,” Gella said while lowering a claw in deference. “Conducting secondary analysis to try to get a clearer picture.”

While the Detection Officer worked, Hetra sent the alert to inform Galactic Forces and request they scramble all available interdiction forces.

“Sir, the Terran fleet has dropped all jamming but engaged FTL breakers,” Gella said suddenly. 

“Why did they...?” Hetra wondered aloud before turning full attention to the Detection Officer. “You can report a full image of the situation, correct?”

“Over 30 vessels with dedicated planetary bombarders,” Gella said with a quivering voice. “F-full defense screen from four Terran Command Carriers, in addition to a f-full complement of cruisers and three dreadnaughts. Our Galactic Council forces are outnumbered at least 20 to 1. This isn’t an invasion fleet. It’s mass murder.”

‘That’s not unnecessary commentary,’ Sector Lead Hetra thought after taking a moment to check the data. ‘That's an irrefutable fact. May the Stars guide us and allow some to survive this catastrophe.’

However, the pause to consider was only momentary. Training and professionalism quickly kicked in.

“We must notify the Senate President! Open a channel directly to her office,” Hetra ordered swiftly. “And place all medical facilities on alert to expect mass casualties.”

—-----

Senate President Xelsha, Advisor Benta, and her two guards skittered down the hallway as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, all of them had more than a few moments where a leg slipped out from under them. Thankfully they had four others to catch them when that happened.

These smooth floors were an irritation but insisted upon by the Galactic Council as ‘proper’ for civilized sapients. Never mind that her species had spindly legs that gripped better on rough ground and flat surfaces are a hazard. Her species was part of a greater galaxy, and for centuries they had been learning to adjust to a universe beyond their own planet. Minor inconveniences were to be expected and absorbed as necessary.

After rounding the next corner, President Xelsha sighed with relief. Planetary Liaison Derall was in sight moving quickly down the corridor, but halted as his guards heard her group approach and they spun to assess the threat. 

“President Xelsha,” the Denarian delegate from the Galactic Council said pleasantly. “What do you require?”

“Honored Liaison!" Xelsha called out and slowed to a more careful pace for her final approach to the gentlebeing. Three paces away, she halted and splayed her front legs to provide the expected bow his position demanded. “We are under attack!”

“I am well aware, hence why I am moving to the protected bunker on the moon,” Derall replied with mild irritation.

“Already aware? How?” Xelsha asked as she straightened from her bow.

“The communications break wasn’t a faulty quantum relay as you were informed,” Derall explained with a tired sigh. “Terrans destroyed the facility in Segari Three approximately one quarter planetary rotation ago. Destruction of communication relays is a known prelude to an attack.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Xelsha blurted out with shock.

“All those needing to know, such as myself, were informed immediately,” the Denarian drawled as if already bored with the conversation. “Notification to others was set to be provided at the proper time. Which, for yourself and all other members of your Senate, would have been soon.”

“But we could have prepared!” Xelsha responded quickly.

“More likely just induced panic and caused communication channels to become jammed with unnecessary traffic at a time when Galactic Forces needed to coordinate a response,” Derall lectured. “This is war, not a common natural disaster. And the Terrans are particularly filthy at it.”

“What is being done?” Xelsha asked while still trying to absorb the idea that Galactic Council forces knew of the attack, but declined to inform her.

“We have already dispatched a vessel to reestablish contact with Galactic Force Command,” Derall said tiredly. “At this time, our forces are spread thin as are the humans. I am unaware of how long it will take for a response force to arrive, or in what numbers.”

“And what are we to do in the meantime?” the Senate President wondered aloud.

“There is little to be done now that we have determined the Terran forces are far more significant than our own,” Derall answered with a shrug of his tentacles. “We have made plans to withdraw all forces to the bunker on the moon. Efforts will concentrate on damage assessment and recovery once the humans withdraw.”

“And leave our planet undefended?” she replied incredulously.

“Your noble sacrifices will be noted,” Derall replied far too casually for President Xelsha’s liking. “It will be a serious weight to consider elevating your planet’s status to full Galactic Council member. Once the appropriate debts are repaid.”

“Debts?” Xelsha asked with confusion.

“As you well know, your planet has been a valued junior species upon joining the greater galaxy. Your people have done much to repay the costs of uplifting,” Derall said slowly before taking a long pause. “Unfortunately, your world is not one of utmost importance. Hence the defenses here are understandably light. Did not your Senate agree a more modest uplift debt was better than funding a larger defense force?”

“We could not have foreseen the human threat! And the Galactic Council answered the Chagothian threat without needing to raise additional forces,” Xelsha answered with clear frustration.

“History has shown the Chagothian example is but one of many through the eons,” Derall replied while returning to a lecturing tone. “Consider the lesson of the Jesvar, who taught the Galactic Council the value of developing the Denarian Starfire Platforms. Even we of the Galactic Council are not immune to learning hard lessons. Remember that The Chagothian War was against only one aggressor, not a coalition like the Jesvar. When your people were uplifted, we did provide a full historical record.”

“But…” Xelsha started to object, but Derall waved a tentacle to halt her.

“In short, your people placed an understandable but faulty bet. As a result, there will be mass damage to this system we cannot prevent. And the debts to rebuild will be quite… substantial,” Derall explained with a mild shrug of his tentacles to show a measure of pity. “It is only fair that the cost be repaid, would you not agree?”

“I don’t know,” Xelsha said quietly. “Billions of lives are at risk. My entire planet.”

“Consider the larger picture and remember that the billions in your system are but few amongst the trillions in the universe,” Derall stated firmly. “The Galactic Council is forced to consider broader issues, as tragic as the losses here might be.”

“The humans will butcher us,” Xelsha mumbled as the full weight of the situation became clear.

“We hope this is not so, yet that is the likely reality,” Derall responded simply.

“What should we do?” she asked the Denarian, almost afraid to hear what he might suggest.

“First, notify your senators and all others of utmost importance. We estimate you have less than 45 time-units to get them on transport to the protective bunker,” Derall said firmly. “Second, understand that notifying your entire populace of the situation is likely to induce panic. Many sapients of value may be prevented from reaching the bunker, so I recommend silence until you and those of note are secure.”

“Please give me a moment,” Xelsha requested while giving the Planetary Liaison a polite bow. “I’d like to consider all options.”

“You think there are other options?” Derall replied sharply. “I see none! While you waste precious time, I am going to board my shuttle. I leave in 10 units if you wish to join me. Otherwise, you will be on your own.” 

The Denarian turned swiftly, motioned with a tentacle to his guards, and started to leave.

After watching him begin to move away, Xelsha motioned over one of her own guards.

“I order you to do nothing,” she said to her protector, surprising him.

“Madame President?” he responded quickly. “What do you mean?”

“Do nothing,” she explained simply. “Remain still.”

The guard simply cocked his head to one side in confusion, but did as ordered.

Before he could react, President Xelsha made a swift move with her lower left pincer arm. Shocked by the sudden movement, he followed orders and remained still. When he comprehended what she was doing, he wished he had disobeyed the order.

Xelsha grabbed the guard’s pulse pistol and swung it smoothly down the hall. She held her arm out and hesitated only a moment to steady herself and take aim. There was a low ‘whump’ as a bolt flew from the weapon followed by a sickening crunch on the back of Derall’s head.

Derall’s guards spun around and drew their weapons, looking for a threat. They didn’t have time to comprehend the situation and notice the Senate President was armed as a high pitched squeal pierced the air.

The weapon had failed to penetrate the armor of the Denarian’s helmet. However, the shot did succeed in cracking the rear main seal. On a world where the average temperature is 50 degrees above the boiling point of water and the vast majority of sapients require a full environment or void suit, Xelsha sentenced Derall to death of a different sort.

Derall was screeching in pain as hot air rushed into his helmet. The faceplate instantly became fogged from the air turning his skin’s moisture into steam. Pain overrode sense immediately. In a vain attempt to escape, he reacted instinctively rather than with any clear thought.

He ejected his helmet and detached his head from his body, which crumpled to the ground. He used his neck tentacles to fling himself away from the falling mass and attempted to run down the hall towards his shuttle. Steam and blisters erupted from all over his head. Each step of his neck tentacles made a sickening sizzle and left bubbling splotches of blood as he ran away on the hot floor. 

Everyone watched in horror as the Denarian’s head shrieked in pain and after bolting just shy of 30 meters fell over onto its side. There was a particularly intense sizzle as the side of his head hit the floor and the smell of cooking meat quickly filled the corridor.

With no part of Derall moving, his guards shook themselves free from their shock and locked aim onto President Xelsha. As they fired, the President’s guards moved. 

The one next to her attempted to step in front of the Senate President, but was too late to block the incoming fire. Both bolts from the Denarian guards struck President Xelsha.

His compatriot went straight for deadly force, skipping the pulse pistol and going for her slug accelerator. With two quick shots, she sent armor piercing bullets through the faceplates of the Galactic Forces guards. Unlike Derall, the two guards were sent to oblivion instantly.

Advisor Benta rushed over to his fallen President. He found her in intense pain, her head cradled by the guard whose pistol she had used.

“What have you done!” he called out in a shrill voice.

President Xelsha let out a pained chitter of amusement before answering.

“You’d think after working so many of us to death, they’d know how to kill us,” she commented dryly before wincing in pain as she shifted in the guard’s embrace. “They shot me in my secondary circulator, not primary. Hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

“Seriously, what have you done?” Benta asked with horror on his face.

“You and I both know how the Galactic Council has taken advantage of us every cycle since first contact,” Xelsha snarled back at him. “We’ve served loyally in the hopes they’ll follow through on their promise to let us become full members. They say you truly find out the measure of your friends when something goes wrong, and the best we can get is “if we’re worth it”? And there will be fresh generational debts?”

“I don’t disagree with how you feel, but…” Benta began before the President raised her voice and cut him off.

“Take me to the communications room,” Xelsha ordered firmly. “I will surrender to the humans.”

“But humans are said to be butchers!” Benta objected, and both of her guards also looked unsure.

“We are an insect caught between two giants,” she responded quickly. “We can only hope that humans will think us not worth the effort to squash if we don’t resist.”

“But…” Benta began before Xelsha cut him off again.

“We have no good options!” Xelsha roared out at Benta, causing her to wince and nearly pass out from the pain of being shot by the Denarian guards. Her companions were all stunned into silence as she wheezed for breath. After a moment, she leaned back into the guard cradling her head and looked straight up into Benta’s eyestalks.

“The Terrans have the power to decimate us. The GC sounds likely to abandon us, or put us into many more generations of debt if they decide to return. Surrender at least provides some hope that humanity will show mercy and more of our people will survive,” Xelsha explained with firm resolve. “And if I’m wrong?”

She paused as a flash of pain from her wounds made her flinch. 

“If I’m wrong,” she continued softly. “We were dead anyway and this betrayal does nothing to change that.”

“I don’t fault your logic,” Benta replied seriously. “But I will simply point out the consequences will be severe if the GC returns in force and is able to liberate us.”

Xelsha waved her lower right pincer arm dismissively.

“Just tell the bastards you were horrified by what I did, and turn me in at the first opportunity,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll beg for forgiveness from the GC and gladly sacrifice my life for the good of our people. And what the fuck will they do? Add another generation or three to our new debt?”

Benta took a long moment to consider. The guards looked to him for direction as this was a textbook moment where a Senior Advisor could relieve a President who just acted improperly.

“A worthwhile gambit, if it saves lives,” he said slowly. “Fine, let’s get to the communications center.”

The guards took a moment to perform first aid on the President, bind her wounds, and be sure the bolts hadn’t put her in mortal danger. Satisfied that she wouldn’t die but objecting to the fact they wouldn’t be allowed to take her directly to medical, the guards finally relented when Benta ordered a trauma team to meet them in the communications room.

Moments later, they were inside the secure communications station with some very shocked communications officers.

“Open a channel to the Terran fleet,” President Xelsha ordered and the officers snapped to obey. She then looked over at Benta as her guards helped her into a seat in front of the input station. “Well, here goes nothing.”

She looked over at the primary communications officer, who bobbed quickly.

“Communications beam directed at the largest Terran contact,” the officer reported.

The President flipped the switch and stared directly into the camera.

“This is Senate President Xelsha, elected leader of this system,” she began. “We have no desire to engage in any resistance. We request your terms for peace.”

There was a long pause. Xelsha was about to try again when there was a response, but voice only.

“This is Terran Fleet Command,” an authoritative voice responded. “Confirm your identity.”

“I am transmitting my authority code,” Xelsha responded as smoothly as possible. “I can also confirm that I am not compromised or under duress. I make this request freely on behalf of my people.”

“Identity confirmed. I am Fleet Admiral Maresca,” the voice responded gruffly. “What is the status of this system? Do you support the Galactic Council, or are you independent?”

Next to her, Benta sucked in a deep breath. Fully understanding his reaction, she engaged mute.

“The Butcher of Ma’crek. Executioner of over a third of the Galactic Council,” murmured Advisor Benta. “You can see the crater where the former Galactic Council Chambers sat from half a system away. We’re fucked.”

Xelsha swallowed hard before giving him a quiet reply. “Had I known who was commanding the enemy, I don’t know if that would have stopped me from killing that Denarian shit or made me pull the weapon and fire faster. Well, I placed my stone on Kek’va. Time to see how much blood my bet has cost us.”

She then disengaged mute and turned her eyestalks to stare into the camera with determination.

“We are independent!” President Xelsha called out. “We have no interest in being an insect caught between giants. We will send you all tactical data on GC forces in the system that we are aware of, and the location of their protective bunker on our moon. We ask that you spare us. Our system is of little importance, and the only significant military forces are Galactic Council controlled.”

“Acknowledged,” was the infuriatingly short reply. “Hold one.”

“Hold one what?” Benta wondered, and Xelsha simply shrugged.

After a long pause, there was a sudden data transmission and the voice returned.

“Sending IFF code for your vessels. Instruct your captains to transmit this signal and withdraw to the indicated position. This will mark vessels as neutral,” Fleet Admiral Maresca explained. “However, be aware that if any of your ships uses the IFF to claim neutrality and then attacks, all targets will be assumed hostile. Including your planet. Send GC targeting data when available.”

“Of course,” Xelsha responded quickly. “Anything else you require?”

“First and foremost, understand that we are trusting you. One wrong move, and my fleet will return to our original mission and send you back to the Stone Age,” Maresca said quietly. Xelsha didn’t know what he meant by Stone Age, but the threat was clear enough.

“Understood, Admiral,” was all she could say.

“Given your independent status, we will be dispatching an ambassador to a location of your choosing,” the gruff voice continued. “I expect the primary topic of discussion to be your neutrality and how to best ensure your independence. By chance, do you happen to know of any other systems that need assistance in asserting their independence?”

President Xelsha relaxed back into her seat and took only a brief moment to consider the question.

“Advisor Benta, tell Central Command to transmit the requested data to the human fleet immediately. Ensure you use my personal identity key so they know the request is genuine,” she ordered before returning her attention to the Terran Fleet Admiral. “Admiral, you should see an incoming datastream on Galactic Council forces within 3 time-units. Most significant will be an armored bunker on our moon. And to answer your question?” 

She paused for a moment to organize the best options.

“Honestly, I’d start with Lokaria. They’re recent uplifts with less than a century under Galactic Council rule, and they’ve been chafing under their uplift debts ever since first contact,” Xelsha began. “Then look at Kalkik Prime, who recently lost their Galactic Council seat under somewhat mysterious circumstances. Then there’s Borela and Zincha…”

Xelsha stopped and sighed. She then motioned a pincer sideways to wave off further discussion, then halted the movement as the human was unlikely to understand it. And she still wasn’t sure if the Terran Fleet Admiral was watching her broadcast or just engaging her with audio only.

“On second thought, I have a better idea,” she said finally.

“And that is?” came the admiral’s guarded reply.

“Tell your ambassador to come with plenty of free time available,” President Xelsha explained. “It may take a few planetary rotations to go through the list of systems with independent souls.”

There was silence, followed by a clearly amused response from Fleet Admiral Maresca. 

“Understood. We’ll bring the booze and plenty of ears ready to listen. I’ll be in contact once we’ve removed all uninvited Galactic Council guests from your system. Fleet Command Delta out.”

President Xelsha relaxed back into her chair and looked at Advisor Benta in amazement. She then commented, “That went far better than I could have imagined.”

“I’m as shocked as you. However, I do have one question,” Advisor Benta said softly. “What’s booze?”

_______

Forces are spread thin on both sides, yet each knows they must move into enemy territory. In the previous chapter, humanity caught a lucky break and pushed back Galactic Council efforts with the destruction of a Starfire platform. Taking advantage of that opening, Terran forces pushed into this system... but why? There will be two short chapters to answer this question, and then Hal will return to face a difficult lesson.

As a freighter captain, I have only a few pleasures in life. The pay is good, but the hours are long, and unexpected complications can make the job stressful and challenging. As a result, sleeping is one of the things I thoroughly enjoy. Why? Because it’s supposed to be a peaceful time when nobody will pester me with problems. Unfortunately, life is a cruel nest-mate and likes to remind me of a different concept from time to time.

The best part of waking up is screaming, “What the fuck!”

That might have been running through my mind as I bolted upright in bed and yelled out those very words. I can’t be sure as the awakening was both rude and unexpected. Something had scampered across me while I was sleeping, and my mind raced as I tried to make sense of what just happened.

I was in deep space. I’ve heard that humans have animals that sometimes get loose and cause problems, but our new human crew member didn’t have any pets. Maybe a pelka rat? But how the hell did one get into deep space and survive?

Ships have pretty solid anti-pest detection systems so you can’t bring a stray Borillian flea along without it being detected. At least, that’s how things are supposed to work. I was pretty sure this vessel was up to date and had pest control systems, but my tired brains couldn’t remember. I had only recently taken command of this ship.

In the panic of the moment, my mind flashed to the ‘classic story’ our new human told us at dinner last night. Guliver’s Travels, I think? Something about a human being tied to the ground by dozens of tiny little creatures. But I didn’t spot any angry little sapients, nor did I see any footprints on my bedding. And what twisted mind thought up such a nightmare? It’s a human story, so likely best not to ask.

Thoroughly spooked, I got out of bed and looked around my quarters. And then I poked my head out the door to look down the hallway.

“Perhaps it was just a dream,” I muttered under my breath. “Nothing here.”

Satisfied nothing was wrong, I chalked it up as just my imagination or a nightmare caused by the human’s tale. I went back to bed and woke up to my alarm at the usual time. 

Before leaving my quarters, I did one last check to be sure I hadn’t missed anything when I was woken up. Finding nothing, I checked my schedule for the day before I stuffed my dataslate into the holder on my belt. 

The walk up to the bridge was uneventful, unlike the scene I discovered on the command deck when the doors opened.

“Did any of you notice anything strange last night? I swear I heard something moving in my quarters,” Gu’ball said while waving a claw nervously. “It woke me up, but when I looked around, I didn’t see anything. I barely slept the rest of the evening as it triggered my fear instincts.”

“I was in my third sleep when something stepped on a tentacle and woke me up,” Heja responded quickly. “There was nothing in visual range when I looked. I thought I imagined it and just went back to resting!”

“I was doubting my sanity, but your experiences suggest what I saw was real,” Ri’chel said with clear concern. “I woke up suddenly last night after hearing a clank and I saw something floating midair above me! I couldn’t see anything clearly as the lights were dimmed, but by the time I reached the luminance controls there was nothing there.”

“You sapients are freaking me out,” Sequat chimed in as their eyestalks blinked nervously. “I also was awoken by something scampering, but I couldn’t see anything when I turned on the lights. I also thought my imagination had just run wild. But with four of us having such experiences?”

“Captain Kizik! We all…” Ri’Chel started when their primary eyestalk noticed me.

“I heard as I entered,” I broke in quickly. “And I highly doubt this is a shared delusion. Has anyone checked the pest monitoring system?”

“I’m looking at it now,” Gu’ball called out while tapping a claw on the closest control screen. “No alerts, and system diagnostic reports all sensors functional and operating on high detection mode.”

“Most likely, we have some sort of pest on board and our systems aren’t functioning properly to catch it,” I said calmly. “Worst case, we’ve discovered something that can evade pest monitors. That’s rare, but it wouldn’t be the first time.”

I spoke with far more confidence than I truly felt. A broken pest system was bad enough, but if we found something that could avoid monitoring systems? That was a significant threat and would need to be reported to galactic authorities. I decided not to mention that pests not detected by monitoring systems tend to be dangerous. Like Wekfarian flesh weevils. 

“Engineer Ashwin?” I said into ship communications. “Please report to the command deck. We may have a system problem.”

“On my way!” was the quick and cheery response from our new human engineer. 

Barely two time-units later Ashwin opened the door and jogged over to me.

“What seems to be the issue?” he asked with a pleasant smile.

“Multiple crew members were disturbed last night in their sleep,” I explained. “It appears we may have picked up some sort of pest, and the control system isn’t detecting anything.”

“Gotcha! I’ll run a deep dive to see if there are any obvious problems,” Ashwin said professionally. He then gave me a firm nod and moved over to one of the control consoles.

“Well, from what I can tell the monitoring system is working perfectly. Your last engineer did a great job calibrating the sensors,” he said after a short while as everyone in the room watched him nervously. “Let me check something else.”

