I was reviewing the data streams from the erupting conflict between the humans and the Halaxians. As the Council’s Chief Analyst, it was my grim duty to estimate casualties and brief the ministers. The war had begun with an intensity that defied our projections. Even though we had "expected the unexpected" from the humans - this being their first interstellar conflict since joining the Council - the sheer velocity of their initial strike was breathtaking.

Or, it was breathtaking for three hours.

After that, according to our deep-space sensors, all activity simply... ceased. Only twenty-four hours had passed since the first shot. I paced my office, weighing the possibilities. Had one side suffered such catastrophic losses that they were forced into a total retreat? A logistical collapse? A communications blackout?

The Halaxians, being veteran members of the Council, followed protocol and submitted their initial battle report promptly. The data was staggering. They reported devastating losses and confirmed the total cessation of hostilities after roughly 190 minutes. Curiously, they noted it wasn't their side that had stopped. Despite making massive territorial gains in record time, the humans had simply frozen in place.

A sharp ping echoed through the chamber. A meeting request. The sender: Mr. Smith, the Human Ambassador.

We had hoped for a diplomatic resolution eventually, but to see a request this soon - especially from the side that held the undisputed tactical advantage - was unheard of. Perhaps their rapid advancement had come at a cost they couldn't sustain?

Mr. Smith stood before the Council with a posture that was confident yet burdened. Even through the cultural gap, I could see the sorrow etched into his face. Their losses must have been truly horrific.

“How may the Council assist you, Mr. Smith?” I asked, leaning forward.

“I am here to announce that humanity is seeking an immediate diplomatic solution,” Smith said, his voice clipped and formal. “We ceased all military operations yesterday.”

“You realize,” I countered, “that the Halaxians are under no obligation to honor a unilateral ceasefire until a formal treaty is signed? They are free to take any military action they deem-”

“You misunderstand,” Smith interjected. “We have already withdrawn every combat unit from the three contested sectors. They are empty.”

The chamber fell into a stunned silence. To abandon conquered territory so abruptly... they must have been decimated.

“I acknowledge your request,” I said finally, my mind racing. “But I must ask: why? Why stop when victory was within your grasp?”

“Because they are people!” Smith cried, his composure momentarily breaking.

I blinked, confused. “You only just realized the Halaxians are a sentient species?”

Smith took a shaky breath and locked eyes with me. “Did you read the revised Geneva Conventions we submitted to your archives before the war began?”

“Of course not,” I replied, nearly scoffing. “Why would we need 'rules' for a war? The concept is a paradox.”

“Sigh. So many lives might have been saved if you’d just skimmed the preamble,” Smith muttered, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and grief.

He paused to steady his breathing.

“Nearly a thousand years ago, humanity began removing itself from the line of fire. It started with surveillance drones. Then came the remote bombers, then the autonomous armored divisions. In less than a century, combat was managed by machines instead of men. By the end of the twenty-second century, it was considered a war crime to place a human being on a battlefield. By 2244, we even banned sentient AI from direct combat to preserve 'digital life.'”

I frowned, struggling to see the relevance of this history lesson.

“Yesterday,” Smith continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, “our strategic analyzers were reviewing footage of the initial breakthrough. They were trying to understand why our units were advancing so much faster than the simulations predicted. They spotted... red stains on the hull of a drone. Biological splatter.”

He looked at the Council members, who sat in rapt silence.

“Our AI was so confused by the presence of organic matter that it took nineteen seconds to process the data. When we looked at the rest of the footage, the truth became clear: our opponent doesn't use drones. They don't use remote interfaces. They use themselves.”

He looked down at his hands.

“We didn't know we were fighting people. We thought we were just clearing out hardware.”

I tried to grasp the scale of the misunderstanding. If there were no humans on the battlefield, then...

“Are you saying...” I started, my voice trailing off.

“Yes,” Smith said, a single tear tracking down his cheek. “The human casualty count is zero. We haven't lost a single soul. We’ve just realized we’ve been committing a massacre for three hours.”

---

Wiki

---

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Klaxons blared throughout the bunker: a new ship had warped into the system. The battle above the system's only life-bearing planet had been going on for two weeks, so the sound of an alarm was nothing new.

But this time, it was different. The ship that had just arrived was larger than any ship any Maldon had ever seen. It was easily ten kilometers long, but the most alarming thing about this ship was not its size, but the utter lack of weapons on its surface. There was only a single dip on one side of the otherwise smooth surface.

This dip is what the ship turned towards the largest Maldon ship. A few seconds later, sensors registered massive energy spikes. A moment after that, a huge plasma ball formed inside the depression. Then, that already huge plasma ball started to grow - when it reached about one kilometer in diameter, it suddenly launched towards the Maldon fleet with incredible speed. A second later, the largest ship the Maldon had ever built was no more. Not even debris was left behind - just a slowly cooling cloud of hot gas.

In the bunker, the President of the United Planets of Maldon looked at the screen showing the remnants of the jewel of their armada. The entire incident took less than a minute, and he still couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.