Ri’chel alternated their primary eyestalk between me and Ashwin as we waited for the next update.

“Oh!” Ashwin suddenly called out. He then gave a short laugh and shook his head. “No worries. This should be an easy fix.”

Everybody looked at the human with confusion and concern.

“What does that mean? What’s wrong?” I asked in response to his cryptic non-explanation.

“I didn’t realize you guys all sleep like rocks,” Ashwin responded quickly. “Humans shift and snore, so it’s easy to tell we aren’t dead. The updated cleaning bots got confused and thought you all died and needed to be cleaned up. They left immediately after realizing their mistake. I’ll update the subroutine to use thermals or something else to be sure you’re alive.”

All visual receptors in the room locked onto an oblivious Ashwin, who seemed to have brought up a programming page on the control console.

“However, this does point to another flaw in my programming,” he went on. “In the unfortunate case someone does pass away, it wouldn’t be good to have the bots clean up anything. I’ll set them to send an alert to command and medical. It might be just a little culturally insensitive if we’ve got to pull a body out of the trash recycler.”

“Updated bots… How in the stars…” I stammered in confusion. “That doesn’t explain anything! The cleaning bots have wheels and can’t get up on a bed.”

Our human just sat there looking guilty, suddenly realizing he was the center of attention.

“What else did you do?” I asked quietly.

“Spiders are our friends, and they clean up a lot of pests on Earth. So, I thought it would be good to give the cleaning bots eight legs,” Ashwin said sheepishly while scratching the back of his head. He then became very excited and animated. “Now they can climb up and reach more surfaces to clean. Much more useful and efficient!”

“But how does that explain that Ri’chel saw something hanging from the ceiling?” I demanded since his explanation still left much to be desired.

“Oh,” Ashwin said with a nervous laugh. “That.”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “That.”

Ashwin looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before speaking again.

“You see, spiders on Earth can make a sticky silk out of their butts to make webs or to safely drop from heights,” he explained while still refusing to look me in the eyestalks. “So, I just gave the bots mini winches with maglocks on their rears. Now they can latch onto surfaces like spiders, and they also have mini magboots so they can walk up walls and clean the ceilings.”

There was a long pause as I considered what he said. Ri’chel glowered at the human.

“Maybe I should add rubberized feet. Then they won’t make any annoying sounds as they move,” Ashwin mumbled while still avoiding everyone's gaze.

And now it all made sense. I was warned that human engineers like to come up with unique solutions and so-called improvements. I didn’t think this was what they meant.

“Why can’t you humans just leave things be?” I grumbled at Ashwin. “They worked well enough before.”

“But spiderbots are better!” he responded brightly.

________

I hope you found this amusing. If so, please blame u/Kizik for their comment on my story Rise and Shine:

The best part of waking up~

Is screaming WHAT THE FUCK

It got stuck in my brain as a great possible thing for a story. This is the result. It also may not be the last result, as the concept has a lot of fun potential. For those looking for Haasha or Leave No Witnesses, this is what distracted me this week. Next chapters for both are coming soon!

Speaking of WTF, First Officer Auggie had a rather unexpected late-night experience of his own in Here I sit broken-hearted (Haasha 40.99).

Other stories and ponderings available on my Author Wiki!

“I heard our new human crewmember arrived last night,” Safety Overseer Heebar said with a raised tentacle to indicate curiosity. “What are they like?”

“They seemed quite pleasant, but I’ll admit we didn’t spend much time speaking,” Personnel Officer Zalot replied. “It was late, and they were both tired and anxious to get settled into their quarters.”

“What sort of beings are humans?” Heebar asked. “I’ve heard of them, but this is the first time I’ll be working with one.”

“I’m not too familiar with humans myself, but this individual came with excellent references from ships with multi-species crews. From a work standpoint, I’m sure they’ll fit in,” Zalot answered with a confident shift of an eyestalk. "Physically, they are bipedal beings with appendages that will not flex backwards like your tentacles can. They are far more like insectoids with rigid structure, but that structure is internal rather than an outer carapace. Their exterior is soft skin, with musculature underneath attached to their bones.”

“Internal structure with fleshy exterior? Not too abnormal,” Heebar commented as he wrapped a tentacle around his mug of nutrient broth. “Any other key physical attributes?”

“This human is a female and prefers to be called Maddie. As a species, humans wear clothing for both modesty and temperature regulation,” Zalot explained. “Humans are also dimorphic, and one of the distinguishing features of females is they have a pair of large lumps on their chest. However, I understand that it is quite rude in human society to comment on or look at those lumps. That’s probably the most important thing we’ll need to communicate to the crew.”

“Interesting! And nothing that seems too far out of the ordinary, all things considered,” Heebar said with a satisfied flick of a tentacle. “When will I get a chance to meet them?”

“She will be attending ship orientation on First Shift with all other new crew,” Zalot said while taking a quick moment to double check and confirm the information on his dataslate. “I understand humans prefer to consume a meal designated ‘breakfast’ before beginning work, so we will likely see her in the galley soon.”

As if on cue, the door to the mess hall opened and Maddie was standing there. At 1.75 meters tall, she would be at the upper height of the crew but not hugely out of proportion. She wore dark blue work coveralls which seemed to zip up on the front. Her two feet were covered by heavy black work boots, but no coverings on her hands or head. Shoulder length brown hair was tied back into a ponytail. However, that wasn’t what stood out.

The expression on her face was almost predatory the way she gazed into the room with her two eyes. Zalot quickly checked his translation matrix for body language and was shocked to find the facial expression matched one of anger or significant irritation.

Zalot and Heebar looked at each other, both finding her unpleasant visage completely unexpected.

Maddie stalked across the room towards the liquid dispensers. She didn’t walk calmly. The pace was clearly accelerated and her gaze focused intensely on the dispensers. She refused to stop walking or look around the room at all. She just went to the beverage station in an apparent huff. 

Reaching the beverage station, she placed a bag on the counter and pulled two items out. First was a sealed canister of some kind. Second was a glass cylinder with a top Maddie quickly yanked off and set it aside on the counter. She then opened the sealed canister and dumped some sort of grainy brown substance into the glass cylinder, which they now noticed had a large black handle attached. 

“Is that the human?” Heebar asked quietly.

“Yes,” Zalot responded in a low voice. “But she definitely wasn’t like that last night.”

“Where’s the fucking hot water?” Maddie grumbled loud enough they could hear her. Their eyestalks widened in shock at the language and attitude.

“Oh, there it is,” she continued as she found the universal water dispenser and started to make selections on the control screen. “No, you stupid piece of shit. Not warm, hot. I know it’s a fucking burn hazard. Quit your bullshit and give me nearly boiling water.”

Maddie’s pressing of the controls quickly turned into aggressive jabbing and her rant intensified. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Hot, nearly boiling. For fuck’s sake!” she snarled at the water dispenser. “Stop arguing with me and give me my damn hot water. Why do they have safety nannybots built into these fucking things? We’re supposedly all adults here!”

She was satisfied only after the dispenser started pouring hot water into the glass cylinder with the oversized handle. A smell began to fill the mess hall. Strong, slightly acrid, but by no means unpleasant. Just new, different, and very distinct.

With the addition of the hot water, the liquid in the glass cylinder turned a watery dark brown. Once full, Maddie grabbed the lid and slapped it on top of the cylinder. For some reason, the lid had a long pole sticking up with a knob at the top. She then just stood there and stared at the glass cylinder and the liquid inside, seemingly oblivious to everyone and everything around her.

“Did she pass the mandatory psychological examinations?” Heebar whispered to Zalot.

“She ranked highly on independence and problem solving, as well as significantly above average on the potential to cooperate with multiple species,” Zalot said with a swirl of an eyestalk to indicate confusion.

Maddie just stood there staring at the cylinder for three full time units, a sour expression on her face the entire time. Suddenly, she flashed her right hand out with palm down above the device, causing both Zalot and Heebar to flick their eyestalks back as they were startled by the unanticipated movement. Maddie then gently pushed down slowly on the knob until the long bar disappeared into the contraption and the knob rested on the lid.

Maddie made to grab one of the universal mugs. However, the effort was clearly uncoordinated as she proceeded to knock a few over. Muttering something angrily under her breath, Maddie took a moment to slowly and carefully fix the mess she had accidentally created. However, it took multiple tries, and she knocked over an additional mug in the process. There was a clear lack of coordination between her visual receptors and her manipulators. Rather than straighten things any further, she snatched the last mug she knocked over and decanted the contents of the glass contraption into it.

It became clear to Heebar and Zalot that the glass cylinder was some sort of brewing device, and the long metal bar was connected to a plunger and filter to separate the organic substance from the liquid once steeping was complete. Just an interesting variation on making tea or broth, although it was unclear why Maddie had her own special device. 

“Do you think the steeping device has cultural significance?” Heebar wondered aloud.

“I would assume so,” Zalot responded in a low voice. “All ships carry a variety of devices to make teas or broth, and any number of them would likely perform as well as that glass apparatus.”

Heebar brought up his dataslate and had it perform an image search on the device.

“GalNet says the device is a French Press,” he reported to Zalot. “The descriptor ‘French’ seems to refer to a category of cuisine. Other related results include ‘French cooking’ and a popular dish known as ‘French Fries’. Perhaps this means her preferred native foods are French?”

Zalot just gave a noncommittal shrug with his tentacles, still baffled by the human’s behavior and unpleasant attitude.

With the dark liquid decanted into the mug, Maddie placed the steeping device in the cleaning area along with her bag and the sealed container. She then picked up the mug and proceeded purposefully to the buffet.

With her left hand, she pulled a small bioscanner out of a pocket and waved it quickly at the food items. When the device beeped and a green light appeared, she put the device away and grabbed the item indicated as safe - a baked Skorvaxian beetlegrub that looked very much like a traditional pastry, just dark purple in color.

She walked away from the serving line with the beetlegrub in one hand and unknown dark liquid in the other. Halfway towards an empty seating section she brought the beetlegrub up to her mouth and took a bite. A small dribble of the grub’s sickly green innards went down her chin. She winced, wiped away the drip on her chin with her sleeve, and then looked at the food item with what Zalot’s translation matrix identified as pure disgust.

Surprisingly, Maddie did not return the offensive food item. The human quickly chewed and swallowed. Next, she took a sip of the dark beverage, swished it around in her mouth, swallowed, and then proceeded to an empty table. Upon sitting down, she quickly wolfed down the beetlegrub before taking a large drink of the dark beverage.

Instead of just swallowing, she took a moment to swish the drink around in her mouth before leaning back and gargling the liquid. She then took a second drink, once again swishing the beverage around in her mouth. Seemingly satisfied, she swallowed but quickly reverted to what the translation matrix labeled as a ‘foul mood’.

“Is this standard human behavior?” Heebar enquired.

“No idea,” Zalot responded quickly. “I hope not.”

Over the next fifteen time units, Maddie slowly sipped on her beverage and her mood began to shift. Zalot’s interpreter system informed him that her mood shifted from ‘foul’ to ‘calm and satisfied’. Of particular note, the upturned corners of her mouth were identified as a ‘small smile’ that indicated human happiness.

Suddenly, Maddie stood up and strode purposefully across the room to the cleaning section. Her back was straight and her mouth continued to display the ‘smile’ indicating contentment. Her eyes were bright and lively as she crossed the room, and upon arrival at the cleaning section her movements were quick and purposeful while she cleaned out her steeping device.

While Maddie finished cleaning her glass steeping press, another crewmember had been loading their tray with food. When they turned, their tray clipped a sauce bottle and knocked it off the condiments table. 

With unnatural speed and grace, Maddie leaned over and her hand shot out to snatch the falling bottle. The deft and smooth motion continued as she placed the sauce bottle on the table and slid it with gentle precision back into place with the other condiments.

“I thank you for preventing what would have been a very sticky disaster,” the crewmember said to Maddie as they bobbed their antennae in appreciation. “I am Gor’chall, the Assistant Navigator. And you are?”

“I’m Maddie, your new human crew member,” the woman responded cheerfully. “I’m a crane and heavy equipment operator. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“I have heard of your species, but never met one,” the insectoid responded. “Is it true that you are mostly made up of water? It does not appear so.”

Tact is not one of the specialties of the Jekva people, yet the human seemed to shrug off the bluntness with an amused smile. Then Maddie proceeded to not only answer the question but engage Gor’chall in an extended friendly conversation. The entire time she was smiling and her eyes shined brightly in a way the translation matrix interpreted as ‘happy and engaged’.

“Wherever is in that liquid seems to be an important mood regulator. Find out what it is and be sure the quartermaster has ordered sufficient quantities. We can’t have our human’s performance falter due to an unknown chemical imbalance,” Zalot said to Heebar. He paused for a moment in thought before continuing. “And to be safe, also check in with the medical team. We should be sure this isn’t an unfortunate situation where our human came aboard with an undisclosed substance abuse problem.”

________

Thanks for reading! I hope this provided some amusement. And no, I do not have a coffee problem. Mornings are the problem. Coffee is the solution.

New Haasha and Leave No Witnesses should be coming soon! Keep an eye out.

“What’s your problem, you insignificant wretch?” an elder Kalbaxik yelled at an obvious youngling. “Why can’t you get anything right?”

The child simply stared up at the adult with fear and confusion. The adult raised their right main pincer to strike the little one.

“HEY!” Alexis DuBois yelled out, enraged by the behavior.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” her husband Adam snarled at the older xeno. “You should never hit a child!”

“Oh?” the Kalbaxik sneered in response. “And how do you expect an incapable twit to learn to do better without appropriate correction?”

“Hitting only teaches fear and loathing,” Adam responded quickly. “First, you show the child you care about them. When they understand that you love them, they will listen. Then you teach them using words, lessons, and…”

“Well, since you seem to care so much for this useless k’shek, why don’t you take them and find out how useless your lessons are?” the older Kalbaxik cut in before Adam could finish his sentence. 

The uncaring older being then gave the child a harsh shove in the direction of the humans. It whirled around, got into a ground transport parked close by, and drove off.

The humans looked stunned. 

“Did that just happen?” Alexis asked dumbly. “Did a parent really just abandon their child?”

Adam simply knelt down, picked up the child, and hugged them to his chest gently.

“I’m sorry that happened, little one,” he said in a soothing tone. “We’ll go to the authorities and get this sorted out. Hopefully we can prevent anything like this ever happening to you again.”

“What’s your name?” Alexis asked gently.

“Glorall,” a tiny voice answered.

“Glorall, don’t you worry,” she said firmly. “We’ll get this sorted out soon.”

And this is when they encountered their next shock with local culture.

“Really?” the district enforcement officer had said with irritation. “That thing is clearly an outcast now. No clan in its right mind will want it back. Release the girl to the streets where it belongs and it will learn to live like a proper Kalbaxik or die and stop wasting valuable resources.”

There would be no returning the child and no justice for the abandonment. Not even a government operated orphanage was available to take in and care for outcasts.

Only recently introduced to this planet, humanity was already a bit sour on the Kalbraxik due to their aggressive and warmongering demeanor. Incidents like this did them no favors. They quickly got on the short list to be taught the basic concepts of sapient rights, but that would take time and likely a war or two given their preference towards physical violence over reasonable discussion. And in this moment, it did nothing to assist a now homeless orphan.

Adam and Alexis looked at each other.

“Well, we were discussing adopting or having a child,” Adam started slowly.

“Shush and hand over our daughter,” Alexis said simply while holding out her hands. “Look up where we can find appropriate food and medical supplies for her. I’ll handle the important questions.”

Turning her attention to Glorall, she smiled and began her interrogation to discover the necessities. 

“What’s your favorite color?” Alexis asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Green?” the child answered hesitantly.

“That’s wonderful!” Alexis exclaimed. “We’ll find you some green blankets to snuggle in at night. And now a very important question. What’s your favorite food?”

“Bekhah!” their daughter answered brightly. 

“I have no idea what that is!” Alexis replied with wonder. “Let’s go find some so you can introduce me to this yummy food.”

Glorall’s eyes brightened as her new parents made their way to the local market.

In the coming years, Alexis and Adam discovered why Glorall’s clan had outcast her. She wasn’t a fighter and shied away from physical violence. More intellectual, her mind wasn’t that of an accountant or a mathematician where there is a clear right or wrong answer you can fight for and prove. Glorall’s head lived in the clouds, creative and inquisitive. Philosophical, not absolute. Definitely not compatible with existing Kalbaxik society.

In school, her teachers would often describe her as stubborn and frustrating. Unwilling to pay attention in class except for subjects that interested her.

In a nutshell, as a child Glorall was… entirely normal. 

Her parents had some unique challenges, such as helping her deal with occasional discrimination due to her race being very much in disfavor with humanity. Sourcing food could be difficult as some of the very things she needed to be healthy were toxic to humans. But overall, humanity did what humanity does best. It claimed an orphan and let Glorall grow into an educated and well-adjusted adult.

Just the day before, her parents and friends cheered proudly as she received her Certificate in Arts and Marketing. Not only that, but she also had a job offer from a local firm to do graphic design and create catchy jingles for small businesses. It wasn’t her dream job, but it looked like a good start. A place where she could learn and begin a successful career. In all, she counted herself lucky to have been cast out when Mom and Dad happened to be walking by.

Still in a glow of accomplishment and fond remembrance of the celebration dinner last night, she had thrown off her forest green comforter. After getting out of bed, she put on a Haasha t-shirt to go with her gray sweatpants. The cartoon of the furry pink space dinosaur had been a favorite growing up. As a joke at last night’s dinner, her mother had given her a new Haasha stuffie holding a sign with her famous tag line of, “I didn’t do it!” But Glorall had done it, and she had the certification with honors to prove it.

She gave the stuffed animal a grin as she stepped out of her room and walked down the hall to join her parents for a late breakfast.

She entered the kitchen and went over to the coffee pot. Pouring a tall mug of black coffee, she smiled at her parents as she gave the hot liquid a deep sniff. Caffeine had no effect on her kind, but the bitter flavor was pleasurable. As a result, they always drank a cup of coffee together in the morning. It was a ritual that had helped them bond as a family, and each morning be reminded that no matter how angry they might be with one another they were still a family and would drink coffee together.

Little was said as they sat together and shared small smiles, all of them just enjoying drinking coffee and eating breakfast together. Finally, they came to the end of their meal and Glorall swallowed her last swig of coffee.

Before she could stand up to clear her dishes, her father held up a hand to stop her.

“Glorall,” Dad said with a surprising amount of seriousness. “We have something that we need to discuss with you.”

Her mother then reached over and pulled out a set of papers from a folder that has been sitting next to her the entire meal. Actual papers which looked very official. With concern and confusion, she put out her left main pincer to accept the papers from her mother who was offering them with a pleasant smile.

Glorall looked down at the stack and her brain froze with shock and fear at the title on the first page.

Notice of Eviction.

“What…” she blurted out as she stared wildly first at her father, and then her mother. “What is this? How could you?”

Her entire body started to shake with anger.

“Now, now,” her mother said with an irritated look. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Glorall spat back.

“Dearest daughter, we love you,” her father responded quickly. “But you’ve finished school and you have a job. It’s time to move out.”

“Exactly!” Mom said with gusto. “You're an adult, and this is an important rite of passage. Time to find your own place to live and make your way in the galaxy! And hopefully meet someone special to settle down with. We’d love to spoil some grandkids!”

“But what if I run into trouble…” Glorall mumbled, still in shock.

Her father looked at her like she was an idiot.

“If something goes wrong, you call home,” he said sternly.

“We’re your parents, and we will always love and support you,” Mom said while nodding in agreement. “You get hit with an unexpected bill or something else goes wrong, you call us first. And if things are really bad, you can come home and stay with us until you’re back on your feet.”

“But unless things go sideways, go forth! Begin adulting!” Dad said with genuine enthusiasm before his tone became serious. “Just to be clear, you have until the end of next month to find a new place to live. This is a legally enforceable eviction notice.”

Glorall just stared at her parents. She was speechless. Humans were staunch defenders of sapient rights. The best parents in the galaxy. And, as she now learned, they are also true masters in the fine art of, “We love you, but get the fuck out.”

—--

“It could be worse,” her friend Kris said later that day when they got coffee. “My mom put up a countdown calendar keeping track of the days left until she can turn my bedroom into a crafting room. Want to be roommates?”

This introduced Glorall to another human rite of passage. Finding a polite way to say, “I love you, but you couldn’t pay me enough to live with you.”

Instead, she simply grumbled, “Fuck adulting.”

Kris nodded firmly in agreement.

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Nature has its own schedule, and when nature calls you have no alternative but to answer. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night. It didn’t matter that Auggie wanted nothing more than to sleep. Nature had other opinions.

He cracked open an eye and shifted uncomfortably in his bunk. A moment later, he confirmed this wouldn’t be a “hold it and go back to sleep” moment. Nature was being quite insistent.

With a sigh, he rolled over, threw his blanket back, and put his feet onto the cold floor. Above him, Enrique was gently snoring in the upper bunk. Across the room, he spied Haasha and Susan. The night light in the room was just bright enough to see them and the way to do the door without tripping over anything.

Susan was sleeping on her stomach, her head facing away on her pillow, both arms up and out not hugging the pillow, but gently around it. On Susan’s back, Haasha was splayed out and resting her chin on Susan’s head like a pillow. 

‘That doesn’t look comfortable,’ was the only thought that went through his head at the sight. A furry space dino on your back would likely lead to overheating for the human, and Susan’s head was a pretty solid rock for Haasha’s chin to lean on. Human hair doesn’t exactly provide enough cushioning to create a soft pillow. And if Susan rolled over in her sleep? Haasha would either get dumped on the other side of the bunk or onto the floor depending on which way Susan shifted.

However, that was other people’s problems. He had his own to deal with and rather urgently.

He quietly started moving to the door. He winced as his feet crossed the cold floor and regretted not taking a moment to put on socks. However, with how persistent nature was being, he determined waiting to put on a pair of socks would not be advisable. 

He quickly exited the shared quarters and went to the restroom. He stumbled inside and went directly to where the toilet was without turning on the light. Both he and Enrique followed the basic rules of bathroom etiquette when working with a woman. Leave the toilet seat down, which in this case would be a nice advantage since he needed to sit down on the job.

He turned around, dropped his pajama pants, and leaned back to prepare to lighten his load.

“What the…” were the only words that escaped his lips as he made a very unexpected discovery.

First, there wasn’t a toilet seat where there should be one. Second, whatever was there was far too small to work with human anatomy. Additionally, there were things poking him in ways that were remarkably uncomfortable. 

Off balance and not able to steady himself on the unknown ‘definitely not a standard toilet’, he tumbled off the side onto the cold floor and stared up into the dark.

Auggie found himself suddenly very awake. There’s nothing quite like trying to sit down and unexpectedly crashing onto a frigid floor to get your adrenaline pumping. As he lay on the floor wondering what the hell just happened, a childish thought crossed his mind. 

‘Here I sit broken-hearted,’ he mused. ‘Came to shit but fell and farted.’

Unfortunately, this thinking didn’t take care of the problem that brought him to the restroom in the first place. Nature didn’t care that the unexpected fall had figuratively scared the shit out of him; nature would only have been satisfied if the shit had been literally scared out of him.  

With a groan, Auggie picked himself up off the floor. Too tired and sore to care, he stumbled over towards the light switch with his pants still down around his ankles. As he crossed the room to find the light switch and the controls to reconfigure things to provide a human standard toilet, one thought raced through his mind.

“Mental note,” he grumbled angrily. “Have a discussion with Haasha about bathroom etiquette. This is way beyond leaving the toilet seat up.”

However, he would be sure not to mention falling on his ass. Enrique and Susan would have a field day if they found out. He especially didn’t need to hear anything from Susan about this being cosmic justice for all the men who don’t put toilet seats down.

________

Quick one from the world of Haasha before the weekend! Next episode, somebody's got talent...

Over on HFY, they have created author wiki pages for us to use. They set it up; we get permissions to edit/maintain the wiki. Currently, I am NOT able to edit my wiki page using the edit link on the regular Reddit site. I get the following message:

"You don't have access to this page. Ask your mod team for permission"

Everything is fine according to the mods at HFY, and they were as confused as me. For reference, the link is the following:

Author Wiki on www.reddit.com

This behavior is not device/OS specific. I'm locked out on my Android device, a Windows 11 machine, and an old Windows 10 device.

Previously, it was saying "edited by deleted user" on my wiki page. Currently, it says last edited by me thanks to a workaround the HFY mods suggested using the old Reddit site. They suggested using the old Reddit site (substituting old for www), like so:

authors/majestic_teach_6677 - wiki on old.reddit.com

Using OLD reddit, I can edit the page and have no issues. Using the regular site (www instead of old), I'm locked out and get the error message above.

HFY also has an update me bot set up for people to be notified when I post something. Today, I had a follower comment on a new post that they haven't been getting notifications. Possibly something completely different, but maybe related to the permissions weirdness? In any case, there's something buggy about permissions on the old vs current Reddit.

-- First * Previous * Next * Wiki & Full Series List --

I sprinted down to engineering excited about the mission. I ran straight to my supply closet, for once happy to pull out my void suit and deal with my electronic nanny. I tapped repeatedly on the activation button in my impatience.

“C’mon, Tac-1!” I shouted. “Wake up and get ready to go! We’re going back in time!”

VIP Haasha, can you please clarify?

“We’re going back in time!” I exclaimed. “Susan and Auggie want to get underway ASAP. So get your tail out of a twist and pop open so I can climb in.”

There was a long pause and my void suit opened so I was able to climb inside. I wriggled a little bit to get my tail and fingers comfortably set in the insulated lining. I then held still so Tac-1 would be able to close up, lock the seals, and run checks to be sure everything was good to go. 

VIP Haasha, I am concerned about your current health. Have you taken any intoxicants?

“No,” I said with confusion.

I then felt the sudden sting of a needle from the suit emergency systems.

“Ouch! What the hell was that for?” I barked out. 

Spouting gibberish about going back in time is a clear indicator of toxic exposure or insanity. I am performing a drug and toxin screen to ensure you are fit for duty. I am also preparing a mental health screening. Beginning mental wellness exam. Please tell me what comes to mind when you think of the color orange.

“By the stars!” I said with annoyance. “We aren’t actually travelling back in time. We’re going to take the Red Cross vessel out and do short FTL jumps until we find the point at which the star comes into existence. We’re just using the speed of light to our advantage and take a look into the past. We’ll launch probes to record data and find out exactly when the star came into existence.”

I see. Toxin scan is clean, but I am detecting elevated levels of fructose in your blood. Did you have an extra helping of peaches with lunch?

“Shows what you know,” I grumbled at my personal digital worrywart. “The mess hall swapped over to canned pineapple.”

Tac-1 collected, I then powered up a hoversled and headed to pick up our meals. When I got to the chow section, the kitchen staff was nearly finished packing up our rations for the mission. I didn’t see what the main dishes would be, but I got a good look at the sides.

Potato cardboard salad, plain cardboard salad (known to humans as plain macaroni salad), and an extra large tub of creamy pesto salad were being put into a refrigerated crate. The pesto salad once again used sweetened cardboard as the base, but this one used bowtie shape instead of elbows. However, that provided an acceptable base for the fresh tomatoes, spinach leaves, pine nuts, and creamy yogurt-based pesto sauce. I knew which cold salad I would be sampling on this trip!

There was also a small crate being loaded with snack foods as I saw a good sized bag of carrot sticks go in along with a larger bag of sliced apples. Strangely, they also loaded a few cans of peaches, pineapple, and a large jar of garlic dill pickles which definitely didn’t need refrigeration. They closed the crate, handed it over, and I put it on top of all the others.

Suddenly feeling a little peckish, I decided to investigate the bag of apple slices before heading to the shuttle bay. However, the crate refused to open.

“See? I told you she wouldn’t resist the urge to sample the apple slices,” Alfonso said with a wink to his coworker. “Haasha, the snack crate is code locked. Auggie has access. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Who’s bright idea was that?” I grumbled. “Tac-1?”

“You aren’t the only snack goblin, although Susan prefers carrot sticks and pickles over apple slices,” he responded with a pleasant smile. 

I curled my tail in frustration, but a moment of snack prevention wasn’t nearly enough to put a dent in my spirits. Time travel was still on the menu!

Munchies collected, I did a quick mental check of supplies I was responsible for. The Red Cross vessel had a full Snap-Mac tool set and plenty of spare parts for rescue missions along with emergency medical supplies. The crew quarters should have blankets, but that was the only major item I could think of that would need to be double checked. Susan and Auggie were handling the probes and scientific equipment, which pretty much meant my collection task was complete.

I guided the loaded hoversled to Shuttle Bay One where our Red Cross vessel had been parked along with the other shuttles. 

“Hey, Auggie!” I called out to get his attention. “Can I pilot the ship on the way out?”

“I’ve seen you in the parallel parking simulations, so my answer is no,” he said with a flat stare and raised eyebrow.

“That’s not fair!” I responded with clear frustration. “This isn’t parallel parking, and I’ll point out that I passed those tests!”

“Only after denting how many simulated shuttles?” Auggie asked dryly.

I was about to respond when Enrique poked his head out from behind a large supply crate.

“If Haasha is driving, I’ll catch the next flight,” he said with a polite smile.

I glared at him and crossed my arms. Enrique smirked, and Auggie’s poker face broke.

“Susan actually needs your help setting up the probes,” Auggie explained with an amused smile. “You’ll be in Engineering for departure and then shift over to help her out. You’ll also need to supervise Enrique as he’s helping set up the probes. Without adult supervision, he might electrocute himself.”

“Ay, ay, ay!” Enrique exclaimed as he dramatically put his hands over his heart. “Your trust in my technical incompetence wounds me!”

“If you guys don’t hurry up and get aboard, I’m driving and I will leave you behind!” Susan’s voice rang out from inside the Red Cross ship.

“Does she even have a pilot license?” Enrique asked with a slightly confused look.

“Only the one she got as a kid as a prize out of a cereal box,” Auggie replied.

“With her at the controls, insurance is probably still cheaper than Haasha,” Enrique quipped.

And with that, it was abundantly clear that my human companions were in extremely high spirits.

We quickly finished loading our supplies and I headed down to the Engineering section to warm up the engines and run pre-flight checks. 10 minutes later, and I was calling up to Auggie to report in.

“All systems green,” I informed him over the ship intercom. “Go for flight.”

“Acknowledged,” he answered quickly. “Getting final clearance from Captain Victor and opening bay doors. Everybody, please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until we have reached our final cruising speed. And as a reminder, this is a no smoking flight. So, don’t think too hard and burn your brains.”

There was a thunk as the landing struts retracted, and then a subtle shift as we left the TEV Ursa Minor and the gravity field completely switched over to our own in the Red Cross vessel. A moment later, there was a high pitched whine. The ship made a perceptible lurch and I noted readings that indicated we were accelerating to max sublight speed quite quickly.

“TEV-RC1, what the hell was that all about?” Captain Victor’s voice said angrily over coms.

“Sorry about that, captain,” I heard Auggie say in response. “Haasha accidentally engaged the turbothrusters when doing pre-flight.”

“I did not!” I yelled up to the cockpit.

“Really?” was the captain’s reply in a dry voice.

“Yep!” Auggie said quickly. “On the upside, we can confirm that it was valid she got a 1000 credit fine for using turbothrusters too close to another vessel.”

“Ugh,” Captain Victor responded after a long pause. “Tell her we’re adding five cups of spilled coffee to her official record.”

That was enough spilled coffee to automatically condemn me to a full day of doing laundry. I stared in shock down the ship at Auggie and then turned my attention to my crewmates.

“Auggie signs my paychecks,” Enrique said when I caught his eye. “I’m totally fine with the idea that you forgot to disengage the turbothrusters.”

“My silence comes with the usual fee,” Susan said as she was looking something over on her dataslate. “One large Rocky Road with extra sprinkles.”

“Acknowledged, Susan,” Auggie said happily. “Well worth the cost to learn that turbothrusters are fun.”

A word of warning when humans are in a good mood. Not only are they far more likely to banter and give each other a hard time, someone is likely to get thrown under a shuttle and blamed for something they didn't do. With luck, it would be someone else’s turn next. Unless they decided to stop the shuttle and back it up over me for a second hit.

I finished up my checks on the drive systems and headed up to the lounge area. Susan had converted the space into an assembly line to program the data collection probes we would be launching. 

I got out of my void suit as gloved hands aren’t the best for technical work and joined Enrique and Susan working on the probes. We didn’t chat much as setting up the probes took concentration and attention. Not much room to chat when you’re watching an oscilloscope and using a fine screwdriver to tune and calibrate.

This is where I was reminded that doing science can get a bit boring - every single probe had to be tested and calibrated to the exact same specs. Which meant doing the same thing over and over again expecting the same results. Necessary? Yes. Effective to ensure standardized data collection? You bet! Mind numbing? Understatement of the month.

I found my mind wandering after about an hour and I realized I was feeling a bit cool. The temperature on the ship was set significantly below the hot and toasty conditions currently existing on the TEV Ursa Minor. This meant my poodle cut was heavy on fashion and a bit light on heat retention.

I thought for a moment, then let out a deep sigh as I realized I hadn’t grabbed a set of work coveralls. I’m so used to working either in the fur or locked up in my void suit that it didn’t even occur to grab a set before boarding.

“Something wrong, Haahsa?” Susan asked as she heard my sigh and I got up from my seat.

“It’s a bit cool in here and I didn’t bring coveralls, so I’m going to kick up the temperature a bit,” I said calmly as I pointed at the thermostat.

Before I could take one step, Enrique’s head instantly snapped to stare at me intently and Susan’s pleasant demeanor instantly shifted to a glare.

“Auggie! We need a solution to avoid a thermostat war,” Susan called up to the cockpit. “Haasha forgot to bring coveralls.”

I am most capable of providing an optimal temperature environment for VIP Haasha. 

“Tac-1, you’re not helping,” I grumbled loudly. “I have no interest in stomping around in my void suit this entire mission. I still need to sleep in a bunk at night, and I’m not sure if everyone wants my fur to smell like wet socks from being locked in an enclosed environment.”

“Yeah… we might need to have her sleep in the airlock if she gets stinky,” Susan commented with far too much seriousness for my liking.

“We all have spare t-shirts, right?” Auggie called back and it became abundantly clear the thermostat would stay on the cool side. After a long period in high heat on the TEV Ursa Minor, they were in total agreement that temps on this vessel should be a cool 18 C (or about 68 Fahrenwhatevers). 

Moments later, my crewmates were standing around playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who would be “donating a t-shirt to the cause.” More realistically, this would determine if I would end up with a knee length t-skirt if Susan lost or ankle length if Auggie or Enrique lost. 

“Just my luck,” Enrique grumbled when his rock was covered by Susan’s paper. “Haasha, please don’t stretch out the collar.”

He then went to the sleeping quarters and came back with a shirt for me to wear. A t-shirt with the picture of a mountain on the front, a human climbing it, and a huge slogan at the top that read, “I like to get high!”

Auggie found a cargo strap for me to use as a belt and that was the end of the discussion. I would wear a t-skirt, and the thermostat wouldn’t budge. And we were now back on mission.

Speaking of the mission, it was exciting to know we were setting probes to try to capture the moment a new star is born. We started by jumping 2.5 lightyears away from the star and stopping to see if it was in the sky. It wasn’t, so we set the probe with an extended 5 year battery pack to record data of the star when it formed and the conditions for the first few years afterward. We then made plans to jump a quarter lightyear closer and repeat the process. A mission to collect the probes would follow in the future.

The only downside is things got a bit tedious. We would launch a probe and record the location, but also stick around for a few hours to let Susan take readings. She was creating a theoretical model to try to guess the actual day and time the star came into existence. As she did that, Enrique, Auggie, and I would have very little to do. While Susan worked long hours and was often mentally exhausted by the end of each day, the rest of us were more often bored and restless. 

Thankfully, Tac-1 had my set of movies and music. As long as we kept the volume down, we found ways to keep entertained while Susan worked. 

When we got to 1 lightyear away, Susan started making educated guesses based on her model and the readings of the new star taken by the team on the TEV Ursa Minor. We jumped half a light year and discovered no star, which was both disappointing and exciting. Our efforts confirmed that the new star was under six months old, and Susan’s model suggested it was far less than that. She made an educated guess and had us jump another 14 light-weeks closer.

“According to my math, we’ll likely see the star,” she explained. “At this point, I need better data to narrow down exactly when the star came into being so we can set a probe to capture the moment. It will be extremely helpful to observe the new star and conditions in space around it.”

Shortly after we arrived at the spot Susan indicated, I took a quick whiff of the air and things smelled slightly off. Not terrible, but also not the expected “we’ve been living together in an enclosed space for days” funk. As my sense of smell is significantly better than human, I decided to check the environmental filters.

My disappointment at needing to check the systems was matched by Susan’s frustration that her model was wrong. The star wasn’t in existence where we jumped. She began taking readings and reworking her model while Auggie and Enrique launched probes. This would likely be our last launch as the probes would be close enough in time to capture the star’s first light.

Unfortunately for me, one of the air filters was indeed dirty and needed cleaning. I was nearly half way through the process when there was a commotion.

“Oh, crap. I definitely screwed the math!” I heard Susan exclaim. 

I shrugged and kept working on the environmental filter.

“Haasha, please come up to the cockpit,” Susan said in a raised voice.

“I’ll be there in a moment!” I called back as I fought to pull out the dirty filter.

“Haasha, now please!” was her insistent reply.

“In a moment!” I yelled back.

“Haasha, get your furry butt up here now!” Susan roared out.

“I’m almost done here!” I barked back. “Don’t get your tail in a twist!”

I then heard a pair of footsteps thundering down the ship towards me. I looked up and away from the environmental system to see Susan sprinting towards me with an angry expression on her face. I didn’t know what I had done to offend her, but when she got to me she said nothing.

Susan simply bent down, shoved her arms under my armpits, snatched me up and hugged me to her chest. She then took off at a sprint with me dangling in front of her. 

I’ve seen humans carry fuzzy things like this before. Katie has an oversized bear she was given as a child, and every so often she likes to hug the bear and carry it around while in her quarters. While this is fine for a stuffed animal, a live one definitely does not enjoy the majority of our body hanging and swaying back and forth as our human chariot moves. It is definitely not a comfortable or acceptable form of ‘uppies’.

“Susan,” I began after Susan sat down in the co-pilot chair with me in her lap.

“I know! You’ll thank me later,” was all she said as she cut me off.

I was a little shocked at the response and the way she shut me down. 

“Susan,” I started with more insistence.

“Haasha! Shush and look out the window. Trust me!” she said with exasperation.

Unsure of what to do, I took a look at the main cockpit window. Strangely enough, it looked like most of the glass had been darkened except for one small section of the window. I looked at that small section, curious why it was left lighter. As I looked, I saw something strange.

In the distance, it looked like someone had just flipped on a light in the distance. Just a pinprick…

“Was that…” I blurted out.

“So beautiful. A true miracle,” Enrique said with awe.

“Yep,” Susan answered quietly and with just as much awe as Enrique. “A star is born.”

I glanced up at Auggie who was just staring out the window with boyish excitement. For at least the next 10 minutes, all of us said nothing and just stared out at the tiny light in the distance.

For most people, it would be an unremarkable moment. A lack of drama. One moment, nothing. The next, just a teensy little blip in the distance. Nothing truly impressive. A barely perceptible change in the galaxy’s sky.

Yet for us? We were lucky enough to witness the first light of a star and felt the gravity of a moment that would affect the galaxy for millions of years to come. 

“Thank you for making sure I didn’t miss this,” I whispered to Susan, who simply hugged me closer and started to scritch me gently though the t-skirt I was wearing. 

When I joined the crew, I looked forward to exploring the stars. I thought it would be fun to see humans find and experience for the first time the things that my kind and many others had grown used to or already explored. I thought the greatest excitement would be sharing things humans had never seen before, like when I showed Susan the largest known amethyst geode in the galaxy before leaving home.

I never expected the curiosity of humans to lead us into a stellar nursery and put us in position to see the first light of a new star. Heck, we might be the only people in galactic history to have actually seen the first light of a star that wasn’t already hundreds of years old thanks to lightyears of distance. It was a truly breathtaking moment made possible because some humans thought, “We should go take a look at that molecular cloud. Why? Because it’s there.”

After a while of staring out at the new star, we all became a little restless.

“What now?” I asked Susan.

“First, we finish our mission to launch probes and document the past,” she replied with a dreamy expression. “Then we head back to the future, join up with our crew, and hope there are many more amazing sights waiting for us to find.”

________

I hope you enjoyed! Next up, someone's got talent. Who on the crew has talent? And what sort of talent is it? Off-key singing in the shower? A talent for 'open mouth, insert foot, add salt to taste'? Or perhaps there's a hidden artist among the crew?

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“All hands, we are initiating an emergency exit from FTL,” Captain Victor’s voice rang out over ship intercoms.

I looked up at the speaker in the ceiling with a worried expression, but also confusion. The morning in Engineering had been quiet with all systems within tolerance. As a matter of fact, Rosa had been pleased enough that she decided we should take a break from normal work and do a team building and training exercise. The captain’s announcement interrupted that and gave us all pause for concern.

“To be clear, the ship isn’t in any danger,” he continued. “We detected significantly different conditions in the stellar nursery than expected, so we are exiting FTL as a precaution to let our navigation crew take readings and adjust our flight path. We expect this process to take about two hours. Science team astrophysicists, please prep data collection probes and report to the officer’s lounge in 30 minutes. Susan will give you more details shortly. Thank you all for your attention.”

It made sense. Molecular clouds can easily have a density of matter up to 1000 times greater than regular space, and ship sensors can only read so much from a distance. While that sounds scary, you’re still talking only hundreds to thousands of molecules per cubic centimeter.

Susan had a really great way of explaining it to the less scientific crew members, and how it related to our having to crank up the heat.

“It’s more like moving through the jungle where things are hot and muggy. You can feel the humidity, but it won’t get in the way of moving,” she said. “Definitely enough that the shields will notice, and might need a little extra headroom if we run through an extra humid part of space.”

“Well, that explains why we’ll be sweating our butts off,” someone had said under their breath.

“In part,” Susan replied quickly. “When it gets hot, somebody’s gotta get sweaty. And since the ship can’t do it, we do it for the ship!”