“Send out an emergency signal,” he said finally to the communications officer.

“But sir, you know that it’s against the Constitution to ask for help from aliens!” Meldvig protested immediately.

“I’m well aware of that,” the President replied quietly, staring at the empty display. “But if we don’t ask for help, I don’t think there will be any Maldon left alive for the Constitution to matter.”

There was dead silence for a couple of seconds before the communications officer nodded and pressed a series of keys on his console.

---

Seven light-years away, in the quiet observation lounge of a solitary human patrol ship, a loud chime interrupted Captain Catherine Jennypath’s third attempt to solve a cross-dimensional crossword puzzle.

“Report,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Priority distress signal received, Captain,” said the communications officer. “It’s text only; it says the planet is under attack by an armada capable of destroying ships with a single shot. They speculate it possesses planet-cracking offensive capabilities.”

The captain’s eyes lit up. She sat upright, practically dropping her stylus.

“A planet-cracker? A real one? Not just another high-yield mining laser?”

“According to their data, it is a hyper-dense plasma weapon, ma'am. It sounds like a genuine threat.”

A wide, hopeful smile spread across Catherine’s face. “Finally! A worthy opponent! How long to get there?”

“Seven light-years... call it seven seconds, Captain.”

“Perfect. Prepare for jump.”

---

In the bunker, a new alarm sounded: another ship. This time, it was a tiny vessel - maybe some kind of shuttle. Definitely not the rescue armada the President had hoped for.

“They didn’t send a fleet,” the President groaned, burying his face in his hands. “They sent a scout.”

In the meantime, the giant ship started to build up energy again, targeting the largest ship in the remaining Maldon armada, completely ignoring the newcomer.

The new ship, instead of trying to escape, moved towards the giant. And it moved fast. By the time the giant plasma ball appeared, the tiny shuttle was sitting directly between the leviathan and its target.

When the plasma ball was finally released, the few people in the bunker followed its trajectory closely, fully expecting the newcomer to be atomized without even slowing the projectile down.

But that is not what happened. The giant plasma ball engulfed the tiny ship - and then the plasma simply vanished, leaving the small shuttle hovering in place, entirely unharmed.

---

On the human ship, the Captain looked out the viewscreen with an expression of profound disappointment.

“Is that all? We actually powered up our shield for that?”

“Maybe the next shot’s going to be better,” said the communications officer hopefully. “Maybe this was just a calibration test.”

“Okay,” sighed the Captain, leaning back. “Let's wait for the next shot.”

Out in orbit, the giant ship locked onto the shuttle, starting another plasma ball almost immediately. This time, the sphere grew larger and larger, until it was almost the size of the giant ship itself, crackling with unstable violet energy before discharging toward the unmoving shuttle.

“Ahhh, now we’re talking,” Catherine said, her eyes widening with sudden excitement. “That looks like an appropriate plasma ball for a birthday party!”

When the massive sphere reached the tiny ship, the previous scene repeated itself: the plasma engulfed the shuttle, then dissipated into space.

Total silence reigned on the human bridge for a couple of seconds.

“Well... at least it had better colors,” the communications officer offered gently. “I especially liked the purple edges.”

“Still a disappointment,” Catherine sighed, slumping in her seat. “Maybe this wasn't the ship they were referring to as a planet-cracker. Our shields didn’t even dip - it’s still at 100%. Let’s end this and ask for directions to the real threat.”

The tiny ship discharged a single shot - a small tungsten slug that passed through the giant ship’s shields, hull, and internal power grid without resistance. A split-second later, the ten-kilometer monster exploded into a silent, expanding ring of harmless cosmic dust.

---

Nobody moved in the bunker. Or in the alien armada facing them in orbit.

A loud ping came from the communications officer’s console.

“Incoming transmission, sir,” he announced, his voice trembling. “From... 'that' ship.”

“On screen.”

A human woman appeared on the viewscreen in a neat uniform.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Captain Catherine Jennypath of the UES Saitama.”

She looked visibly disappointed, almost sad.

“Was that ship the one destroying your armada? Was that the reason you sent the emergency signal?” she asked finally.

“Y-yes, madam,” answered the President after a long silence.

“Damn, I kinda had my hopes up. But it was lame,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Anyway... do you need help arranging a diplomatic solution?”

---

Wiki

---

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I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

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General Grazly was skimming through the report the advisor had just given him.

“Am I reading this right, Advisor? Are they really using laser weapons?” His voice was totally disbelieving.

“Yes, General,” came the immediate answer, “and pretty low power too. From this distance, it is hard to get an accurate result, but we estimate the laser at between one and two kilowatts.”

“What? That’s not enough to penetrate our navigational shields! Are you saying these…” he glanced at the tablet, “… humans are so backward that they use low-power laser weapons?”

“Yes, General.”

“And what about their shields?” came the next question.

“We didn’t detect any shields, General,” came the even stranger answer.