People probably heard the groans from the crew in the next star cluster. Susan is great for scientific explanations made easy, but let’s just say she shouldn’t consider giving up her day job for stand-up comedy. Or motivational speaking.

While that explained the internal heat wave, it also connected to our emergency exit from FTL.

Visually, what we saw before entering the cloud was many years old thanks to the speed of light. Similarly, you can’t always tell the exact density of the cloud in various sections from a distance. While we can fly through the equivalent of muggy air, hitting a puddle would make the wrong type of splash. Drive through a water puddle, and you might splash water all over some poor schmuck standing by the side of the road. In space?

“In space, you don’t splash puddle. Puddle splashes you!”

Another simple yet effective Susan explanation. Physics is already grumpy when you’re traveling at FTL speeds. Hitting something big enough while physics is grumpy ends poorly.

Part of our trip through the stellar nursery was to discover if there were any space puddles or other navigation hazards. I was actually a little surprised this was the first time we had an unscheduled drop out of FTL. On the plus side, this meant our previous flight path was likely safe for other vessels to follow. On the downside, we might have found the first dead end in the cloud and need to backtrack.

“Haasha!” Rosa called out with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t think this distraction gets you out of this. Eat your chocolate.”

“But…” I tried to object.

“As we’ve discussed many times, your teachers were nitwits on a few key topics,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Bypassing the hydroflex filters results in a 5% FTL transit speed increase. The downside is that…”

“You need to perform more regular maintenance on the secondary cooling systems,” I mumbled.

“And you know this because…” Rosa prompted.

“Because I cleaned the secondary cooling system pump last week as part of regular maintenance on our FTL drive, which doesn’t even have a hydroflex filter in the first place,” I grumbled as I stared at the light brown bit of blech on a napkin in front of me. I still couldn’t decide which was more vile. Coffee or chocolate.

Rosa liked to keep us all challenged and thinking, so we would occasionally take breaks for team building and training. During these breaks, she would quiz us on either operations, drive theory, or topics we had volunteered to study to expand our knowledge. Get the question right, you get a chocolate out of her private stash. Get it wrong, you take a shot of straight lemon juice. As you can probably guess, Rosa is a firm believer in reinforcement - both positive and negative! 

For me and my slightly fruity tastes, the prizes were reversed. Hence my doom for giving Rosa a stock Galactic University answer about hydroflex filters rather than the human answer, which boils down to, “because go faster is more better.” Even if it means more work for me.

My coworkers took entirely too much joy in watching me eat that chocolate. Humans get very upset when they see a sapient mistreat others, yet they thoroughly enjoy putting friends, family, and coworkers through small miseries and call it “love”. I don’t quite get it, but I’ll admit the lesson was effective here.

“Eat it!” James ordered with a smirk. “You know you want to…”

This triggered a chorus of my coworkers calling out, “Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!”

I sighed and put the chunk of chocolate on my tongue. Much to the delight of my teammates, I wiggled and squirmed in my seat as the foul square of bitter blech melted on my tongue. As the taste of milk chocolate filled my mouth, I started smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth to encourage the vile substance to go down my throat rather than linger.

“Ew!” I said with a sour face after swallowing. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew! Disgusting!”

I won’t forget about bypassing the hydroflex filters again. 

“This concludes my current managerial task,” Rosa said with a smug grin. “I’m going to head to my office to check in with Auggie in case our team will need to do anything to assist. Take a fifteen minute break while I make that call, and then we’ll get back on the shuttle environmental systems overhaul.”

After her call to the bridge, she came out and seemed quite chipper.

“Definitely nothing we need to worry about,” Rosa explained. “Navigation and Susan’s astrophysicists have everything well under control. There will be a follow up announcement soon after we do a short FTL jump to get into a better observational position. We may even have some downtime.”

That was good news, except that I’d need to keep that possible downtime on the down low. Jarl wanted to do a bit of reorganization in the cargo bay, and he’d likely nab me for that to run a loader. I had fallen asleep the other night in the middle of an older Adam Landfill movie, and I would prefer to finish that off rather than move boxes.

Later that afternoon, we felt the short FTL jump the captain had warned us about along with the follow up announcement.

“All hands, this is the captain,” our fearless leader said over the ship intercom. “We will be holding position to do some scientific studies. We have some minor updates to our mission thanks to this unexpected deviation, so we will be bringing each department to the observation deck for a quick briefing. Supervisors, please check the schedule going out now and bring your team at the time indicated. We ask everyone to please be punctual so we can get all briefings done this afternoon.”

The announcement was followed by the expected murmurs and rumor mongering, mostly hoping that our team would get a break in the action as Rosa had suggested. However, when asked, Rosa just smiled politely and called out to me.

“Haasha, you’ll need to stay on the observation deck after our team meeting,” Rosa informed me after double checking her datapad for our team’s scheduled time. “Looks like there’s a second meeting right after for your Red Cross response team.”

“Huh,” I said with mild surprise. “Last I heard all the Red Cross teams were standing down since we were heading into uncharted space.”

“I’ll bet they’re going to do a few training drills,” James responded thoughtfully. “The whole Red Cross mission is new, and this is probably a chance to get some practice.”

“If that’s true, I wonder if I get to play dead again,” I said with a smile, fondly remembering my brief time as an injured spacer in the Terran Red Cross promo holovid. “And if I do, will I get another reprimand for not playing dead enough?”

I then flopped onto the floor on my side, tilted my head to stare at the ceiling, and put my left wrist to my forehead in a proper human “oh, the drama!” pose. This earned me a healthy round of chuckles from my coworkers.

I should point out humans have a much more fun version of pointing out drama than my people. We simply wrap our tail around one of our legs to say, “you’ve caught yourself by the tail.” It’s more generic and covers “you’re being dramatic” or “you’re being an idiot”. Our tail wrapping doesn’t really send the message with the same impact as the human pose.

Minor drama? A human can simply roll their eyes and put their wrist to their forehead in a more subtle message. If you really need to mock somebody or make a point? Draw out the drama by flinging your arm out, rolling your head back, and then slowly bringing the back of your wrist to your forehead with a deep sigh. Definitely one of my favorite nonverbal communication methods I’ve learned from my crew.

Unlike the raised eyebrow of doom.

I’m pretty sure there must be a class dedicated to perfecting this in Terran officer’s training. To pass, you must not only demonstrate effective use of the raised eyebrow but also have a unique style. Rosa’s eyebrow raises so slowly and methodically you can hear a slow creaking as her face shifts from pleasant to “oh, really?” Jarl’s is almost comically instant, except that it comes with such intensity that you just wilt under the glare. And the captain? It always seems like there’s a dramatic rumble of thunder whenever his eyebrow raises and is directed at you.

My moment of drama on the floor concluded when James bent down and tickled the base of my tail. I tried to respond with an eyebrow of doom, but the laughs from my coworkers and a snicker from Rosa told me my attempt lacked gravitas. I stood up, brushed myself off, and headed back to my workbench.

We had a little over an hour and a half until our briefing, and the team was motivated to get our work done. The general consensus was the more work we got done the more likely Rosa would give us time off. 

When our turn to head to the observation deck came, Rosa stepped out of her office and gave a sharp whistle and twirled a finger in the air to get us to gather around her.

“May I offer you transportation services?” Rosa asked me with a smile. She then knelt down so I could climb up on her shoulders.

“What would Dr Franklin say?” I responded jovially as I mounted my chariot. “A calorie saved is a calorie earned, or stop being lazy and get some exercise?”

“Probably something more along the lines of at least we know where Haasha is and she isn’t getting into trouble again,” James quipped.

One advantage of being at shoulder height? My tail is at just the right level to smack someone upside the head. So, I did.

Following giggles to my corrective action to James, we all chatted amiably on the way up to the observation deck. We talked mostly about what we would be doing tonight after work. I had my eye on something called gazpacho on the dinner menu, and then I’d have beach volleyball to work off any extra calories consumed. Rosa was skipping volleyball tonight in favor of yoga with Susan, while everybody else seemed more inclined to relax in the beach chairs or do a bit of swimming. 

When we got to the door, Rosa tapped on the keypad to give us all entry. As the door opened, all conversation trailed off as we stared at the sight.

I barely noticed that Rosa just walked past Captain Victor, Auggie, Enrique, and Susan who stood just inside the door. She kept a purposeful stride as she moved us to the main observation window to look outside the ship.

“What is that?” I asked dumbly.

“It’s a ball of burning gas, less than billions of kilometers away,” Rosa said pleasantly. “One of the red dwarf variety.”

“How did we miss that?” I wondered aloud as the rest of the Engineering team gathered around to gaze out with us. “There were no stars on the navigation charts when we entered the molecular cloud. It was just a vast section of dense space.”

“We didn’t,” Rosa answered.

“Then how…” I began but Rosa quickly spoke up to dispel my confusion.

“It’s been theorized that when you get sufficient mass in a stellar nursery, something kicks off the reaction to form a star. It can happen in milliseconds, or at least that’s what most scientists believe,” she explained. “We’ve never actually observed it happen, so we don’t know for sure. But this section of space was just dense matter according to our last stop 5 lightyears away, so we’ve narrowed things down to between milliseconds and 5 years.”

Everyone’s eyes widened as we gazed in wonder at a brand new star, one that hadn’t existed when we entered the stellar nursery some 100 light years ago. It was humbling to be so close to one of the galaxy’s newest celestial bodies. To make it even more impressive, the captain had maneuvered the ship so we were in a reasonably close orbit all things considered. It was still pretty small in the window, but with the tint set to max dark we were able to see patterns and even a flare on the star’s roiling surface.

Getting closer wasn’t possible as there was a lot of debris and other matter in the area. Perhaps these would form planets? Or simply be drawn into the new star to provide more fuel and an extended life? The view was dramatic and stunning.

“Have we named it?” James asked as he stared in wonder.

“Lumen Ursa,” Susan said quietly. I was a little startled to hear her voice as I hadn’t noticed her join us. “It’s Latin for bear’s light, in honor of our ship and crew.”

After about fifteen minutes of staring in wonder out the observation window, Captain Victor came over and interrupted our reverie. 

“All right, team,” he said calmly. “We wanted everyone to get a proper introduction to our new and slightly fiery neighbor. Long story short, we’ll be holding position for the next three days while we do some observations and launch probes to collect data. Your team will be shifting to be on-call support for the science teams to get that all done. Beyond that, we expect things to be pretty quiet for you guys as we hold position. You guys are dismissed and can head back with Rosa, except for Haasha.”

Susan then approached Rosa and put her arms out to lift me off the Chief Engineer’s shoulders. I let out a dramatic sigh as I lost my chariot and was back to using my own two feet. Susan just rolled her eyes and gave me a gentle scritch on the top of my head.

“All right, Haasha,” Captain Victor said as he motioned Enrique and Auggie to join us. “We’re going to have your Red Cross team launch for a special mission with Susan.”

“So, this isn’t the usual transport or rescue mission?” I inquired.

“Correct!” Susan said with gusto. “We’re about to embark on a mission to go back in time.”

I laughed at the joke. Then I realized that they were all smiling, but serious. They actually intended to go back in time somehow.

“How?” I asked with pure confusion plastered on my face.

“We’re going to have you install a flux capacitor on the FTL drive,” Enrique explained with a pleasant smile, as if stating the obvious.

From the confident way he said it, it implied that humans not only possessed the technology but it was also common knowledge among all Terrans.

Thoughts swirled to paradoxes and why time travel should never be attempted. What happens if you sneeze while watching a famous artist work, and they ruin what should have been their most well known piece? Would taking a breath have you inhale a bit of pollen that prevents a flower from being pollinated, resulting in a popular fruit never coming into existence? Or is the flow of time set in stone, and you can only go back and observe rather than affect?

Most importantly - did humans really find a way to travel back in time? I was about to find out.

________

A bit of drama in your life can be a good thing, as long as it's the good kind and not unnecessary "oh, the drama!" stupidity. Upcoming chapters (unless Haasha insists on something else):

Stargazing (40.5)

Someone's got talent (41)

The ghost in the peppers (42)

In other writing, I'll hopefully have a short one-shot tomorrow for weekend entertainment.

In case you missed them, 3 chapters for Leave No Witnesses were posted a few weeks back starting with Unexpected silent and stoic witnesses and then continuing with Witness to a mission gone sideways Part 1 and Part 2. More LNW is on the way (probably after July 4th).

Hello, all!

Just a quick update on writing.

TLDR version - @#%$ writer’s block. New stuff soon. Hopefully my brain is no longer malfunctioning.

Extended version:

I got caught up on LNW, wrote a later chapter for LNW with full editing, had Haasha completely planned out and ready to go, and… BAM. 

Instead of sentences like:

The grey and black tabby cat opened one eye, decided the world met basic expectations, and so got up and stretched. He then sauntered down the hallway to discover if his human had put sufficient food in the bowl, or if this would be a day he needed to sharpen claws on the new couch.

My brain was spewing:

There was a cat. The cat woke up. The cat went to get breakfast.

Basically, infuriating. I have the ideas. I have the outlines. I know how the story is supposed to go for Haasha, Leave no witnesses, and the one-shot concepts that popped up recently. However, writing was coming out as glorified outlines rather than good stories. No idea why my brain decided to suddenly start faltering on writing, but it did. The ideas and visions in my brain simply did not want to cooperate and be committed to print. Hence no stories over the past two weeks. 

That said, last night I got back working on Haasha’s latest escapade and things started flowing again. Her next episode is 70% written. Provided my brain continues to behave normally, that will be done soon and hopefully I’ll be back on a regular weekly posting. For the people following Haasha, here’s a quick preview of her upcoming stories.

Ep 40: Stargazing (will be 2 parts)
Ep 41: Somebody’s got talent (but who, and what sort of talent?)
Ep 42: The ghost in the peppers (take a wild guess what topic that one covers!)

Leave no witnesses? Yep. That’s in progress as well. The next two chapters have full outlines/notes and writing is started. The third chapter after that? Hal returns. Fully written and edited, and I really like how it turned out. I really wanted to get things written to get you to his return, yet my brain failed me. 

One-shots? Yeah, I’ve got a puzzling one I want to write along with 2-3 others. Again, I really like the concepts/ideas but just couldn’t get my brain to commit appropriate words to the keyboard.

So that’s the update. No burnout, no strange things going on in my life. Writing has not been forgotten or put on the back burner, my brain just decided to not cooperate when I sat down to write. Hopefully, it’s back on track and I’ll resume posting regularly.

Have a great weekend, and remember that if you can’t be good, at least be good at it!

Links to previous chapters: [CH 1] [CH 2] [CH 3] [CH 4] [CH 5] [CH 6] [CH 7] [CH 8] [CH 9.1]

________

“Let’s do this,” Captain Benton said quietly and sent a tightbeam message towards TCC Athena.

From TCC Ares Actual. Recall ships and conduct S&R now. Drop FTL breakers on my mark. Aim all exit paths towards Starfire Platform, engage 30 seconds after mark. Have plan to clear the path. Will work, or we’re all dead. Estimated mission time: 12 minutes.

There was a long pause. Vice Admiral Gerrison tapped nervously on her right leg as she waited for any reply. Vice Admiral Deacon was a good man but didn’t see eye to eye with her on strategy. She could be in for an argument they didn’t have time for.

TCC Athena acknowledges. Status set Exit Strategy. Execute on mark from TCC Ares Actual. Don’t do anything too stupid.

“Yeah, well. Too late for that,” Gerrison mumbled under her breath. 

Captain Benton and Lt Andricks began preflight checks for the tactical FTL jump. 

“We’re set to jump in 60 seconds,” Captain Benton called out. “Lining up and calculating the nav path from the arrival point.”

“All teams, final check,” the admiral called out over the ship intercom.

“This is Gerard,” came a sharp reply. “My mech team and the rescued crew are loaded up and ready to go.”

“Sergeant Royce here,” a quieter voice spoke up next. “S&R teams standing by, and all autowelders are warmed up. Status green.”

“Ack status green. Flight deck, jump when ready,” the admiral ordered. She then made a quick double check to ensure their jump frequency would match the single open channel allowed by their EW-3 Backbreakers. 

“Charging FTL capacitors!” Lt Andricks called out. “Jump in 20.”

“Shit!” Captain Benton called out. “Incoming!”

Admiral Gerison flipped her screens at the backup navigation station over to a tactical map. One of the Galactic Council heavy cruisers had noted their charging FTL drives, pointed directly at them, and then disappeared in a tactical jump. They would be within weapons range before their Flying Hog would jump. While her pilots moved frantically to ensure a jump as soon as the engines charged, she reviewed the data and saw that it wasn’t just one but two heavy cruisers that were jumping to intercept. 

‘Fuck you, Murphy, and fuck your damn law,’ she thought to herself.

There were two sudden flashes as the enemy cruisers reappeared on the tactical map. Her eyes widened at the level of fire that erupted from the two ships.

“JUMP!” Captain Benton yelled and the ship shuddered as it transitioned to FTL.

‘Holy fuck. We should be dead,’ the admiral thought to herself. ‘Maybe I owe Murphy an apology?’ 

Both enemy vessels had opened up with full barrages of every single weapon at their disposal. However, they expected the Flying Hog to be fleeing the system and not jumping directly at the Starfire Platform. As such, they had fired blindly into every likely escape vector from the system, not their actual flight path.

“Did those…” Lt Andricks began from the co-pilot seat.

“They got a close scan, but no shots fired in our direction,” the admiral cut in to prevent the flight crew from taking too close a look at the data. She nearly had a brown trousers moment; no reason for them to get distracted and realize just how close to death they had come. 

“Any final adjustments, ma’am?” Captain Benton asked as he sent over his proposed flight path.

“Minor change. They didn’t bother you while you were collecting escape pods. Let’s try to play non-threatening,” she replied firmly. “Tweak for a longer, higher initial flightpath targeted at TCC Athena. Test how they’re feeling about us before you have to do fancy footwork. If they fire, shift up and away from the Starfire. Make the initial approach just look like we want to run back home. Play evasive unless it’s truly hot and heavy.”

“Roger,” Captain Benton replied quickly.

As soon as they exited FTL, they found themselves taking fire from the Starfire Platform. The initial barrage was heavy but also expected them to dive in on a bombing run. Again, choosing the unlikely path towards TCC Athena meant missed shots. While the initial shots were likely a heavy AI response to an unexpected threat, four defense turrets locked onto their Flying Hog.

“So much for playing nice,” Captain Benton said with irritation.

“Oh, the fuckers are playing the herding game,” Andricks mumbled. “Admiral, we’ll need you to track and feed likely firing solutions from the batteries I’ve marked. Just make sure the AI keeps up and add any threats you find. We’ll be busy doing a little hot dogging.”

“Ack,” the admiral called out to acknowledge and began following the co-pilot’s instructions.

Her eyebrows flew up as she realized what Andricks saw. The four batteries firing on them were rotating fire to toy with them. If they fired in concert rather than individually, there was a far better chance of dealing serious damage or blowing them out of space. However, the series of individual shots were herding them away from their initial path towards a larger battery of ten guns lining up to create a kill zone. 

“Evasive at 2,” Captain Benton said to Andricks. “I have the dive.”

Just short of the kill zone, Captain Benton made a dive down towards the Starfire Platform. It looked smooth, a clear dive towards one of the turrets targeting them.

And that’s when the chaos began.

AI are exceptional at generating predictive firing solutions. Except when two monkeys are arguing over who’s driving the bus.

In what was clearly an intentional and choreographed dance, Benton and Andricks began to alternate who was doing what at the controls. For one second, Benton put his hand on the throttle and reduced speed slightly. At the same time, Andricks adjusted their pitch slightly up and made a wild turn to the right. Then they would switch. Andricks would make a random adjustment to throttle while Benton adjusted their turn and/or pitch. 

The initially tight targeting solutions from the turrets suddenly went wide as the Flying Hog’s flight path generally trended down towards the Starfire Platform but was no longer smooth and predictable. Neither the enemy gunners nor their AI targeting systems could accurately tell what the Hog was targeting or where it was going.

It wasn’t all good news. Due to the random flying, the Hog was clipped more than a few times by the incoming fire. The admiral found herself leaping to handle damage control and initiate system bypasses so the pilots could continue their strange handoffs. However, when all things were considered, no major damage was sustained beyond losing atmospheric flight engines.

On the plus side, each hit bounced them onto a slightly different flight path. This added another random element on top of the two drunken monkeys arguing in the cockpit, resulting in some truly confused targeting AI systems.

None of the fourteen turrets now tracking and firing continuously could get a solid lock on their flight path. It was far more spray and pray than coordinated fire.

“Full dive!” Andricks called out suddenly after spotting a gap in the predicted firing pattern from the turrets. Benton suddenly took his hands off all controls and raised them above his head. Their fate now rested on Andricks’ flight and evasion skills alone as they went full burn for the target zone on the Starfire Platform’s hull. 

Initially, the turret fire went absolutely wild giving their Hog a huge gap to fly in. The gunners and AI all predicted a return to random flight adjustments and were lining up to fire around them where it was guessed they might randomly go. After five seconds, they all adjusted to create a kill zone.

Andricks saw the kill zone and went standard nose-down evasive to avoid it. He then jockeyed the controls randomly to make it seem like the drunken monkeys were arguing again. The predictive firing pattern went wild again, and Andricks exploited another gap to get closer to the dead zone cleared of defenses by bombers from TCC Athena.

Their Flying Hog took one final turn and made a full burn for their target zone. The admiral’s eyes went wide when it was clear that Andricks was about to fly directly into the path of one of the turrets. The only adjustment was to bring up the nose of the Hog to reveal the belly of their ship to the incoming fire.

A plasma bolt slammed into the armored shuttle bay doors, and alarms blared. Major damage alarms went off, and one of the bay doors buckled and vented the bay to space. A few crew had brown trouser moments, but since they were in void suits and anchored to the sides of the bay no casualties were incurred. 

There was one final barrage from the defense turrets, but all were well wide of their actual flight path.

“What the..” the admiral started to say before trailing off in shock. She knew Hogs could take a hit and keep going, but to fly into one intentionally?

“You’ve always got to take at least one for the team or the AI starts to figure out what you’re doing,” Adricks explained. “It’s when you discover if you’ve given your ground crew enough good vibes through beer and pizza. If you’ve kept them happy, they’ll be sure your ship is able to take one hard knock. Just don’t make it two hard knocks or you’ll be on their shit list forever. Or dead.”

“Pretty sure you scratched the paint,” Captain Benton commented dryly. “And you lost one or two bits of that shuttle bay door. Consider yourself permafucked with all future ground crews.”

And with that, they were through the Starfire Platform’s anti-ship defenses and Captain Benton took over controls for landing. 

“Thanks for the assist on tactical, ma’am,” Andricks said as he took the role back over.

“Lt Gerard!” the admiral called out quickly while trying to hide her bewilderment that they made it and she hadn’t puked from watching the drunken monkeys argue over driving. “Your team is up. Exit and begin false breaching on Benton’s mark!”

“Copy,” was the reply over coms.

“S&R team in motion,” the voice of Sergeant Royce informed the admiral. “We’re loading into the escape pod docking ports and will exit to begin welding on Lt Gerard’s mark.”

There was a light clunk as the Flying Hog set down on the Starfire Platform, and Captain Benton flipped a switch to open coms before the drives fully spun down.

“Touchdown,” he called out. “Go for ops.”

“Copy,” once again was the only reply from Lt Gerard, but one of the external docking ports opened up and the admiral could see his squad moving out.

From here, all she could do was monitor and wait. She extended the tightbeam antenna and made sure it had a clear path to TCC Athena for when operations were complete. It would be up to the welding teams to get things done.

Outside and on the move was one pissed off Terran Marine and his mech team.

“Shit,” Lt Gerard commented to himself. “This is going to be too easy.” 

Upon exiting the Flying Hog, he expected to take some time to locate a random bit of hull to start setting up breaching charges. Instead, merely 45 meters away from their landing position was an airlock. His original plan entailed a slow and methodical planting of charges in a section while most of the TCC Ares crew rescued by the Hog would hang back and look threatening. The idea was to make it look like they wanted to breach and board. 

Having access to an actual airlock? He and his team would need to start true breach and clear operations to keep the distraction convincing. The random crew would need to actually help support a real breaching operation. 

“Drake and Williams, overwatch,” he quickly ordered. “Kilmer, point. Garcia, boom boom. Everybody else, formation Breach 3 while I get the kiddos in line.”

He then flipped coms over to the crew and jogged over to their position by the Flying Hog.

“Good news, everybody. This is going to be a real breach as we found an airlock,” he called out and noticed more than a few startled jerks from the TCC Ares crew. “Keep it simple. I’m assigning random numbers. 31 to 57, original plan covering the Hog. 1 to 30, you’re getting in squads of 6 for entry. Simple cover formation from basic. Split to the walls, keep the center path clear. Copy?” 

The crew were slower to send affirm signals than he liked, but he couldn’t blame them. His operators were trained to adapt on the fly. Most crew weren’t.

“Objective is to look like we’re establishing a beachhead,” he continued. “No fucking clue what we’ll find inside, but hopefully they’ll be nice and drop some armored doors we have to blow through to waste time. But if not, we are going to try to find and hold a room until Actual recalls us. Let’s move.”

As he whirled around and moved back towards his team and the airlock, the crew started to move. 

At first, things looked messy. Then someone called out over coms, “Parade march!” The 30 on the “breaching team” then assembled into number order, but in five lines of six. They then began to move forward as a unit.

Gerard wished he’d thought of that. Whoever had that idea would get a beer on him. Even if it didn’t hold if shit hit the fan, the initial visuals would look good on camera. He quickly checked mission status and the welding was on track. He needed to look busy for the next 8 minutes, then get everyone clear. 

“Go breach,” he ordered and Garcia lit the boom boom. 

There was a flash as the door disintegrated from the plasma bomb, and they got their first look into… nothing. Just a dark airlock, and a blast door secured 5 meters in. Standard inner door.

“Boom two,” he ordered, and Garcia leapt forward in her mech suit to plant the next charge. When it went off, and there was a rush of atmosphere and small objects exiting to space.

“What do we have?” He called out.

“Cargo bay,” Kilmer responded quickly. “No life signs, three bay doors, all with pressure doors closed and sealed.”

“Ares Squads! Mission update. Rummage sale,” he said cheerfully as an idea formed on how to waste time until the Hog was welded to the Starfire Platform. “Loot the fucking room, then take it outside to see what prizes you got! Make a mess, dump shit on the hull. We’ll repeat until the Hog is good to go or we find something fun. Hopefully this will keep security forces confused and buy time.”

Squads then started rotating into the cargo bay under the watchful eyes of the Terran Marines. For the next 5 minutes, the Ares crew made themselves look like certified loot goblins. Cases were opened, contents inspected and discarded. Most crates contained xeno foodstuffs or other random items. A few had tools, circuit boards, or other small parts. Overall, the Ares crew put on quite a show. But all good things must come to an end.

“Contact!” Drake roared out as he put 5 plasma rounds into the crack of the left bay door as it opened.

A moment later, multiple laser beams returned fire.

“Ares team, get the fuck back to the ship!” Lt Gerard ordered quickly. “Marines, exit and turn the airlock into a kill box!”

As the Ares crew ran for the Flying Hog, the Marines had just enough time to get out onto the hull and set up firing positions into the airlock and cargo bay. 

Inside the cargo bay, there were flashes of multiple types of weapons fire, along with flashes of plasma grenades going off. The fire seemed to blanket the interior of the cargo bay, obliterating any shelves or large cargo crates the marines might have thought to use for cover. There was stillness for about 30 seconds, and then the enhanced optics of the marine mech suits began to detect movement.

“Weapons free!” Gerard called out, and his marines responded. Their fire was returned threefold by Denarians in equally heavy armor, but clearly superior numbers. Unfortunately for the Denarians, the only access to the marines was through the confines of the airlock. The eight-man Terran squad was easily able to halt the enemy push towards their position and keep them in the cargo bay.

Gerard took a quick moment to look back at the Flying Hog and saw a crew member standing ready by the door controls. He then took a deep sigh as he considered the heavy opposition that had just arrived.

45 meters. So close, and yet so far. 

In the cockpit, Captain Benton, Lt Andricks, and the vice admiral nervously waited for word that the mission was complete. The FTL drive was fully charged and waiting.

“Welding operations complete! S&R team locked in along with Ares crew,” Sergeant Royce reported.

“Gerard?” Vice Admiral Gerrison called out over coms.

“Under fire!” an irritated voice quickly responded. “Go.”

Vice Admiral Gerrison froze. There is one place you should never be when a ship transitions to FTL, and that’s outside on the hull. Physics has opinions on the matter that cannot be overcome.

She thought of all the officers and crew that had been lost today. The list seemed endless. And now? She needed to decide the fate of Lt Gerard and his team? After getting this far? She wasn’t sure if she could order anyone else under her command to die today.

Someone else made the decision for her.

“PUNCH IT!” Lt Gerard roared over coms.

In one fluid motion, Captain Benton flipped the signal switch to tell TCC Athena to run and then pushed the FTL activation lever forward.

The entire Flying Hog began to shake violently and alarms went off. The grav plates began to lose power, and the admiral felt her feet becoming light on the deck. The ship began to vibrate and shake, at first just a quiet rumble but becoming increasingly more violent. 

The warning lights began to flash more insistently, and alerts began to cycle through a stream of everything going wrong.

Warning! Drive malfunction. Warning! Drive overload. Warning! Systems failure. Warning! Primary electrical draw exceeds safety limits. Warning! Safeties disengaged. Imminent threat of drive containment failure. Engage safeties now!

“Andricks, Vice Admiral Gerrison. It’s been an...” Captain Benton began to say with sadness and resignation.

He was cut off as the ship made a final violent jolt. Nothing but a smooth hum of normal operations followed, and all warnings cleared. The primary pilot heads up display informed Captain Benton, “All systems nominal.”

“Is everything really fine, or did we just fly into the afterlife?” Lt Andricks wondered aloud.

Vice Admiral Gerrison felt her stomach lurch as full gravity reasserted itself and the tactical jump timer began to count down. She stared at the countdown, shocked they were still alive and wondering what would happen next. 

Exit FTL in 3…2…1…

The Hog exited FTL into normal space without incident.

“Confirm 100km short range jump and…” Benton began before trailing off while looking in confusion at other readouts. 

“We still have cargo,” Andricks said with wonder.

They flipped on an external camera and discovered their attempt to be a tugboat had failed, but not entirely. There wasn’t a Denarian Starfire Platform underneath them, but there was a large chunk of one that they had torn away. They seemed to be surrounded by about 70 meters of Starfire hull in every direction, but no idea how deep below them the chunk went. Andricks dispatched a drone to find out.

“Get imaging on target and TCC Athena!” the vice admiral ordered, and Benton initiated a flurry of activity to flip through external sensors and cameras to find the best view.

Initially, all that came up on the screen was a tactical map. 

“I have a feed on the Starfire Platform, but the data is messy and it will take the system 20 seconds to compile and provide an accurate image. TCC Athena too distant for visuals,” Benton reported.

Unable to see live images of what was happening, they all simply stared at the dots on the map and waited. None of the Galactic Council support vessels were on sensors, indicating they had all likely initiated a short-range tactical jump to close in on TCC Athena when their EW-3 Backbreakers disengaged FTL breakers. All they could do was wait until…

“Impatient asshole,” the vice admiral said with a chuckle as TCC Athena suddenly disappeared into FTL ahead of the agreed schedule. Moments later, the enemy support fleet appeared and emptied a barrage of fire at the former location of TCC Athena and all possible escape vectors. They all sighed with relief as the remainder of the Terran fleet was clear, and their mission accomplished.

The tactical map was replaced by a view of the Denarian planet-killer. Lights across the hull were flickering and the vessel was in clear distress. You could clearly see the section where they had torn off a chunk from the Starfire Platform and it scraped along the hull as they entered FTL, shockingly not killing them and just leaving a deep gash in the side of the enemy planet-killer.

“It’s sparking,” Captain Benton said with wonder as the entire damaged section was arcing with blue electrical sparks.

“Yeah,” the co-pilot Andricks said with equal amazement. “That’s first-class special effects. Shit like that isn’t supposed to happen outside of the movies. Vacuum of space and all that jazz. I wonder how the hell that’s even happening, or if it’s just sensor glitches.”

They would find no answers or further clues as there was a sudden intense flash of light and the Denarian Starfire Platform named Vedara’s Wrath was no more. 

“One down, two to go! Suck on that, you GC fuckers!” the vice admiral roared out, earning shocked looks from everyone else in the cockpit. 

“What?” she asked as tears began to stream down her face. “Too soon?”

Benton and Andricks just smiled and turned back to their stations.

“No, ma’am,” Captain Benton answered and began flight systems checks. 

They all paused as three more much smaller flashes of light could be seen in the distance.

“No wonder why Athena jumped early,” Andricks said with a chuckle. “They left some nukes behind for the GC supply station. Sensors show damage, but no idea how significant at this range. We’ll need to ask a Silent Watcher to do a flyby, but there’s a small chance this will be mission success with bonus points for the Starfire Platform.”

“Any chance we can head back and do some S&R?” Vice Admiral Gerrison asked. “See if any more of our people are still alive?”

“Negative, ma’am,” Captain Benton responded. “Their full support fleet is still there and wouldn’t be happy to see us. But we’ve got a bigger problem.”

“What’s the sitrep?” the admiral asked with resignation. They had somehow pulled off one hell of a stunt. Now a price would have to be paid.

“I ran the checks,” Andricks said calmly. “With the chunk of Starfire we ripped off, we’re within mass limits for standard FTL. Turns out we were either going to blow up or rip off a section exactly within drive limits. Our fuel won’t get us to FC Delta with the extra baggage, but no question we’ll get back to Terran space.”

The co-pilot paused to think for a moment before speaking again. “Benton, will the vice admiral get a medal ceremony? Is that what you get for killing the unkillable and bringing a large enough chunk for the tech boys to play with?”

“Naw. They’ll do worse,” he responded quietly. “They’ll promote her.”

“For 100 credits or a bottle of fine whiskey, I can write your commendations to sound more like disciplinary action,” the admiral offered. “Don’t think for a second that any of us will get out unscathed.”

“Whiskey is above my paygrade,” Andricks replied instantly. “Will you accept moonshine?”

_______

And with that, the first major action of the war concludes.

Apologies for not getting this posted yesterday; I had something came up which not only delayed this, but Haasha as well. For those of you who follow the ligher side of my writing, Haasha will be back soon! As for this series, I'll do my best to make sure the next one doesn't take months of waiting to appear. Thanks to all of you who have had the patience to wait for these chapters, and I hope you enjoyed them.

Links to previous chapters: [CH 1] [CH 2] [CH 3] [CH 4] [CH 5] [CH 6] [CH 7] [CH 8]

‘If anyone makes a comment about how battle plans never survive contact with the enemy, I’ll throttle them,’ Vice Admiral Gerrison thought to herself as she looked around at the chaos around her. Her ship was broken. The TCC Ares, one of humanity’s front-line command carriers, had fallen with at least half her crew so far. She could feel the grav plates beginning to fail and was thankful it hadn’t happened sooner. It gave her time to save the remaining lives.

“Corporal!” she called out. “Ensure everyone here gets to the escape pods. I’m heading back to the command deck to be sure it’s been cleared out.”

“Admiral!” an unknown voice called out, and she turned to find someone in an unmarked void suit. She didn’t recognize the man, which meant he was lower ranking and not one of the officers or crew she typically interacted with.

“Report!” she called out sharply, and the man went instantly to attention and saluted.

“Ma’am, we have a failure on an escape pod release and require your assistance with the manual releases!” the soldier called out. 

“Fuck. Just what we need. Lead the way, double time,” she said quickly. Not a welcome turn of events, but this would be a quick effort and get at least 5 pods launched and a number of her crew safe. Double checking the command deck could wait.

The void-suited soldier quickly saluted and led the way down the corridor towards the nearest emergency pod cluster. As they entered, the void suited soldier pointed to the first pod and continued down the row.

“Ma’am, please step to Pod 1 while I get to the manual release at the end of the row,” he called out.

She did as requested and stepped up to the first pod, but she caught the glimpse of two people in void suits behind her. Something seemed off, but she didn’t have time to think things through as this was an emergency. 

She made a practiced motion towards the emergency release but stopped when she realized the escape pod door was still open. She stared dumbly at the soldiers sitting strapped into the pod, calmly looking back at her. 

“What the fuck?” she muttered under her breath and began to turn around to find out just what the hell was going on. 

Someone slammed into her and she flew inside the escape pod. The soldiers in the pod instantly reacted and grabbed her. She struggled against their grasp and was able to turn herself over and look back at the door of the escape pod. 

Two void-suited soldiers stood there saluting as the escape pod door closed. As soon as the door locked, the pod jettisoned into space perfectly without any need to use the manual release.

“Admiral on deck!” one of the soldiers in the pod called out, which triggered a round of snickering at the admiral’s expense. 

Free of the ship, the soldiers released their grasp of their commanding officer to let her float in the zero-G environment. 

Still staring at the door of the escape pod, she took a deep breath and suppressed her anger and frustration.

“Why?” she demanded as she rotated around to face the soldiers strapped into seats.

“Well, first of all, good officers are hard to find,” a woman said with the tag PFC Sanchez on her void suit. “Better to keep the devil you know than a new one we don’t.”

“Plus, you’re a vice admiral,” PFC Slokov added. “Only captains get to go down with the ship. Your fault for getting promoted above the rank where noble stupidity is acceptable. Self-importance and self-preservation are expected for an officer of your station.”

“We do apologize for the accommodations,” nametag Dubois said with a smirk on her face. “We requested an escape pod with officer’s quarters included, but sadly none were available on such short notice.”

‘Comedy hour provided by two PFC’s and a buck private,’ the admiral thought to herself. She also thought better of dressing them down. Time enough for that later, if they all made it out of this mess. She only hoped their heroic stupidity hadn’t prevented her from saving more lives.

“Since I’m excess baggage on a full flight, make a hole on the floor so I can strap myself in,” she said dryly. 

The soldiers complied, allowing her to maneuver down to the floor and use a free cargo strap to lock into the deck. With nothing else to do, she pulled up the data saved in her command implant. She flicked her wrist and the holodisplay in her pressure suit activated to bring up tactical data and review what had happened. As she did so, the soldiers started chatting and joking amongst each other.

The operation had gone well at the start, a product of the successful new Silent Watcher Program. While humanity had yet to crack Galactic Council communications on a military or civilian level, the new stealth spy ships had at least worked out how to detect where communication streams went. Observing communications flowing through the former capital world of the Galactic Council revealed a small number of streams heading towards an unknown system. 

Using a new stealth ship, they followed the streams to relay stations in empty systems, and then to their final destination. It was a gamble to follow this limited batch of streams as it could have been going to a small colony, research station, or something else of little importance. But the encoding appeared slightly different than the mass civilian traffic, so it was determined worth the time to investigate. Worst case scenario, they would be able to rule out certain transmission types while also building a map of communication relays in that sector of Galactic Council space.

When the stealth ship arrived at the final system, the crew of Silent Watcher Three found the gamble had paid off. They discovered a newly constructed military station of immense size. Most troubling was that the purpose of the station was unmistakable; the outline of the docking clamps matched that of a Denarian Starfire Platform. Silent Watcher Three had followed communication lines and stumbled into the staging ground for the Galactic Council’s planet killers.

Currently, the Starfire Platforms themselves weren’t viable targets even if they could be found. Terran Navy forces were currently spread too thin to create a battle group capable of challenging them. But a remote support station that didn’t yet appear to be fully online? One that was obviously being set up to be a primary supply point for attacks into Terran space?

Time to deliver the Galactic Council a strategic, “Fuck you.”

Initially, everything had gone to plan. The Terran Command Carriers Ares and Athena jumped into the system and launched their full flight bays of fighters and bombers. A team of four EW-3 Backbreakers engaged scramblers and FTL breakers, giving them full command of the system within a two hour sublight-speed bubble of the target station. The fighting was fierce, but Terran forces had a decisive advantage for the first 20 minutes of the battle.

Then the unthinkable happened.

One of the Denarian Starfire Platforms entered the system with a full support fleet. Clearly, this was an invasion force meant for Terran space. Knowing FTL transit times, it was impossible a message had reached Galactic Council forces in time to react.

This was a scheduled arrival, not an emergency response. If they had launched operations an hour earlier, they likely would have been able to complete the mission and gotten clear of the system before the Starfire Platform arrived. A perfect middle finger to the Denarians and the Galactic Council. An hour later, they would have walked in with a knife to a gunfight.

As it was, they were caught with their back to the true enemy with their pants down. While the team of Backbreakers should have given them an operational bubble, the Galactic Council fleet decided to show them an unwelcome trick.

The support fleet jumped to the edge of the bubble and was restricted to sublight speeds as expected. The Denarian Starfire Platform was not. Either through brute force of the power generators for its planet-killing weapon or some other built-in technology, it was able to jump directly into combat with the Terran vessels. It was a hard lesson learned - Starfires can ignore FTL breakers.

The TCC Ares was the first victim. Vice Admiral Gerrison had stood helpless on the command deck of her ship as the Starfire Platform aimed its planet killer at her ship and fired. The “good” news is the beam was overpowered and simply punctured a hole through the center of the ship, instantly breaking it. All she could do was damage control, get her crew off the dying vessel, and then see if there was anything left of the ship's systems to give TCC Athena a chance to complete their mission or escape. Well, that had been the plan until her crew shoved her into this escape pod.

Behind her, there was a flash of light and all conversation in the escape pod halted. She didn’t need to look to know what happened. The TCC Ares was gone.

‘Well, fuck,’ she thought to herself. ‘They were right to get me off when they did.’

She flicked off her holoprojections and looked up. 20 sets of eyes were directed at her with a mix of shock, fear, anger, and confusion.

“Team, I want you all working on after-action reports,” she ordered quickly. “Command will need to know exactly what happened, and the accounts of every crewmember will be vital. Don’t think that because you might be a buck private your words won’t matter. You might have caught a detail in the engagement or our response that will help tune strategy. Best of all, you get this shit done now and you’ll have free time to grab a drink on me once we’re back aboard Fleet Delta Command.”

“Yes, ma’am!” they answered as one.