The General just stared at his advisor for several long seconds in total disbelief.

“And they are fighting with other humans? Is that a territorial dispute or something?”

“We do not know, sir. But it appears to be.”

“How is it going? Casualties?”

“We didn’t see any damaged ships yet, which is not surprising with the low power they are using. But they are moving with extreme speed - we've even seen in-system warp jumps!”

“So, they are using lasers, which wouldn’t be enough to cut thin steel, but using advanced maneuvers and even in-system warp jumps. These humans are weird,” came the conclusion from the General.

He read the rest of the report in silence. They are fighting in an asteroid belt with one big asteroid near them. Perfect opportunity to sneak up on them from behind it. Finally, he asked one more question:

“Is there any reason we shouldn’t start an invasion against them?”

“No, General.”

---

Just a few hours later, the General’s armada moved out of the shadow of the large asteroid to surprise the fighting parties. Not that it was necessary based on their firepower, but you shouldn’t miss a dramatic entrance when you have the opportunity. When he jumped in with his one hundred and thirty-seven ships, all activity stopped in the system. Everyone was looking at the new armada.

General Grazly waited a few minutes just to let the humans scan his ships and realize they don’t use laser weapons.

After the wait, he opened a channel to both parties and sent an ultimatum.

“Humans in this system: surrender or die. My name is General Grazly, and I declare humanity a vassal species of the great Krox Hegemony.”

Silence. No response from either side for minutes. Then, one side opened a channel.

“Ehhhmm, my name is Peter Smith. And I’m the president of the Orion LARP group. Not sure why you directed your message towards us. We are just reenacting the Titan battle of the Unification War of 2286. Which, by the way, I was winning before you interrupted,” came the awkward and somewhat irritated reply, finally.

“What do you mean? I directed it towards you because you are the protector of this system.”

The General started to be pretty agitated - what are these humans even talking about? What does LARP even mean?

“Ehhhmm, that’s not us. You should talk to the UES Behemoth instead.”

Okay, that made even less sense.

“Who’s the UES Behemoth?”

“Not who - it’s a ship. And that’s the one behind you,” came the answer from Smith.

What? There were no other ships in this system. They scanned. Twice. Only them and the fighting parties.

This is when klaxons sounded around the bridge.

“Energy signature detected.”

“Weapons are detected.”

“WEAPONS LOCK!”

Where did this ship come from? How can they ambush without detection? But surely, a single ship is no match against one hundred and thirty-seven ships.

“Put the new ship on display,” ordered the General.

The screen flickered and switched from the battle to the large asteroid they just used as cover not thirty minutes ago.

“I don’t see a ship,” Grazly snapped, gesturing wildly at the display. “I see the asteroid! The one with the grey dust and the giant impact craters! Magnify!”

The viewscreen zoomed in. The jagged, pitted surface filled the screen.

“Sir…” the sensor technician whispered, his voice trembling. “The asteroid is the power source.”

Grazly froze. He leaned in, staring closely at the magnification.

The "grey dust" wasn't regolith - it was dull, non-reflective stealth plating. The "impact craters" weren't from meteorites - they were armored turret wells. Some of them were bigger than his own ship! And right before his eyes, massive planetary-grade barrels inside those craters were slowly, smoothly elevating, locking directly onto the Hegemony flagship.

The bridge comms chimed with a crisp, polite ping. A calm, deeply bored voice broadcast across all channels:

“Attention Hegemony armada. This is the United Earth Defense Force dreadnought Behemoth. You are currently obstructing a registered historical reenactment zone. Please clear the airspace immediately, or we will be forced to use you as target practice. You have five seconds.”

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

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Another week passed in a blur of dust, noise, and orbital shuttle deliveries. The extra resources and human heavy-rigs didn't just help - they transformed the sector into a massive construction site.

The first apartment buildings were coming up nicely, while the design of the first hospital block was being finalized. John was overseeing all this, but he mostly let Rmley handle the coordination with as little interference as possible.

Today, he arrived early to see how everything was going in the office. When he arrived, he noticed a Halxy woman sitting uncomfortably in the reception area.

“Hello there,” he decided to ask, based on his experience with the ex-slaves so far. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, master,” came the immediate and obviously false answer. She was visibly afraid of John, who was trying to be as friendly as possible.

“I’m not your master, and I can tell you are uncomfortable. Can I help you?” John had gotten used to always correcting them, and while he certainly felt the habit was getting annoying, he tried not to show it.

“I’m…” The woman hesitated. Telling a master she was uncomfortable in any way was a sure way of being punished, but… “I really need to pee,” she finally blurted out.

“Why didn’t you just go to the restroom?” John was confused - this hadn’t happened over the last two weeks.

“Nobody was here to replace me, and I was told I needed to be here for my entire shift,” came the answer.

“I’m certain you can take a bathroom break. I’m giving you permission and will even mind the desk while you are away. Is that okay?”

“Thank you, master.”