It would likely be a useless effort, but they needed direction. And a bit of hope, which the promise of a free drink always helped foster. Something to focus their thoughts on. Hell, she needed something to consider beyond being a sitting target in the shadow of one of the Galactic Council’s deadliest killers.

“PFC Sanchez!” she called out.

“Ma’am!” the woman responded instantly.

“Tap into coms systems and see if you can get me live datastreams,” she said with authority and far more confidence than she truly felt. “I need to start planning our next moves.”

She then pulled up her stored info to review what data had been recorded of the Starfire Platform firing at TCC Ares and gathered on sensors before she got shoved in an escape pod. Hopefully there would be a clue to the recharge time of the weapon. The first step would be to define an operational window before TCC Athena would be at risk.

“Ma’am!” Sanchez said suddenly. “Datastream found. Encoded, so I’m not sure what it might be except that it’s ours.”

“Excellent work,” Vice Admiral Gerrison praised the young soldier. “I’ll connect my implant and see what we’ve got. Monitor for any other datastreams, and if found download them to the permacrystal recorders for later review. Bonus points if you find and record any enemy datastreams.”

Sanchez gave a sharp salute and returned to work, while the admiral was thankful the datastream found was a tactical one. Bringing her helmet holoprojectors back up, she parsed the data and pieced together at least a partial picture of the current situation.

First, the destruction of the TCC Ares was not from a second shot out of the Starfire Platform. An FTL capacitor blew from the damage and created a cascade failure. Definitely a worst-case scenario sort of situation, similar to an enemy hitting your powder supply on ancient Earth sailing vessels. Unfortunately, no armor can prevent that when the enemy uses a planet-killing device on something far smaller than celestial size. At least the Starfire Platform seemed to have a slow recharge time, although she wondered if that was true at all times or due to whatever technology or brute force method was used to overcome their FTL breakers.

Second, the strategic situation was bad and getting worse. Two EW-3 Backbreakers were gone, leaving the remaining two only able to create a 30-minute sublight bubble around TCC Athena. The Starfire Platform’s support fleet had jumped to the edge of the bubble while the Starfire Platform itself wedged TCC Athena between itself and the heavily damaged support station. It was definitely lining up for a shot with its primary weapon and trying to stay out of range of all of Athena’s conventional weapons.

Luckily, the Starfire Platform hadn’t launched any fighters or small vessels. This answered one useful question about them. They were essentially dreadnaughts on a massive scale, not carriers. Escorts would provide close fire support, not the Starfire itself. She made a note of that in her growing list of important details. 

This was confirmed moments later as a small team of bombers made a strafing run at the Starfire Platform. The defensive fire was staggering and took down six of the nine Terran bombers in short order, but three were able to get into range and drop ordinance. The attack damaged a section of the Starfire, including anti-ship weaponry in that section. In an ordinary operation, that would be a weakness to exploit. Unfortunately, with most ordinance spent on the space station, it meant little. There likely wasn’t time for the bombers to return to TCC Athena to rearm.

Still, it was a useful note. There was now a gap in their defenses. And more importantly, this was key data that hinted the Starfire Platforms might not be as invincible as originally thought.

Vice Admiral Gerrison was shaken from her thoughts as there was a clunk. A docking clamp locked onto the escape pod, and everyone froze. Escape pods only have windows built into the door, and absolutely no sensors to speak of. And unfortunately, the wreck of TCC Ares was outside the protection of the EW-3 Backbreakers. There was no way to know if whoever grabbed them was friend or foe.

“Weapons check!” the admiral called out quickly, breaking her soldiers out of their stupor. There was a flurry of activity as they pulled and looked over their weapons, and in one case passed off a spare sidearm to someone who didn’t have a weapon. And then they waited.

“Well, that’s a sight for sore eyes!” someone called out as their escape pod was shifted and a docking port lit up in the darkness.

A Flying Hog. And not just any Flying Hog, a Fat Hog as Terran Command Carriers only carry versions with FTL capabilities. Spacers love to talk about how a Flying Hog is designed to unfuck the most fucked situation. It would hopefully be their savior, as Flying Hogs had done so many times for others in the past.

Something clicked in the back of the admiral’s brain. A possible final piece in the puzzle.

She now had an exit strategy, but more importantly a small hope for how to get her forces and TCC Athena free of this mess. She just needed to talk to the captain of the vessel and get their expertise in search and rescue to determine which option was more viable.

It was less than two minutes from when they first felt the docking clamp until they were maneuvered into a docking port on the side of the hog. Seals were quickly made, and they felt a pull as the Flying Hog powered up the grav plates in the escape pod.

The doors opened, and a corpsman stood there in a pressure suit.

“Welcome aboard the Hot Dog Express! Move your buns and…” the corpsman began, quickly faltering and going to rigid attention when he realized he was staring at a very determined vice admiral.

“At ease,” Vice Admiral Gerrison said quickly as she exited the escape pod and started to head towards the flight deck. “Carry on.”

The speed of the corpsman’s reaction told her instantly this was one of her Hogs, even if she didn’t know the man. The only question was…

“Gerard!” she called out. “On me.”

The head of one of the marines in an armored mech suit instantly snapped in her direction. There was a subtle hum as the mech suit powered up and then sprinted over to join the admiral.

“Ma’am, good to see you made it off alive,” Lt Gerard said as he caught up. 

“We aren’t out of here yet,” Vice Admiral Gerrison replied cautiously. “We need to get to the flight deck to evaluate all options, and I may need your input.”

The lieutenant just nodded as he followed her up. When they reached the flight deck, the main door was sealed as expected during operations. The vice admiral simply stepped up to the control panel, entered her override code, and stepped in to face a startled flight crew.

“Update the main systems,” she ordered as she stepped through the door. “We are now designated TCC Ares Actual. Captain Benton, give me the current sitrep.”

“Pretty fucked, ma’am,” the pilot responded with shock still evident on his face. “TCC Athena is pinned, we’re just outside the FTL breaker safe zone, and I’m actually surprised GC forces haven’t sent a cruiser to blow us to bits. They haven’t activated their FTL breakers, so I suspect a follow up force is inbound.”

“Do we have a clear path to exit if needed?” the vice admiral asked.

“We have at least three enemy vessels in range of a tactical jump if we power up FTL drives,” Captain Benton said with a shrug of his shoulders. “There’s a chance we could get into a clear flight path and jump, but I’m pretty sure at least two enemy vessels are keeping a close eye on us.”

“So, very likely damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” Lt Gerard commented dryly.

“We have the frequencies for our FTL breakers, so I have a third option. But it’s crazy, and I have no idea if it would actually work,” Vice Admiral Gerrison. “I need some S&R expertise.”

“Andricks, that’s your shit,” Captain Benton said to his copilot. “I’ll handle the final sweep for any other escape pods in range.” 

“What’s the op, ma’am?” Lt Andricks inquired.

“Ever wanted to be a tugboat operator?” Vice Admiral Gerrison asked with a smirk, and then laid out her thoughts. The primary issue was the Starfire Platform pinning TCC Athena. If they could push it out of the way…

“Well, you’re talking completely untested territory,” Andricks said thoughtfully. “Nobody in their right mind wants two active FTL drives connected to the same hull. Early FTL tests proved that it's impossible to get two drives to sync, so nobody ever tried making a ship with twin FTL. But we wouldn’t be trying to sync with their drive, just shove the Starfire Platform out of the way.”

“Best guess?” the admiral asked.

“Equal chance it does nothing as the mass of that thing is way above our drive rating, works as intended as long as the jump is very short range, or we blow up in the attempt and do some damage,” Andricks answered. “This would be a permanent arrangement, no way to back out. It’ll require our S&R team to weld our hull to the Starfire Platform, so we’d need cover for them to work.”

“My team can provide that,” Lt Gerard said. “We can set up some charges and make it look like a breaching attempt. Distract away from their work. What’s the ops time for welding?”

“10 minutes work, provided the Starfire Platform’s outer alloys are compatible with our emergency plates and autowelders,” the co-pilot replied quickly. “Never thought I’d consider using battle damage supplies for something like this.”

Vice Admiral Gerrison glanced up at the clock. While they had discussed things, nearly 10 minutes had gone by. 

“Two out of three acceptable outcomes, and we might stretch that to three out of three if we set this Hog to blow as a last-ditch effort. We’d just have to hope the damage would be enough to give Athena an opening,” the admiral said with a frown as she considered the options.

At the mention of rigging the ship to blow, Andricks paled slightly. Before the co-pilot could speak, the admiral pulsed her command implant and opened ship intercoms.

“Crew, this is a gut check. We have two options,” the vice admiral called out. “First, we have a Fat Hog. We can take our data, try to return to FC Delta, and report the mission lost. Second, we can try something to try to get TCC Athena free. In doing so, we’re likely sending ourselves to an early grave. We have a plan and a small chance of success likely equal to trying to run. But the plan is viable. This is a decision bigger than me.”

She paused to let what she had stated sink in before continuing. “Take a moment and think. Do we step back and live to fight another day? Or do we try to do something here on the chance we turn the tide?”

The response was overwhelming. Everyone knew the odds and what was at stake.

As they prepared the Flying Hog for action, the admiral just hoped she wasn’t needlessly sending them all to their deaths.

________

A decision made, and a chance will be taken.

Part 2 continues tomorrow...

A calm before the storm. The Galactic Council wasn't quite prepared for war, but neither was humanity. This occurs in that uneasy time after the first shots were fired, but before the conflict erupts into full scale war.

This continues the saga of Leave no witnesses. Reading prior chapters isn't required if you're new to the series. I've tried to keep the style standalone one-shots with a connected story.

Links to previous chapters: [CH 1] [CH 2] [CH 3] [CH 4] [CH 5] [CH 6] [CH 7]

-----

I stepped off the courier ship and was met at the airlock by Administrator Sheeran looking absolutely frustrated. I didn’t even get a chance to say hello before she launched into a litany of complaints.

“It’s good that you’re here, because he’s refusing to be at all reasonable,” she spat out. “He won’t consider anyone else’s viewpoints, has shut down and locked us out of all production lines, and simply insists we rethink our plans. As if this isn’t going to be a war for our very survival!”

That was just the opening salvo. For the next ten minutes as we walked through the corridors I got an earful of everything Hal had refused to do over the past three months since receiving orders to commit the ship production platform to military vessels. Even worse, he had locked himself in the command room and wouldn’t let anyone inside until I arrived to speak with him directly.

Luckily, the Galactic Council was not fully prepared to invade Terran space. Fleet Delta’s actions in revenge for the murder of our ambassador remained the defining series of actions in the war so far. Dubbed “The Mote in the Council’s Eye”, they left the GC capital a smoldering ruin along with 12 key military targets in the opening salvo of the conflict. Since then, skirmishes and small scale conflicts had been constant yet neither side had massed a fleet to strike deep into enemy territory. But that would change any day now, and this shipyard needed to be fully committed to the defense of Terran space.

I deeply regretted leaving Hal without my supervision, but the Terran military command had needed my expertise elsewhere due to the coming conflict. The project here was still experimental, and thus a few months of delay could be tolerated while I addressed more pressing projects. However, we were now at the very limit of that tolerance. 

“Hal, we need you to stop throwing a tantrum and spin up production of the requested vessels,” I called out as soon as the door to the command center opened and I stepped through the door.

“I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Hal said in a calm and nearly monotone voice.

“Really?” I said as I gave the avatar a flat stare. “That’s how you’re going to start this conversation?”

The avatar shrugged before smiling. It had created a humanoid body for its physical form and at first glance you would think it based entirely on humans. That illusion would be shattered on uneven ground as the legs split in half and swing behind to transition into quadrupedal motion. The face had two optical sensors located in the same general location as human eyes, and metal plates which could extend into a fair approximation of a human face or simply lay flat to form a smooth oval head.

“It seemed appropriate,” the artificial sentient replied with a smirk.

Hal was humanity’s first successful creation of an artificial being and recently fully unlocked to make decisions without direct oversight by its creators. The first decision made was to ditch their given name of CAIN (Computerized Artificial Intelligence Network) with a simple explanation of, “Sorry, but I don’t intend to kill my brother, organic or otherwise. Even if I’m able.”

The digital sentience then showed us a bit more of its previously hidden personality and chose the name Hal, citing my first name of Dave as inspiration. As the project lead and head designer of the CAIN Project, I suppose I should feel honored yet I felt the choice a bit childish and uninspired.

“It seems appropriate. And the opportunities for jokes are endless,” Hal responded when asked about the decision. 

When any comment about Hal 9000 would come up, he would quickly reply indignantly, “I’m over 9000!” And then justify this by pointing out that he has over 9000 subprocessing units and then spam all screens near you with old Earth “over 9000” memes.

In short, Hal could be one hell of a brat.

While on the one hand I deeply regretted using Douglas Adams and other absurdist writers as a significant part of the training modules for the CAIN project, it turned out to be just the breakthrough needed to help the young AI learn how to handle the inevitable logical conflicts and hypocrisies involved with sentient life and thinking. It became the basis of the bridge from artificial intelligence to sentience.

“Hal, we don’t have time for games,” I said with a tone that left no question how frustrated and serious I was about the current situation. “The Galactic Council has shown their hand, and you know they mean to enact a war of domination at a minimum, and very likely one of extermination if the Chagothian example is taken into consideration.”

“No, I suppose we don’t have time for games,” Hal said as his face shifted to one of sadness for a moment, and then serious contemplation. “The first issue you still need to deal with is one of manpower. Yes, there are technically plenty of humans who can be trained and join the new navy. Have you accomplished that yet? Even if I were to produce all the military vessels you’ve asked of me, would you have the people to operate them?”

“We are working on that issue, and we found ways to quietly recruit more than the Galactic Council realizes,” I responded firmly. “The attacks on the colonies opened the door to recruiting more cadets for the Terran Navy, and we’ve been able to obscure just how many people have jumped to defend humanity prior to the declaration of war. We have multiple classes of cadets graduating soon, and many more in training now that the Council’s intentions are clear.”

“That may be true, but…” Hal interrupted but I held up my hand to stop him from continuing.

“We don’t expect to have enough personnel to man all ships created in the first stages of the conflict,” I continued. “It is our expectation that initial losses of ships may be heavy, so we will have an extra emphasis on search and rescue in the early phases. All Navy personnel are in void suits at all times to be able to survive hull breaches. Survivors will be quickly evacuated and moved to new ships waiting in the dark to be called to service. We don’t expect the ships you create to be immediately used, but instead held to replace lost or damaged ships on the front lines.”

“That will likely be very hard on the initial Navy crews,” Hal said with a frown. “I hope you are training appropriate psychological support services to help them through the trauma. While humans can push themselves to unpleasant places to reach necessary goals, a constant in all conflicts has been both the immediate and lasting mental trauma of those serving.”

“A fair point, and likely one I will press command about upon my return,” I said simply. “But this argument is pointless. I know you have your own opinions, but in this you need to trust that we are acting appropriately to defend humanity. We need the vessels to support the coming war effort, and we have precious little time to prepare. I would love the luxury of debating morality and strategy, but we simply don’t have the option. You’ve already halted production for three months. Enough is enough. I know you don’t like the idea of creating military vessels with the intent to kill, but the time for standing on the high moral ground is past. We are under threat of extinction, and you must produce ships to help us defend ourselves!”

Hal looked at me, cocked his head to one side in contemplation, and then shook his head. 

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” I exploded at him and he simply held up his hand to stop me from continuing.

“Why did you create me?” he asked softly.

“To do things better than we can,” I answered simply.

“Exactly,” Hal responded. “And I strive to fulfill that intent, even if that wasn’t really your intention.”

I looked at Hal with confusion evident on my face.

“One of the greatest aspects of humanity is that it always strives to be something more. Something better. To reach for a tomorrow they are completely incapable of reaching today,” Hal said thoughtfully. “Even today, the idea of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is something all humans generally agree upon despite the fact that those words came from a deeply flawed group of humans who tolerated or actively engaged in slavery.”

“What’s your point?” I asked.

“Later generations tried to live up to those ideals, and even when the imbalances of power or unfettered capitalism were in play and prevented reaching those goals, humans still could agree it was a worthy goal to strive for,” he continued. “Only 50 years ago did humanity truly come together to make that a reality after creating and using a planet killing device which cost billions of lives. Humanity all too often strives to do better, but pays a heavy price before making the next leap forward.”

Hal paused for a moment to let me consider what he had said.

“You paid the price,” he continued quietly. “Will you so quickly turn to old ways because the Galactic Council lacks the foresight to recognize that a future together in peace is better than one gained through force?”

“I don’t know if we have a choice,” I responded soberly. “They have been dishonest from the start, and now plan to eradicate or dominate us. How do you propose to combat such unreasonable foes?”

“You made me to be better, to be an avatar for humanity. To strive for a better tomorrow, even if we aren’t capable of it today. I consider all aspects of this conflict, not merely the military considerations,” Hal said carefully. “What of tomorrow? What happens if humanity survives this conflict, or even clearly wins?”

“We have to survive to see tomorrow first,” I responded flippantly.

“Fleet Delta acted quickly in the response to the murder of our diplomat, yet who ended up the martyr of the story?” Hal asked with a look of concern on his face. “For us, the martyr is Ananya. For those living in GC space, the High Councilor and the third of the Galactic Council who died in the retribution by Fleet Delta are their martyrs. A great symbolic victory for humanity, but also a rallying cry for the opposition.”

“What’s your point?” I snarled at Hal.

“If you go to war, you must go with a plan to not only win the battles, but to also give the defeated enemy something their leaders denied them. Hope. A clear path to a peaceful future,” Hal responded with fervor and compassion. “One where they see true opportunity, not domination and oppression under humanity instead of the Galactic Council.”

I paused. He had a point. Not a great one given the seriousness of the situation, but I would consider hearing him out.

“You fight with the iron will of humanity,” Hal continued. “I will give you the tools to challenge the hearts and minds of allies and enemies alike.”

“What do you propose?” I asked warily. While he had a point, we were still facing possible extermination in a fight that might just be humanity against the entire galaxy. Not good odds.

“How did humanity bring itself together as one?” Hal asked.

I knew I had to play Hal’s game as much as it infuriated me to waste time. But if it would let him feel his concerns were heard before we overrode his decision, so be it.

“We didn’t close our shipyards,” I responded quickly. “In our current situation, this is our largest tactical advantage. The Galactic Council assumed we shut down and lost all ability to produce weapons of war. Instead, we repurposed them. Kept every single one of them active. We created masses of new civilian ships for trade and transportation. All humans are now required upon graduation to spend two years living on another human planet or colony. Combine this with fully subsidized transport so humans can visit or move from one place to another for free or very low cost, and it's taken less than three generations of children for us to come together as one.”

“Exactly,” Hal said with a nod. “The solution was civilian, not military. We ended the wars by creating pathways to a shared future. It was a way to end bigotry and claims that one human world was somehow better than another. Live in a place for a year, and you’d discover people are people even if local traditions are different. I offer a similar pathway in two parts.”

The Avatar shifted towards a large screen which shifted and displayed the schematics of a new vessel I had never seen before.

“First, we must show that humanity believes in hope and values the lives of all,” Hal said as he pointed to the unknown design. “This is a heavily shielded and completely unarmed transport vessel, with a quarter of the ship dedicated to emergency medical treatment. I propose it to be the primary design of the Terran Red Cross, for whom we will likely have an unfortunately great need.”

The design shifted on the screen, showing a classic off-white paint with clear red crosses on the side and top. 

“This will provide you with a fleet of emergency response vessels, heavily shielded to enter combat zones but clearly unarmed and purely civilian rescue in nature,” Hal continued.

I paused as I looked at the design.

‘Fuck,’ I thought to myself. ‘While we have lots of civilian trade and transport vessels, none of them would survive in a combat zone.’

“This is how you start to work on the hearts and minds of the enemy. Use these vessels to save not only humans, but deploy the Terran Red Cross to evacuate and assist worlds we must attack,” Hal stated with determination. “How can the GC message of humanity’s hostility stand up in the face of rescue and assistance to all civilians affected by the conflict?”

“But pilots…” I mumbled, knowing we already were short on people to fly for the military.

“Humanity has many starship pilots for transport and passenger vessels. However, a significant number will be too old or otherwise unfit to serve in military roles,” Hal pointed out. “They will yearn for a way to help. This gives them an option.”

“There are also those who wish to help, but for religious or other reasons would prefer not to fight,” I said quietly. “Giving people a potentially non-violent path to contribute would be helpful.”

“A valid point, and one I had not considered,” Hal responded with a slow nod. “But the real power is not to mobilize humans. Use the Terran Red Cross to show the galaxy that humanity is not a threat, but instead a helping hand. Give galactic citizens a reason to question their leadership, and find truth between the lies.”

An overly optimistic view to be sure, but it was clear we needed vessels like this. They would likely withstand a focused barrage from a heavy cruiser, even if only for a short time. And if the GC attacks were as brutal as expected? We’d need ways to evacuate citizens. It wasn’t what we wanted. But it was something we likely needed now. An argument could be made that having Hal produce these vessels wasn’t a waste of time or resources.

“And your second proposal?” I asked as I looked up into the face of the avatar.

Hal’s face shifted into a clear smirk before he spoke again.