“I have one condition, though,” John continued. “You must not call me master.”

“Yes, m…” She almost said it again, but stopped herself. “Okay,” she said finally.

She jumped up and practically ran toward the toilets. John was a little annoyed when he realized that she was running toward the “slave” toilet while there was a “master” toilet much closer. He made a mental note to remove those old labels from the doors immediately.

He was still standing at the reception desk when Rmley arrived. Rmley was still wearing a human suit, but at least he had dropped the tie - it had looked awful on him and was extremely uncomfortable. And after a week of working together all day, he had finally stopped calling John “master,” which made John happier than he thought it would.

“Good morning, Mr. Porter,” Rmley said. “Why are you standing at the reception desk? And why is it unattended?”

“The receptionist had to step out for a few minutes, and while she’s gone, I’m covering the desk. Do you happen to know who her supervisor is? I've never seen her before; is she a new hire?”

“Actually, her supervisor is the woman who was staffing this desk last week. They just hired someone to make the shifts a bit easier.”

“I want to talk to her today. Can you organize that for me?”

“Certainly,” came Rmley’s answer. “Is there a problem I should know about?”

“No problem. I just want to explain a few things to her about how to handle a subordinate. Nothing serious, just a few things.”

---

A few hours later, Vanna was on her way to the office of the Human Overlord because the Governor had let her know that he wanted to see her. She had no doubt that she was going to be punished. She had heard rumors that the new receptionist had an interaction with the Overlord this morning, but nobody knew exactly what had happened. She had asked Zeianna about it, but Zeianna wasn't willing to tell her anything except that the Overlord had let her go to the toilet.

Most probably, it was some kind of test that the receptionist had failed, but Vanna had no way of knowing what the test was or how she should have behaved. This meant she had no chance to pass that same test, so she was going to be punished.

“Ah, you must be the receptionist's supervisor. Thank you for coming on such short notice,” John said in an overly friendly voice when Vanna finally stepped into his office. “Please, take a seat.”

This has to be another test. It was a major infraction to sit in front of a master, but slaves had to always follow orders. So, which rule was it now? Orders must have higher priority; he’s testing if I'm able to follow orders, she concluded.

So she took a seat and answered, “Thank you, master.”

“I’m not your master,” John said automatically. “What is your name?”

This is a test again to see how well I follow orders; I must not use “master” again today.

“My name is Vanna,” she answered finally, spending a few seconds thinking over her response.

The Overlord looked at her intently for a minute, then continued.

“You can relax, Vanna. You are not in trouble,” he said in a reassuring voice.

Is this a test again?

“Zeianna made a mistake this morning, so she must be punished. And as her supervisor, I should be punished too,” Vanna said automatically.

“Nobody made a mistake, and nobody is going to be punished,” came the calm, reassuring answer. “You are here so I can talk to you about how to handle your subordinates. Not to punish you for a mistake.”

He took a deep breath and continued.

“What instruction did you give to the new receptionist this morning? What did you say? Her name is Zeianna, right?”

“I told her how she should greet visitors, how she should handle the phone, and that the reception desk is her workplace,” Vanna answered immediately. The Lords hated to wait for an answer.

“Did you mean that she shouldn’t leave her desk all day?” John asked gently.

“Of course not. If she has to leave for a longer period, she should find somebody to cover the desk while she’s away, like when she leaves for lunch. But for a few minutes, the desk can be unattended.”

“Did you tell her that?” His voice was still gentle, almost friendly.

“I don’t think so, but it should have been obvious to her,” she replied uncertainly.

“Normally, yes. But as a former slave, you should know that ex-slaves take every order literally. You told Zeianna that she should be at that desk for her entire shift, and she took that literally. This morning I had to tell her to take a bathroom break because she didn’t know she could,” his voice was firm, but still friendly.

But surely after this I am going to be punished, right? This was a major mistake on my part, after all!

“I understand, master,” she said in a resolute voice. “What is my punishment going to be?”

“You are not going to be punished. At least not because you gave that order to Zeianna. You just have to be careful with your orders with her and with everybody else until people get used to the fact that they were freed from their Lords.”

So there is going to be a punishment. I was right!

“But you called me master again, after I explicitly told you not to,” John continued with a playful smile. “So, you are going to be punished. And your punishment is that you have to call me by my name from now on.”

He looked straight into Vanna's eyes.

“My name is John Porter. You should call me John.”

Vanna froze. She couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds. She couldn’t call an Overlord by his name, especially his first name! But that was an order, and it was her punishment. What should she do?

It took her more than a minute to finally answer.

“Yes, John,” she said quietly. She flinched as the word left her mouth, bracing her shoulders as if waiting for a physical blow that never came.

---

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---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

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The two armadas had been shooting each other for hours when another ship warped in only a few million kilometers away. Both fleets stopped firing and focused on the new arrival. It was colossal - easily ten times larger than their flagship dreadnoughts. Yet, it did nothing.