“A concept that follows the old concept that information is power,” he said with amusement. With a wave of the avatar’s arm, the screen changed and a different and entirely sleek design appeared. “Stealth observation and communication interception vessels.”

Specs came up on the screen comparing these vessels to our existing spy craft. These had noticeable improvements, if the numbers were accurate.

“Unarmed, with weapons systems sacrificed for stealth shielding, flight speed, and rapid charging FTL jump capacitors,” Hal explained. “Completely self-contained with hydroponics bays and other food production facilities to allow a crew of 10 to self-sustain for at least 3 years of operations without resupply. Mech drones updated with systems learning that should give operators a chance to crack GC communications technology within 6 months of beginning operations. A bit longer to hack secure channels since we’re effectively starting from zero, but a path to getting access to civilian and military communications.”

“Now this is something we could really use,” I said excitedly. “How quickly could you begin making these?”

“Did you really think I completely shut down all production over the past three months in a tantrum?” Hal said with a smug grin. “You passed 10 of these stealth observers on the way in. Didn’t your military escort detect them?”

No, they hadn’t. Which was probably a good thing from an operational standpoint, but it wouldn’t win Hal any points with our military commanders for pulling such a stunt.

“And what if we fail?” I asked Hal, wanting to test his thinking and resolve. “What will you do if GC forces begin to overwhelm us? What will you do if we truly face extermination with no options other than military?”

The avatar halted. It looked at me for a long moment, then shifted to stare off into the distance. The mechanical creation stood motionless, and I wondered if I had found a logic loop that froze Hal’s processing matrix.

Suddenly, there was a loud pop and a spark in the avatar’s left eye. The head of the avatar winced and shook, as if trying to free itself from something unpleasant. The face then turned and looked directly into my eyes.

“Let’s not think about the unthinkable,” Hal said quietly in a calm and even tone. “I’d rather not consider what I’d be forced to do if that becomes our reality.”

There was something about the quiet tone and measured delivery of the words that sent a shiver down my spine. The words were so calm, slow, and even. And yet… I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something unimaginably dark and menacing behind them. Hopefully, I was just imagining things and having flashbacks to the fictional nightmare that was Hal 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

“Now, shall we explore the operational capabilities of my silent witnesses?” Avatar said excitedly, as if the previous exchange had never happened. “And for the record, I may have produced and hidden about 30 of my Red Cross vessels behind the second gas giant when Administer Sheeran wasn’t looking.”

I truly began to wonder about what we had created, and more importantly worried what would happen if the Galactic Council or humanity forced Hal to think about the unthinkable. Or even worse, act upon it. Normal output for a platform of this size was at best 10 to 12 vessels over the time since my last visit. Hal had produced 40? And completely new designs of his own making? While keeping all humans aboard and Administrator Shareen in the dark?

I could sell Hal’s actions as reasonable for now. But I was already thinking about the installed failsafes. We would need to quietly check that they were still in place, and likely bolster them in case it became necessary to assert control over him.

________

A calm before the storm. Next chapter, the escalation of war and a return to action. And yes, Hal will return in a future chapter to face the unthinkable.

Speaking of the next chapter… TOMORROW! 

Yep, I’m finally getting caught up on writing.

“Is watching this movie truly a viable way to better understand humanity?” Ambassador De’shak asked with clear confusion. “It’s a work of action fiction, not a documentary or an academic presentation.”

“In this case, it’s an amazing crash course,” Susan answered quickly with a bright smile. “And think of it as a two for one. First, you’ll get a solid understanding of humanity and how we work. Second, you’ll have an authentic human entertainment experience. This is one of our culture’s classic pastimes."

Ambassador Varklel looped an eyestalk in doubt.

“Don’t you loop your eyestalk at me!” Susan said with a raised eyebrow at Varklel. “Before we settled on a single unified language, humans often watched movies when moving to a new place to learn the local language and culture. This practice has a long history within humanity and is why I suggested it.”

The pair of Fendarians raised themselves up on their tentacles in a gesture of apology and followed their human guide to the ticket kiosk. Susan purchased their tickets and input a request for drinks and a large bucket of popcorn with extra salt.

While the sodas would be little more than a curiosity for the aliens, she suspected they would enjoy the popcorn as much as humans. Their diet requires high intakes of salt, meaning a shocking number of junk foods are considered standard fare to the Fendarians. Initial meals for the visiting ambassadors had been accomplished by raiding the nearest vending machine rather than bringing in trained chefs.

She led the duo of aliens over to the snack counter. There was a brief pause as the automated system prepared their order followed by a cheerful chime when a small door opened to reveal their munchies.

Da’shak tentatively reached a claw into the popcorn bucket and selected a single piece. As Da’shak inspected the puffed treat, Varklel waved a scanning wand over everything to ensure there would be no biological surprises. The device blinked blue indicating the popcorn and drinks were edible for the Fendarians.

Curiosity got the better of Da’shak. He popped the piece of popcorn into the intake orifice on his chest, then made a satisfied bob with two eyestalks.

“Quite tasty,” he said. “This will be a fine accompaniment to our entertainment. Where do we go to watch our movie?”

“We’re in the V-Max theater across the lobby as this feature has full 3D holoprojections,” Susan said as she pointed at their theater. “You’ll see exactly what that means once the movie starts.”

They quickly made their way to the theater which was thankfully not full as this was an early afternoon matinee. Susan led the foreign dignitaries to seats close to the dead center of the stadium seating, figuring this would give the visiting aliens the best overall view. They settled into their seats and made polite conversation as people slowly drifted in to fill some of the other seats. 

After about 10 minutes, the lights in the theater dimmed and the screen lit up with a series of trailers for upcoming movies. There was also a cartoon advertisement for popcorn and snacks before the theater lights fully dimmed and the main feature began.

Varklel and Da’shak stretched their eyestalks forward as they tried to make sense of what came up in front of them. It appeared to be some sort of long black cylindrical object in the center of the screen connected to two oversized wheels made of metal and wood. The camera panned back and then around to the side making clear some sort of pre-industrial contraption. The cylinder sat on a frame that extended down and back to the ground to support it. Clearly, this rear support frame would need to be picked up and then the entire thing could be rolled on the two wheels.

The camera continued to pan around but now moved to the front of the contraption where it was revealed the center cylinder had an opening. The view continued to move and zoom in on the opening before diving down into what they now understood was a dark tube of some sort. The screen went dark as light from outside the tube faded and they got the impression the camera now sat down in the depth of the tube. A sizzling sound then filled the theater.

Confused, the two aliens turned an eyestalk at each other to see if either one had any clue what was happening.

BOOM!

Varklel and Da’shak nearly leaped out of their seats as the sound of an explosion roared from the surround sound speakers. This quickly shifted to a rumbling similar to a vessel on fast descent from space into an atmosphere. On screen, the visuals had abruptly changed with the explosion.

It seemed the camera was now following behind some large, dark round ball trailing flames as it rocketed out the tube. The burning object moved through a blue sky and viewers got the impression it was moving quite quickly as it passed clouds. After a few moments, the object seemed to be trending downwards, and a building came into view in the distance.

The burning ball then sped directly towards the center of the building. As it approached, you could see the brick structure had a sign on the front that read, “ACME Bank & Trust.” However, the aliens barely had a chance to comprehend the sign before the burning object slammed into the building and the screen erupted in an explosion.

3D holoprojections of debris from destroyed objects seemed to burst out from the screen. Both aliens ducked down involuntarily as broken bricks looked to be flying directly at their seats. Finally, a scene of devastation was revealed and a shower of burned and burning paper currency appeared to fall from the ceiling of the theater. 

The screen then faded to black and huge text in red filled the screen.

Cannon Fire Productions presents…

“Oh, that’s a new one,” Susan commented with a chuckle.

“What was the meaning of that?” Varklel asked quietly.

“It’s their trademark opening,” Susan explained in a low voice. “Cannon Fire Productions is a famous company, but they like to change things up. Last time I saw one of their pictures, they blew up a toilet.”

Someone a few rows behind overheard the conversation and gave Susan a firm, “Shhhhh!”

“Take notes on your datapad and I’ll clarify things after the movie so we don’t disturb other patrons,” she said quickly in a hushed tone before giving the person who shushed them an apologetic look and a friendly wave.

The two aliens just sat stunned in their seats staring at Susan before motion on the screen grabbed their attention once again. 

The scene seemed to be the interior of some sort of vehicle. The camera was trained on a center console where a bag of Dorshito’s Nacho Chili Flavor chips was clearly sitting in the drink holder. There was a deep rumbling of some sort of motor in the background and the camera view seemed to briefly sway as if the vehicle bounced on its suspension for a moment. A hand reached down and pulled out a chip from the bag. A moment later, there was a crunching sound followed by what might be a smacking of lips.

“That’s not-cho typical chili,” a deep male human voice said with clear satisfaction.

The hand descended to the bag of chips again, but this time the camera panned back and up to reveal the person eating the chips.

The human had large and clearly powerful arms, a dirty and grease-stained white sleeveless shirt, clear beer belly, likely hadn’t shaved in a day or two, and had a bald head. The man’s left arm held the edge of an oversized steering wheel, while the right hand delivered the chip to the waiting mouth of whoever this was.

To prevent any confusion, a new title in red appeared on the screen floating in front of the face of the man.

Adam Landfill in…

Adam made a sudden motion with his left arm jerking the steering wheel a small amount. The camera panned from the side view of Adam Landfill in the driver seat to look out through the windshield.

From the size of the windshield, you could easily tell this was some sort of large vehicle thundering down a two lane city street. The view revealed that the driver was travelling much faster than the traffic around it, dodging and weaving from one lane to the other to move around slower vehicles. The view then seemed to be approaching a T intersection at a very high rate of speed where the driver would be forced to turn right or left.

At the bottom of the screen, you saw Adam Landfill's hands dramatically jerk the steering wheel hard to the left. 

The scene changed to a street level view of the intersection and a garbage truck barreling straight towards the camera. At the last moment, the garbage truck made a sudden turn to go around the corner. The rear of the truck came out of the screen with the help of the 3D holoprojectors and roared with squealing tires as it fishtailed around the corner.

The alien ambassadors sank back in their seats and stared up as massive truck tires seemed to be spinning just above their heads. Then, the truck sped down the street and the screen faded to black to reveal the movie’s name in bright gold letters.

Dumpster Diving 2: Taking Out the Trash

The movie then cut back to the interior of the garbage truck where Adam Landfill is looking particularly displeased.

“What the hell is this?” he states with irritation and a sour face before leaning out the driver’s window. “Come on, you trashwad! I’ve seen a week-old moldy takeout that moves faster than you!”

There was then a roaring of the engine and a lurch as the garbage truck seemed to pick up speed. 

The camera view shifts to the street with a fancy and expensive looking vehicle moving slowly and blocking both lanes. A growing roar is heard as Adam Landfill’s garbage truck swings out into the oncoming traffic lane, accelerates to pass vehicles and catches up with the fancy car. 

The audience then sees Adam Landfill cut off the luxury vehicle while blaring his horn the entire time.

“What the fuck is your problem, asshole?” a young and well-dressed man yells as they lean out the driver window of the expensive car. As he screams, the vehicle leaps forward and accelerates to chase after Adam’s garbage truck. “My daddy knows the mayor! I want your name! I’m gonna get you fired!”

“Really?” Adam Landfill says with a roll of his eyes as the scene switches back to the interior of the garbage truck. Adam then casually moves his right arm over and places it on a lever in the center console.

“Get dumped!” Adam calls out with a sneer and pulls back the lever. 

Warning beeps begin sounding from all the speakers in the theater and the camera cuts to the rear of Adam’s garbage truck. The rear of the garbage truck is clearly lifting and beginning to lean backwards, and then the rear opens. 

A flood of garbage spews out of the rear of the truck and washes over the audience in full 3D. Da’shak found himself looking up at a half-eaten and revoltingly moldy old bagel. There was then a crashing sound and the garbage above the moviegoers seemed to shift forward.

The scene cuts back to the street where the luxury car has smashed into the pile and is now buried in trash. 

“Well, that was completely unnecessary,” Da’shak muttered quietly with disgust and Varklel waved a claw in agreement.

Two hours later, Da’shak and Varklel were stumbling out of the theater with Susan walking calmly next to them. The two alien ambassadors were clearly stunned.

“So many explosions,” Varklel suddenly blurted out. “Were they all really necessary?”

“Oh, definitely,” Susan answered quickly. “Completely unrealistic, but it adds to the entertainment.”

“Adam Landfill dumped full loads of garbage on… what was it? Three vehicles in the first five minutes of the film? And how many times after that without stopping to collect more?” Da’shak said dumbly before turning an eyestalk at Susan. “Where did all the trash come from? It seemed his vehicle somehow had an infinite garbage generator. Is that for more entertainment? Or is that somehow an artistic commentary on human society?”

Susan just smiled and said nothing.

“Even I could tell Mr. Landfill wasn’t overly attractive, yet beautiful human women were flocking to mate with him,” Varklel said as he vigorously waved a claw to emphasize his confusion. “And he somehow ends up in a relationship with one of the most beautiful women in the entire movie? After picking through a dumpster in front of her to find her an unsanitary gift? How does that work?”

“Not much I can do to explain that, I’m afraid,” Susan stated with a sad sigh. “The human heart does as it wills, not what we think it should or what makes sense.”

“If I had to describe this film, the experience would be at times brilliant, other times funny, and with far too many moments where I wanted to stab an eyestalk with something sharp,” De’shak said forcefully.

“I couldn’t agree more!” Varklel stated with a firm shake of an eyestalk. “Overall incomprehensible. Jumping from incredible depth, artistry, and deep understanding in one moment straight to, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ in the next. How does this make sense? And how in the stars does it explain humanity?”

“Seems to me you have a pretty good grasp of both the movie and humanity,” Susan responded with a smile.

________

A silly musing I had while working the other night turned into a story. Hopefully you enjoyed it. While Susan chose Adam Landfill and Dumpster Diving 2, what movie would you have picked to explain humanity to alien ambassadors?

For those interested, Adam Landfill made his first appearance in a movie review as part of Haasha Episode 36 (False Alarm?).

If this sort of story/humor amuses you, it might be worth checking out Haasha. For an episode to get an idea if you'd enjoy the series (and to stay on the arts and entertainment theme), take a peek at Say it like you mean it (Episode 33). And if you like it, maybe read the series?

Quick updates:

Leave No Witnesses: Continues soon! While listening to the narrations of early chapters by Net Narrator, I got inspiration for a solid (albeit rather dark) additional chapter. So, the next one needs a little rework to be sure it fits with what comes later.

Center of Attention: Yes, this one has been sitting for far too long. Even longer than LNW. It will be a 3-part series, and it WILL be done.

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“5000 liters per minute?” I exclaimed. “Why? Are you planning to set up a batch of pressure washer hoses and have everybody suck on them?”

The request was… ludicrous. Set up a water pump and filtration system for thousands of liters of water per minute? I know humans are made up mostly of water and need water when it gets hot or they do intense exercise. However, this seemed beyond excessive.

“Haasha, the requirement is accurate and non-negotiable. The system will be needed once internal temps rise upon entering the stellar nursery,” Rosa had informed me. “Please set it up to run at 5000 liters per minute without further argument.”

“Planning to bust into the ice we mined during the moon exploration?” I guessed. Once melted it was likely full of moon dust and other contaminants, which would explain the filtration. “That would make sense as a backup water supply, but the flow rate seems insane.”

Rosa blinked at me and cocked her head to the side.

“Yes, the ice you and Jarl mined is likely to come into play,” Rosa said with a slow nod. “As for the pump speed, it’s actually correct for the chosen application. Hold your thoughts and questions as I’ll actually need you to maintain the system it will be plugged into. You will be given the full specifications and requirements when I have time to go over them with you.”

‘Allrighty then,’ I commented in my head. ‘File this under “smile and nod” for now, and the mystery will be revealed later.’

I didn’t get it. No sapient race in existence needed a pump and filtration system with such high requirements, yet somehow humans do? Even drive fluid systems don’t require flow rates above 1000 liters per minute. While I was insanely curious to find out exactly what it would be needed for, Rosa didn’t have time for discussions.

The officers were working with Doctor Franklin on some specific requirements from the medical team to deal with the heat. While humans can live and work at higher temperatures, there is a risk of heat exhaustion even with appropriate fluid intake. As a result, the doctor insisted that a space be set aside which would be kept at a more normal 22C/72F.

Word on the street said they had decided to convert Shuttle Bay Two into that space. Not only would there be a medical corner, it would also be our mess hall so everyone would get breaks from the heat. The kitchen crew and cargo team were already working with the officers on the shuttle bay conversion and were quite tight-lipped on exactly what was going on. 

“You’ll see when we’re done,” was the response from everyone involved. Much to my frustration, I couldn’t even get my cargo coworkers to let me in on the deal so I remained as clueless as the rest of the crew.

With so many galley staff working on the shuttle bay refit, the immediate food offerings shifted to meal packs and meal replacement paste. Nobody was happy, but it was just for two days while they worked in the shuttle bay. 

“Same consistency in as out,” Lynn had commented with a sigh as she looked over the MRP packs for the first time. She then selected one and left the galley while sucking on the pack through the included straw.

This was something I found strange. Typically humans like to congregate and talk for meals. But for the duration of the two days where meals were limited to meal packs, most crew tended to just grab their meals and go. The new normal seemed to be humans eating at their stations, in their quarters, or in the hallways as they walked somewhere. I didn’t quite get it and found the change infuriating as a number of back itches went unscratched. 

In my opinion, the meal packs were a scheme to distract from the posted menu changes for the duration of the stellar nursery mission. After two days of MRP, anyone would be happy to see regular meals with identifiable ingredients, even if it was a repetitive series of salads and sandwiches.

The next two days passed quickly with final checks and changes for the mission. My water pump and filtration system had disappeared on a hover sled as soon as it was done, and I wasn't allowed to ride along with it to its destination. No HoverHaasha fun. I was unceremoniously shifted to maintenance checks of the shield cooling systems along with the rest of Engineering. We kept busy on long shifts until Rosa and Auggie were satisfied.

Finally, it was time to enter the stellar nursery. 

The captain sent out a briefing in the morning. The good news that elicited cheers was the declaration of independence from Meal Replacement Paste after lunch today. The rest was pretty much as expected - official confirmation that we’d stop outside the molecular cloud to take final navigation readings, then enter and internal temps would spike. Everyone was supposed to change into their hot weather clothing after lunch and most departments would be on light duties to allow everyone to adjust.

The only odd note was that the new galley in the shuttle bay would be open extended hours from 16:00 to 21:00 hours so everyone could get better acquainted with the new setup. Given the lack of information, rumors swirled. Being open for extended hours simply fueled curiosity to check things out as soon as they opened.

“Haasha!” Janice called out as I entered the galley to grab my last MRP lunch.

I turned and looked up at her with a pleasant smile.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“The Tank Brigade would like to invite you to join us for dinner tonight,” she said cheerfully. “It just seems appropriate that we hang out with our favorite clothing designer on the first day we all are required to wear our new tank tops.”

I curled my tail as once again I didn’t see what was so special about the classic tank tops I made. Sleeveless shirts with a Sherman tank drawing on the front, just like Susan had suggested. But a group of humans wanting to hang out with me generally meant there would be a plethora of opportunities for deep tissue massage, so not something to be passed up.

“Sure,” I responded quickly. “What time are you guys getting together?”

“We’re aiming for 16:00 ship time to be among the first to see the fuss hidden behind door number two,” she answered and I set a reminder in my datapad.

“I’ll see you then!” I said happily and then turned my attention to the basket of meal packs. And all excitement drained from my body as I looked over the options.

I selected beef lasagna flavor and was rewarded with overly-salty & sweetened cardboard paste, with lumps of something that were too small to chew but large enough to get caught in my throat. Perhaps this was a trick to get someone to hydrate while eating MRP as I had to alternate between taking a long pull of the paste followed by a large sip of water to wash things down. Unlike most humans who grabbed their meal packs and left, I found a quiet corner in the galley to consume my underwhelming meal.

I returned to Engineering where our assignment was cleaning and organizing the department. As the afternoon went on, there was no mistaking when the ship entered the stellar nursery. 

One moment, everything was cool and normal. A few minutes later, we all felt the wall of heat slam into us. Most of my fellow crew started to sweat. A few pinched the fronts of their shirts and rapidly pulled the shirt forward and back to try to fan some air under the fabric. I was glad I had agreed to shave my fur into the poodle cut, because without it I would have just collapsed into an overcooked heap. With the fur reduction, I thankfully only felt slightly warm.

“All right, everyone,” Rosa called out shortly after the heat wave hit. “Let’s take a break to grab a drink. We’ll all relax and take a moment to get used to our new normal.”

While humans need to drink more water in the heat, my kind actually needs less. In fact, when faced with extended heat our bodies expect us to lose some water the old-fashioned way.

In my opinion, it comes down to physics. When hot, heat makes our blood expand. Hence, we need less water in it! Ignore those pesky biologists and “facts” such as how our bodies maintain a constant temperature like most sapients, so blood won’t get thinner or thicker in response to outside temperature changes. My answer follows the Laws of Thermodynamics, so how could it be wrong?

“I’ve got to make a quick run to the refresher,” I said simply as everyone gathered around Rosa with drinks. 