Half an hour elapsed in silent uncertainty before the giant vessel began to move. It steered away from the battle, heading directly toward a small, barren moon. Once both sides confirmed the intruder was ignoring them, they resumed tearing each other apart.

The massive ship pulled into orbit around the moon and extended a series of heavy industrial gantries toward the surface. For a long time, nothing happened.

Half an hour later, a message broadcast on all fleet channels: “Stop fighting immediately, or my wrath will destroy you.”

The admirals paused their fight to assess the threat. That was when they noticed the glowing fissures spreading across the moon's surface. The cracks deepened, creeping across the terrain until they encircled the world entirely. With a silent, agonizing slide, the moon sheared into two distinct halves.

A second transmission came through, which both sides answered instantly. The man on the screen repeated his demand. This time, they complied, terrified that the lunatic piloting this apocalyptic superweapon would turn it on their fleets next.

---

Hours later, as the two factions sat at a makeshift peace table inside a sprawling bay on the human ship, the host excused himself.

“Sorry, you two, I really have to take this,” he said, stepping out into the corridor.

---

He tapped his comm pad, connecting to a uniformed naval officer. “Hey, I’m really glad you answered my distress call,” he exhaled.

“I had to stop the shooting before you arrived, and well... this is just a deep-space mining rig. It doesn't have weapons. I had to improvise.” He glanced nervously back toward the conference room door. “Anyway, do you happen to know someone who can fix a cracked moon?”

---

Wiki

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

💙 Donate via PayPal

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The armada of the Floxra Empire hid in the jagged shadows behind Earth’s moon. It was the final phase before total conquest: intelligence gathering, tactical mapping, and target identification.

“We have compiled all required data for the operation, Admiral,” the chief technician said, offering a glass tablet.

“Thank you,” replied Admiral S’nka. He was the most decorated commander in the Floxra Imperial Fleet, and no officer had ever heard him be anything less than impeccably polite.

The tactical report was unambiguous: Earth possessed virtually no orbital defense grid, but its planetary surface forces held terrifying power. Even deploying a quarter of a million elite Floxran troops equipped with state-of-the-art equipment, total victory remained unlikely.

Thus, a surgical strike was ordered. The Floxra would infiltrate the President of Earth's private residence, kidnap him, and force an immediate, unconditional surrender. The plan was detailed, with the exact location of the target, entry points, and timings.

Curiously, the President’s compound was under-defended. No armed sentries, no automated plasma turrets, no high-voltage perimeter grid. Only a silent alarm and a modest wooden fence stood in their way: child's play for elite infiltrators.

Admiral S’nka authorized the strike immediately.

The extraction team dropped under cover of midnight. Dressed in matte-black composite armor, they activated their acoustic dampeners to mask the heavy hydraulic whirring of their power suits, allowing them to advance through the sleeping suburban neighborhood in absolute silence.

They breached the property boundary in seconds. The technician bypassed the alarm almost instantly, and the squad used powered leg servos to clear the perimeter fence in a leap that was rendered completely silent by their suppression fields.

Sensors confirmed two human lifeforms inside the house. Everything was going according to plan.

Max, a German Shepherd with impeccable instincts, snapped awake.

The ground beneath his paws vibrated. It was not the deep, familiar thrum of a passing garbage truck, but a series of sharp, heavy thuds on the front lawn. Simultaneously, a strange, high-pitched whine vibrated in his inner ears, a sound no human could ever hear.

Intruders!

Max was on his feet instantly, trotting toward the fence. His nose flared, flooded with scents he had never encountered before: bitter ozone, scorched rubber, and cold metal. Shadowy figures were moving across his yard.

He launched himself forward, lunging at the lead figure, and as his teeth sank in, sheer joy replaced his anger.

A bite suit!

Max immediately relaxed into work mode. It wasn't a threat; it was a surprise midnight training exercise! His owner hadn't brought out the heavy padded sleeves in months, and Max loved getting praised as a Very Good Boy after a solid session.

This exercise was unusual, though. Usually, there was only one decoy in a bite suit, not seven. Advanced multi-target training, Max decided. Time to show off.

He clamped down with a firm, satisfying bite, gave a strong tug to demonstrate control, and let go to target the next decoy.

Fluffy, a golden retriever whose boundless enthusiasm was matched only by his love for chaos, trotted down the porch steps, yawning. Max let out a sharp, playful boof! and dropped into an eager play-bow.

Fluffy’s tail began whipping like a helicopter blade. Padded humans! He charged in like a furry, golden bowling ball.

While Fluffy happily wrestled three of the padded figures to the grass, Max handled the remaining four. He made sure to exercise some restraint; his teeth accidentally sheared through a chunk of the suit's forearm armor, spilling a strange, glowing blue fluid. Biting through the padding and hurting the trainer was a big no-no.

Some of the trainers used a high-pitched sound occasionally; Max assumed that signaled that he should attack that opponent next. Which he did.

The session lasted a few minutes longer than usual, but eventually, the trainers retreated back over the fence in a frantic, uncoordinated scramble. Max sat proudly on the lawn, panting, satisfied with a job well done.

“Report,” Admiral S’nka requested softly. He remained polite, but his antennae twitched with deep displeasure.

“We were ambushed, Admiral,” the strike leader gasped, clutching a mangled arm unit. “The target compound was guarded by two hyper-aggressive biological weapons! We deployed full-spectrum neurological gas, but the beasts were completely immune. We engaged ultra-frequency sonic weapons, but it only seemed to enrage them further!”

Admiral S’nka stared at the wounded squad. “Are you telling me the humans deploy biological assets capable of shredding imperial composite power armor using only their jaws?”

“Yes, Admiral. Their bite force defies physical law.”

The Admiral sat in silence for several long minutes, contemplating the sheer horror of Earth’s hidden defenses.

“Issue an immediate order for fleet withdrawal,” S’nka said quietly. “If their low-level planetary leadership maintains super-weapons of this caliber without a single warning sign, engaging their primary military is suicidal. Set course for Floxra Prime.”

Below, Max and Fluffy barked happily at the night sky, celebrating their victorious training session.

The commotion finally woke the owner. The back door slid open, and a tired man in a flannel bathrobe stepped out onto the patio.

“Max? Fluffy? What the hell is all that noise?” The man blinked through his glasses, then froze as he saw Max holding a glowing, twisted piece of alien composite armor in his jaws. “Max! What is in your mouth?! What did you catch this time?!”

Max’s ears flattened slightly, the glowing piece of armor sitting awkwardly between his teeth. That didn't sound like "Good boy." What had he done wrong?

Beside the porch, bathed in the dim glow of the streetlamp, a wooden sign on the mailbox clearly read:

EARTH ESTATES HOA - OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT

I just cannot believe everyone was talking about humans. Like, okay, they live on a deathworld. I admit they are kinda strong, fast, have lots of stamina, and so on. But come on, we are the Id’gns, we are the most technologically advanced species in the Galaxy!

I was still seething about this when I boarded my ship. Thinking about it, I decided to test these so-called “deathworlders”. My ship could never pass as a warship, being a small luxury yacht, but these days, you can do so many things with holograms. I cannot have a huge battleship, but I’m pretty sure I can masquerade my ship as one.

According to the ship’s AI, the trip to the human home world, Earth, is about 21.7 hours. That’s more than enough to create a hologram of an advanced battleship - one which doesn’t look like any actual ship, so I can safely deny my involvement later.

And I think I can use the anti-asteroid gun to kick up some dust in their system so they can show me how advanced their weaponry actually is. Fortunately, a full protective shield is mandatory on all Id’gn ships, so I won’t be in any kind of danger doing this. Id’gn shield technology is famous for its invulnerability in the entire Galaxy.

I dropped out of warp just beside Earth, already wearing the battleship hologram as a mask. I definitely don’t want to be stealthy, so I chose the most obvious orbit around the planet and scanned the entire system to see something that’s big enough to notice when I destroy it, but small enough for the anti-asteroid guns to destroy.

I spotted hundreds of artificial satellites, so it’s just a matter of choosing one. And the humans are already calling me on the radio. They are so cute - they “demand” my designation and origin. And I already see a battleship of some kind closing on my position, but its engines are so behind that it’s going to take at least 2.3 hours till they catch up. Perfect. I really hope I can make that battleship angry enough to shoot at me with everything they got. It actually looks pretty cute - larger than a cruiser, but smaller than a dreadnought. And according to my sensors, it uses chemical rocket boosters to accelerate towards me. I mean, I’m going to make a plush toy based on that ship, it’s so cute!

Okay, till it arrives, I think I shoot down a couple of satellites - nothing important, I don’t want to cause any actual damage to the cuties, but enough to make them angry. I see lots of communication satellites, so I chose two close ones and instructed the ship’s AI to shoot them down. It took both satellites four shots to be disintegrated: these guns are definitely not designed as an attack gun, but they are down.

Now, it gets more interesting - the battleship called me directly! Ooohh, I have to answer them; maybe they will become angrier this way. So I opened a channel, and an angry-looking human appeared on the screen, wearing a pure black uniform.

“This is Captain Jack Smith, from the UNS Enterprise,” he started angrily, “stop all hostile activity and power down your weapons!”

“I don’t think you can demand anything from me, Captain,” I answered, as if I were actually angry with them. “Prepare to surrender to the might of the Herul Empire!”

I couldn’t use the name of my actual species, so I had to come up with a name on the spot. I think my pet would be very happy to hear that he now has a whole empire!

That message should do it, so I cut the call and waited. They tried to call me again, but I just instructed the AI to shoot down another satellite. A bigger one this time.

My sensors told me they were spinning up some weaponry - but they were way out of range. Standard galactic engagement rules dictate a maximum threshold of a few hundred kilometers before energy rays dissipate. At this distance, we might as well have been in different solar systems. And they are the ones everyone is afraid of?! Ha.