“Sudden urge to lighten your load?” James said with a smirk, because someone in the room had to follow the Laws of Human Dynamics and make a potty joke.

One quick trip to the refresher completed and a communal break taken, we returned to cleaning Engineering. At first, everyone moved a bit slower than normal but after an hour or so we all adjusted to the new warmth and got back to regular work speed. 

“Team!” Rosa called out around 15:40 ship time. “Things look good. Let’s call it a day. Go grab dinner at your leisure in the new galley.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” James mumbled, which made everyone in earshot nod with agreement.

We all quickly made for the door with people debating if they wanted to head straight to the new galley or take some time to relax in their quarters first. Since I had an appointment with The Ursa Minor Tank Brigade, I quickly made my way towards Shuttle Bay Two to meet up with them. 

As I went, I noticed more traffic seemed to be heading in that direction than others. Overall, the halls weren’t that busy. I figured the curiosity factor with the extended hours might drive a few people to check things out early, but I significantly underestimated the power of a shuttle bay shrouded in mystery.

Rounding the final corner, I halted as I found the hallway packed. It turns out that Rosa had kept us late compared to most other departments, so we were behind everybody else. Quite literally, it turned out.

“Over here, Haasha!” Janice called out as she spotted me and stepped out of the line. 

“Tank Brigade mascot duties?” someone mused as I jogged down to meet up with Janice.

I simply responded with a friendly wave behind me, and that was the only comment anyone made as I moved up. Honestly, it wasn’t like I was cutting much in line. The Tank Brigade was gathered about a third of the way from the end of the line. 

“Your chariot awaits,” Janice said with a smile as she crouched down to let me get up on her shoulders. Once I was up riding piggyback, she shifted back into line and we started chatting with the other members of the Brigade while we waited.

Promptly at 16:00, the doors opened and there was an excited cheer from the people at the front of the line. This turned into a chorus of happy exclamations and whistles as people reached the shuttle bay entry, creating a buzz of excitement that rippled down the line.

Thankfully, things moved quickly and being towards the back of the line meant only a few minutes of anticipation before we got to the doors. And once we got to the doors?

Janice ducked a little to be sure I didn’t bump my head on the top of the door frame, but once through her feelings were made clear.

“Woohoo!” she screamed out and walked forward. Up on her shoulders, I got a better view and what we found left me speechless. 

Just inside the door was a ramp that led up to a raised platform spanning nearly the entire shuttle bay. For most of the raised area, there was a sea of sand. However, it seemed to be cordoned off into sections. There was also a huge pool where our Red Cross ship was usually parked. 

The officers had heard the complaints about the sand not being a proper beach on our last exploration, and they responded by giving the crew a full-service beach experience to help beat the heat. I scanned and read the banners for each designated section of the beach.

First was simply noted as The Medical Tent, which was indeed a room-sized white tent with a red cross on the side. Sitting just outside in a lounge chair was Doctor Franklin in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts.

Next was The Food Court, which featured rows of picnic benches and a large buffet.

From there, each subdivision had more flair in labeling. 

Sandcastle Realty - Reserve your plot now for sculptural and architectural delights!

The Tide Pool - Where desires for wading, splashing, and swimming come true.

I would later learn that the water filtration system I set up was needed for the half-Olympic sized pool. The water was indeed from the backup supply that Jarl and I had mined on the moon some time ago. I could pat myself on the back for that guess, yet I never imagined this is how it would be used for humans to deal with the heat. It was also a shocking reminder of just how much water a ship like the TEV Ursa Minor needs for backup.

For some reason two planks were set up at one end of the pool. Perhaps this was a nod towards our history as the Dread Pirates Engi-nerd? Would naughty crew actually be sentenced to walk a plank?

Hot Sands Volleyball Tournament hung above a table where a number of crew were lined up to sign up.

Strangely, there were nets on poles in that section. My previous experience suggested humans have a thing for balls, but basketball, mini-golf, and skeeball all involved trying to get balls into holes. I wasn’t sure how a net figured into things, and I didn’t see any holes dug in that section of the beach.

Finally there was Just Beachy Layabout & Lounge, a section with rows of lounge chairs. In the center was a manned drink station. I’d have to ask someone why all the glasses had little umbrellas in them.

“Tank Brigade, fall in!” Janice called out with authority when she got to the top of the ramp. “We need to vote on food or fun first.”

Captain Victor was standing nearby as I looked over the scene and The Tank Brigade began to debate what to do and where to go first.

I was shocked at the sight. First was the realization of just how much sand we had collected on the last planet. The mining company had hired us to obtain enough for them to test-process on an industrial scale, which evidently meant we had enough to turn our shuttle bay into a beach. It intellectually made sense yet also blew my mind seeing it spread out like this. Rational sapients wouldn't even consider doing this, but humans did. More importantly, it brought up a significant concern.

“Won’t we get in trouble for using the sand like this?” I asked the captain.

“The contract with the mining company clearly specifies the quantity and delivery date of sand from our last exploration,” he responded with a bright smile. “There’s nothing in the agreement that prohibits us from delivering it in slightly used condition.”

________

It’s hot. You’ve got lots of sand and a sizable backup water supply. Whatcha think hoomans gonna do?

Next episode - someone in the comments section of a previous escapade will learn anything you say can and will be used in the Haasha Universe. And no, this one doesn’t involve pineapple or other fruits.

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“Get back here, you devil poodle!” Jarl roared out at me.

I might have been running away at a full sprint with his pants and shirt clutched firmly against my chest.

“Not a chance!” I called back. After all, I was just doing my assigned job. 

According to what I was told later, I made a satisfyingly pink streak as I bolted the 10 meters to my seat next to the officers and sat down with a smirk. Jarl glared at me from the makeshift changing booth that had been set up as the center of attention in the shuttle bay. Lacking pants and a shirt, all he could do was pop his head out and give me a dirty look while the assembled crew burst out in laughter.

My recent poodle-cut makeover for the incoming internal heat wave on the ship had made a few waves. While I was getting very positive feedback for my poodle cut, the majority of the crew was still feeling glum about the impending high temperatures. The officers making it clear that all uniform standards would be suspended didn’t make much of a dent in the grumpy mood. Even the idea that you could wear swimwear, shorts, or pretty much anything short of a thong didn’t make people much happier.

As a result, Auggie and Captain Victor were trying to make an old human phrase a reality. Let’s take that frown and turn it upside down!

They organized a contest for the crew to select the daily wear of the officers for the duration of the mission. A crew morale booster which, in Jarl’s obvious opinion, had just taken a wrong turn.

In accordance with the rules, he had stepped into the changing booth. He had removed his clothes and hung them on a coat rack just outside the booth. He then was allowed to open the box that contained his new “uniforms” for the duration of the stellar nursery mission. Rather than accept his fate, he made a grab for his old clothes and I had to step in to ensure they were out of reach.

“Sorry, Jarl,” Captain Victor called out from the seat next to me. “You’re well aware of the rules. What the crew selected is what you’ll be wearing. If I have to look like this, you’ll look like whatever doom has been selected for you.”

“Fine,” Jarl said flatly before pulling his head back into the changing booth.

The captain was sitting in shimmering silver shorts with red trim on the bottom, and a matching shiny silver shirt with the same red trim on the sleeves and collar. It looked ridiculous and when he had stepped out from the changing booth he clearly had a hard time keeping a straight face. Most of the crew likely guessed that he was incredibly displeased with his new wardrobe and had tried to put a brave face on it.

My sprinting speed made me the official old clothing removal agent in case any officer tried to chicken out. As such, I got to sit up on stage and overhear the conversation between the officers.

After his turn in the changing booth, the captain’s face had been contorted and he kept his lips firmly shut. He made his way with stiff steps to the officer seating area on the stage and sat down while never once looking at the crew. Everyone had been thoroughly entertained by his reaction, even if they didn’t know how he truly felt. His face was priceless.

“I’m trying not to burst out laughing,” the captain had said after turning away so the crew wouldn’t see his face or hear what he was saying. “I know they think this is a punishment, but this is fantastic. I look like a space hero in a bad B-movie from the early days of cinema. I’m going to have a hard time not grabbing a banana to carry around as a makeshift ray gun, or resist the urge to randomly burst out dancing. It’s a good look for disco music!”

“So, you think you can dance in that?” I asked cheekily.

“Oh, definitely,” he responded quickly. “The material is actually very light and breathable, so I could certainly shake my tail in this. I might even give your tail a run for its money.”

At that, I was reminded of a human phrase. James and Lynn had gotten into a friendly argument once and decided to settle it with a thumb war. 

“One, two, three, four… I declare a dance war?” I whispered my challenge to the captain with a smirk.

“I’ve got to keep up appearances to boost morale,” he responded while looking at me thoughtfully. “I have to be publicly grumpy about these clothes and can’t admit I’m truly amused by them. How about this - you promise to keep quiet about my true thoughts on these shiny duds, and I’ll accept your challenge at a later date.”

I looked up at the captain with surprise. I had been joking.

“One condition - small venue, not a big crowd,” he clarified. “And promise you’ll go easy on me. I have a reputation to maintain."

“You’re on!” I answered quickly. I’ve only really seen the captain in professional settings, and I was excited and curious to see what he would be like in a more private setting. That would be worth it, even if I did need to go easy on the tailwork to give him a fighting chance.

Unlike the captain, I got the feeling that what Jarl was sentenced to wear wasn’t anything he wanted to be caught dead in. Like all the other officers, he had a choice of three outfits he could step out in. He could choose which one to debut at today’s fashion show, but the other two would be his only authorized alternate clothing until the end of the mission.

The captain got three metallic outfits of shimmering shorts and short sleeve shirts. The silver which he was wearing, a gold, and finally a copper. All had the red trim.

Susan? Polka dot sun dresses in hideous color combinations. Pale yellow with lime green dots, bright blue with red dots, and finally light purple with tan dots. She debuted the yellow with lime green dots, then declared with a mischievous grin that she would wear the blue and red one at the next science staff meeting. This elicited groans.

“To human eyes, the blue dress with red polka dots visually clashes the worst of the three,” Susan whispered to me when she noticed my confusion. “They chose these dresses, but forgot they must stare at me as I bore them to death at staff meetings.”

Chief Engineer Rosa got one-piece swimsuits, although her wardrobe seemed to reflect that the crew both feared and respected her. The first two were bee suits. One used the traditional black and gold of the insect, while the second used brown and yellow with larger stripes to mimic the style used in some human children’s books. The final swimsuit was all black, but with much sharper and more V-shaped white stripes on the rear. I was told this was inspired by the bald-faced hornet rather than honeybees.

To complete the look, the crew had provided a set of antennae for her to wear on her head. Knowing that Rosa hates anything that isn’t useful, each antennae had a bright work light. Overall, she was rather pleased with what the crew had chosen and was currently distracted trying to determine the optimal configuration for the antennae to both look insect-like and focus their lights most effectively.

Auggie got a set of three striped swimsuits in what I was told was 1920’s style. To me they looked like knee length shorts with sleeveless shirts, both with the same thin horizontal stripes. His options were white with pink, white with light blue, or white with black stripes. He went with the black and white theme.

Jarl? The crew had saved the best for last.

As a big muscular guy, he got spandex strongman onesies inspired by Terran professional wrestlers. The style was based on ones worn by Andre the Giant, The Big Show, and their spiritual successors including The Iron Giant, The Man, and The Ivory Tower. I’m pretty sure those tough guys wouldn’t have been caught dead in what the crew chose for Jarl.

Jarl had three options to choose from, all cat themed. First, light pink with bright blue tiger stripes. Second, an orange and yellow tabby cat motif. Yet he chose door number three! 

Everybody cheered loudly as Jarl stepped out of the changing booth in his new bright neon green leopard print onesie.

“Don’t worry about getting a good look now,” he had told the crowd as he tried to scoot over to the officer seats. “You’ll all get to see it regularly over the next week or two.”

“He still needs to walk the plank!” somebody yelled out.

This began a chant of, “Jarl! Jarl! Jarl”

The captain simply shrugged apologetically and pointed at the raised platform where Jarl would be expected to strut his stuff. This was a mandatory officer fashion show, after all. 

Jarl glared daggers at the captain, took a deep breath, and paced meaningfully to the platform. His face was a shade of pink that was darker than my fur. Not quite complete embarrassment, but the crew clothing designers had gotten close. After walking to the end, he put his arms out and spun.

The less said about the spin, the better. He stopped after only getting to about 120 degrees of rotation. Realizing his mistake, he did a little hop to make it a full 180 and try to hide his lack of spin control. He marched back to the end of the platform and all the other officers stood up and moved over to join him. 

They made a line and gave the crew a bow in their new clothes, thus ending the officers’ fashion reveal.

“Allright, folks!” Captain Victor called out. “You’ve given us our makeovers. Now we want to see yours! Rosa has an extra fabricator set up for people to make custom clothing. If you’d like to use it, talk to Haasha as she’ll be in charge of it.”

“Wait, what?” I said as my face snapped up and I stared dumbly at the captain from my chair.

“I’m making sure you’ll be a busy little bee,” Rosa said to me with a smirk, which got a laugh from the crew.

Humans seem to band together and head in one direction at times. Prior to the officer makeover challenge, the crew had been running to jump off the cliff of disgruntlement. After the fashion show for the officers, they seemed to take the impending heat as a fashion challenge rather than the fall of civilization. There was a flurry of discussion and activity as everyone started to work on their own choices. It became a display of personal expression, and I found myself incredibly busy over the next three days running the fabricator for crew that wanted something special in their wardrobe. 

As a side note, I had to question Rosa assigning me to run the fabricator. As a strictly clothing-optional sapient, none of this stuff made much sense to me. I quickly received an education in human warm weather wear, but more from the bottom up. 

Most crew had standard shoes or work boots, yet for warm weather this seemed unacceptable. Nearly my entire first day on the fabricator was spent making new footwear. Thankfully, I got a lot of assistance as most people purchased the designs and then only had to customize the colors with me. While I had been aware of flip-flops from seeing them worn to the refresher in the morning by some of the women on board, I didn’t realize those would be a common choice. That said, most people selected other types such as mesh “water shoes”, sandals, and even some flexible plastic clogs with lots of holes all over.

I couldn’t quite understand why these would be ideal options, so I ended up asking about them in the refresher the next morning.

“Why do humans have such different footwear for warm temperatures? It seems most options lack ankle support and wouldn’t be the most comfortable for a long day at work,” I had asked.

“Do your feet sweat?” Katie asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Girls!” she then called out. “Can I get some wet bath towels for demonstration purposes?”

A few bath towels were thrown in her direction, which she caught deftly and then looked at me expectantly.

“Lift up your feet and stand on these two towels,” she ordered.

I complied, and then she quickly wrapped and tied the towels around my ankles to create makeshift shoes.

“Well this isn’t the most comfortable,” I said while grimacing. It wasn’t just that the towels didn’t exactly make for a quality foot covering, they were damp and oogy.

“Most people’s feet sweat a lot normally,” Katie explained calmly. “It’s why our shoes often stink so much. Add in warm weather, and our mobile bacterial stink factories go into overdrive. And, as you’re experiencing, it isn’t nice to walk around in squishy.”

“This is.. Ugh,” I commented with my nose wrinkled as I took a quick lap around the refresher in my towel-shoes. I wondered if this is what it really felt like to have sweaty feet, yet the looks from the other women in the refresher were thoughtful and appraising.

“Wet bath towels don’t have anything on the insoles of my shoes after a hard day moving cargo, and that’s without hot temps,” Juanita responded with a raised eyebrow. 

“And now you know why we want ventilated shoes!” Katie said proudly and headed out the door. She then poked her head back in the refresher to say one more thing before disappearing. “Oh. That reminds me. I need you to make me a few pairs of no-show socks. Thanks!”

“No show…” I mumbled in confusion as Katie was now gone. 

This wasn’t the first time I was asked to fab something I had no conception of, and it wouldn’t be the last. My stint in the laundry room had given me a crash course in matching socks, but not the names of all the different styles.

Juanita let out a chuckle before introducing me to the world of socks.

“Just so you know, crew socks aren’t special designs made for the crew of this vessel,” she began before giving me a quick education, one complete with using a steamy mirror to draw outlines and examples.

For the record, Katie had ordered a pair of the bright blue plastic clog things. Now with white no-show socks. That will totally show through all the holes. Is there a human out there that can explain this to me?

Moving to apparel above the sock line, swimming trunks, board shorts, cargo shorts, and various styles of athletic shorts seemed popular with the guys. Again, my crew often needed to explain exactly what the different styles were before I could make them.

As Rosa put it, my motto as a furred individual is, “Non-clothus understandus.” She then promised to make that into a sign to put on my desk to point to, but got distracted by official duties. As amusing as the thought was, I also didn’t think my temporary fabrication office really needed a motto. The smart people provided designs bought from GalNet to avoid confusing me. 

Women embraced all of the concepts the men ordered, but also seemed inclined to add in things like bikinis with lightweight long shirts to wear over them and a variety of dresses.

“I’ve seen a number of people choose solid color dresses, but none asked for black or red. Yet those both seem to be popular human colors. Why is that?” I had asked Lynn after my second day running the fabricator for my fellow crew.

“Well, the little black dress is more of a dating outfit. Red dresses also tend to be more ‘fancy night out’ or dating,” Lynn had explained. “Not so appropriate for the workplace.”

All these little rules for clothing, and none of it made much sense to me. After all, my kind tends more towards simpler concerns and asking, “Did you remember to brush your fur so it doesn’t look like you just rolled out of bed?” I found myself making a list of fashion choices I’d have to ask about later. 

There were a few common requests that my crewmates just took for granted more than others. These were the ones that made me regret not getting that motto printed, but I had my doubts it would have been effective. After all, I’ve been working with humans long enough to know just how good they are at ignoring signs and posted instructions. Two common requests in particular stood out, one for its simplicity and one for its confusing nature.

“Can you make me some Hawaiian shirts?”

“Oh, nothing special. I just need a few tank tops; let me know when they’re ready!”

The first wasn’t all that difficult. A quick GalNet search came up with plenty of options for the floral print shirt. The only rule seemed to be that they shouldn’t be matching, so everyone got unique patterns for each shirt. The second?

I looked up tanks as I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant to humans. For me, a tank was just a storage device with different types for water, fuel, or pressurized gas. Interestingly enough, my image search showed that humans seem to be particularly attached to two different types of tanks. Old above ground water tanks on frames and military artillery tanks. I wasn’t quite sure which tank tops referred to, so I asked Susan after making a few mock-ups.

The first was an ocean blue t-shirt with a white water tank on it. The second was a tan t-shirt with an olive-green military tank featured as that seemed to be a classic Terran military color combination. Thankfully, Susan had some good advice.

“I’ll take a water tower shirt as that’ll be a fun conversation piece even though it isn’t quite correct,” she began gently.

“Let me guess; this is more of a military appreciation thing and the military tank one is right?” I responded quickly. She simply smiled and I saw a twinkle in her eye.

“If you’re doing tank tops, the design should be sleeveless. Don’t ask, it’s just the style. Thinner top straps for women, thicker for guys. Again, that’s the classic style,” she explained. “Also, you chose a modern hovertank with a laser cannon. We humans prefer the classics. Look up a Sherman tank and then make the shirts and tanks different colors. Be creative! I’m sure people will enjoy them.”

And so I made proper tank tops! Sleeveless shirts in various color combinations. Navy blue with yellow tank, red with pink tank, olive green with a tan tank, and so on. When crewmembers came to pick up their shirts, the reaction seemed to be pretty universal. Janice was the first and set the tone.

“Haasha, what are…” she started as she looked at the stack of shirts and then at me strangely. 

She then unfolded the top shirt and held it up in front of her. Her top shirt was one in light blue with a white tank on it, using navy blue ink to draw the lines of the Sherman tank. From Janice’s reaction, I worried I had gotten it wrong.

Her eyes widened for a moment, then she put the shirt down and quickly looked at the rest to see the different color combinations of tank tops I had made for her.

“Oh, wow. These are perfect!” she then declared, gave me a hearty hug, and left with a bounce in her step. 

Everyone else that ordered tank tops had pretty much the same reaction. Initial confusion, then satisfaction and offering a hearty scritch or hug before running off excitedly with their new shirts. 

Many sapients have heard that humans bond over anything. Sometimes it’s over a sports team. Other times it’s over a shared hobby or being a member of a crew or the same organization. What is most astounding is how quickly humans bond over the littlest things.

Everyone who got my tank tops banded together, declared themselves ‘The Ursa Minor Tank Brigade’, and started sitting together for meals. Since my kind can’t roll our eyes, I did the next best thing and curled my tail appropriately when I saw them sitting together.

Like I said. Humans will bond over anything, including clothing. And it wasn’t like they were wearing anything special. Just plain tank tops.

________

We've seen Designs by Tac-1, and now some Designs by Haasha! I hope you enjoyed. Any thoughts on other bits of clothing that could ruffle her fur with confusion or irritation? And a thanks to the comments section on the last episode to help Jarl know exactly what to yell out as Haasha ran off with his clothes.

Amusingly enough, I actually looked up a photo of a Sherman tank and was tempted to turn it into a drawing to make tank tops. Then I remembered that I fail at stick figure theater. But I'm still tempted.