Wait, something happened. But it’s not an energy weapon. There’s an object coming towards my ship. It’s fast, but pretty small. And another one? Are they still using kinetic weapons?! They are even more behind than…

The claxons around the cockpit started, and red warning signs colored the small cockpit. What’s going on?

“Warning!” said the AI in a very calm voice, in stark contrast to what she was saying, “Impact in thirty-six seconds!”

That’s not a warning I've ever heard since I’ve owned this yacht! What’s going on? The battleship is still very far away, but those projectiles are … impacting in 36 seconds? How’s that possible?!

The first one “hit” the part of the battleship mask I projected, where there wasn’t any real ship behind, but unfortunately, the second one hit the side of my actual ship. And the shield is down to 17%! After only one hit!

That’s not a game I want to play anymore!

“AI, drop the hologram and open a channel! Now!” I shouted!

When the channel was open, I was greeted by the same human I spoke to not 15 minutes ago! He looked so confused.

“Where did the big battleship go? Who are you? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to cause any damage. I just wanted to test those famous human weapons!” I pleaded, “I mean no harm. Please, don’t shoot.”

“You mean that big battleship was only a ruse and you actually only have this tiny ship?”

“Yes,” I answered humbly.

The human sighed, rubbing his temples. "Well, crap. Hold on, let me call off the defense grid." He pressed a button off-screen. "Hey, tell Sector 4 to spin down the main line. False alarm. It’s just some idiot in a space-moped."

Space-moped?! This ship cost a fortune - it’s a luxury yacht for goodness sake!

The human turned back to me, “You are very lucky! I almost authorised to use the main rail gun, but decided to shoot two warning shots with the small ones.”

Those were the small guns?! They are really space orcs.

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

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This was already posted on r/HFY - if you read it there, it is the same story, just in one piece, not as a two-piece series.

---

This invasion did not go according to plan. At least, not so far.

When I arrived at the edge of the solar system, I conducted a full scan and detected heavy mining activity in the outer asteroid cloud. Following standard procedure, we initiated the invasion by attacking the miners. Weakening the enemy's main resource supply is always a logical opening move; typically, defenders are forced to protect their mines, which are far more vulnerable than the inner planets.

And they did defend. In fact, the resistance at the mines was brutally violent. Long after we pulverized the initial mining ships, my forces came under a relentless, seventeen-hour counterattack. We destroyed enemy vessels by the thousands, yet they just kept coming. Finally, after seventeen grueling hours, they withdrew, allowing my fleet to seize the remaining facilities. By then, however, forty percent of my ships had been reduced to scrap.

We spent the next twenty hours stabilizing our positions and repairing what we could. That was when we intercepted a message from the inner solar system, transmitted via primitive radio waves. Nobody uses radio anymore-it travels far too slowly. I reasoned that perhaps they had been trying to contact us via FTL, but lacking compatible technology, they resorted to radio as a desperate last resort.

It took my communications officer less than an hour to decode. It was an urgent invitation to a meeting on a moon orbiting the system's largest planet. No specific time was set; the message emphasized only the immediacy of the request.

So, here I am with my remaining fleet. Having obliterated what I assumed was their frontline defense, I expect a surrender. The invitation's instructions were highly specific: I was to approach a station orbiting the moon, dock, and allow automated droids to escort me to a briefing room. There, I would meet the representative of the species controlling this system.

When I was led into the chamber, I encountered the first living being on the station. A male, I believed. He stood a full head shorter than me, wearing a sterile white coat and a pair of glass lenses perched in front of his eyes. He looked profoundly uncomfortable. His species was entirely unfamiliar to me, but more concerning was his attire-he wore no capes, no armor, and no insignia. His demeanor was entirely devoid of the authority you would expect from a leader of a species. To say I was confused would be a massive understatement.

"Welcome to the Jupiter Ozone Research Station," he said, his voice halting, as if he were struggling to find the right words. "My name is Jozef Smith. I am the lead researcher here."

A research station? A scientist? The revelation only spawned more questions.

"I am Captain Krrk Xrrrts," I barked, stepping forward. "Commander of the invasion force that dismantled your mining operations. I expect your unconditional surrender."

"Invasion force? Surrender?" He blinked, genuinely bewildered. "I don’t understand. I was instructed to apologize for the... incredibly unfriendly welcome given to our first alien visitors. I'm not entirely sure what you are talking about."

"My forces destroyed your defensive armada, and now I am here to dictate terms," I said, doubling down, though a seed of doubt was beginning to take root.

"Defensive armada? Negotiate terms about what?" The man looked even more perplexed now. "We don’t have any military defenses past the orbit of Mars-that’s the fourth planet from our sun. You haven’t even encountered our defense forces yet!"

The assertion was ridiculous. What game was he playing?

"Do not test my patience," I snarled, my voice rising to a near shout. "My fleet battled the defensive forces of this system for seventeen hours! What do you mean we haven't encountered them?!"

He took a deep, steadying breath. Then another.

"Okay, let me lay this out from our perspective, if I may," he said finally. "We received a telemetry report from one of our automated mining operations in the outer layers of the Kuiper belt. The data was immediately flagged as anomalous by our communications AI. Based on that, the mining oversight committee convened and realized we were dealing with a first-contact scenario.

"Unfortunately," Smith continued, "the non-sentient AI managing that sector took its core programming a bit too literally. Those automated systems are hardcoded to maintain production and protect corporate assets at all costs. We simply never anticipated that a drone controller would mistake our first interstellar visitors for a hostile corporate raid and retaliate with automated cargo haulers. The moment the committee realized a battle was underway, we transmitted an emergency shutdown sequence. But we don't possess faster-than-light communication. It took eight hours for our signal to reach the grid."

A cold weight settled in my chest. "But... I lost nearly half my fleet," I stammered, the grand illusion of my victory shattering. "You are telling me I was fighting a mere mining colony?"

"No," Smith replied gently. "You were fighting a single, unthinking algorithm executing a basic piece of software with whatever tools it had on hand. I am the first organic human you have encountered. This facility is currently our most distant manned outpost. That is why we invited you here."

Smith continued, "We would be happy to provide recompense for the ships you lost. From the looks of how they fought, you have drone frigates and cruisers. We can supply you immediately with high-grade ore to replace them. How fast can your nanites rebuild them?"

"Nanites? What are nanites? I have no mobile shipyards! How could I replace them here?!"

Smith looked confused. "You have FTL, but still build ships by hand?"

---

Two weeks later, at the Imperial High Command

"Report, Captain Krrk Xrrrts," the Prime Councilor rasped, his mandibles twitching nervously. "We saw that you lost fifty-seven percent of your armada in your campaign. I assume you conquered some truly magnificent systems to justify such a staggering loss."

"I conquered six systems in total, Councilor," I stated, injecting more confidence into my voice than I actually felt. "But the vast majority of my losses came from the final system I attempted to take."

"Attempted? You mean you failed to secure the very system where you suffered such a catastrophe?"

"Yes, Councilor, but in the end, I secured an unprecedented technology exchange with the indigenous species," I declared triumphantly. "They possess a terrifying mastery over matter. They have these microscopic machines - nanites - that can literally grow a starship out of nothing, forging hulls atom-by-atom in mere hours. I stood on their station and watched, helpless, as their automated salvage drones melted our grandest cruisers down into raw metal before my very eyes."

"Nanotech of that scale..." the Minister of Logistics was barely audible, his eyes wide with awe. "With that, our orbital drydocks would be obsolete. We could grow a million-ship armada in a single planetary cycle. What did you trade for this, Captain?"

I smiled, a smug sense of victory washing over me. This was the moment that would ensure my early retirement.

"A pure, simple trade," I announced proudly. "I gave them the mathematical blueprints and core matrices for our FTL hyper-spatial drive. A technology we have possessed for millennia, and one they completely lacked."

Rather than celebrating, the Councilor suddenly looked deeply unsettled.

"Where exactly is that system, Captain?" he demanded.

"Sector 89, Block 23, Councilor," I replied, perplexed. Why did the coordinates suddenly matter? I had just handed the Empire a tool that would ensure our prosperity for the next millennium.

The chamber suddenly went utterly, horrifyingly dead silent.

"Sol," whispered the Councilor, his voice barely audible. "You gave FTL technology to Earth?! You absolute fool!"

"How do you know the name of that system? What is going on?" Panic finally began to pierce my pride.

"We all knew about the humans!" the Military Chief roared, slamming his fist onto the council table until his entire body trembled. "Every major empire in this quadrant knows about the humans! We watched them split the atom while they were still riding beasts of burden! We watched them develop planetary-scale digital networks in the blink of an eye! We watched them master molecular engineering just to survive their own hostile world!"

The Councilor was barely whispering now, his eyes fixed on the floor in sheer dread. "The only thing keeping them contained was their lack of faster-than-light technology. And you just gave it to them."

---

Bonus Scene

Two hours later, I exited the High Command. I was no longer a captain, stripped of my rank and command, but I was still alive. After an agonizing interrogation, the Council ultimately agreed that I could not have known about Earth due to the absolute, top-secret nature of the quarantine.

Suddenly, the planetary defense klaxons began to wail, and the emergency lighting flashed a blinding, frantic red all around the citadel city.

An attack? I dropped low, preparing to run toward the nearest blast shelter, when the translator clamped to my collar suddenly hissed to life. It bypassed the military grid entirely, picking up a high-amplitude, localized broadcast.

"Captain Krrk Xrrrts, this is Captain Andrew Kovacs from the Sol Logistics Corps," a cheerful human voice crackled through the speaker. "Hey, those blueprints you provided worked absolutely flawlessly! We retrofitted an old ore hauler with an FTL drive as a test run and worked on the first try. Honestly, it’s amazing technology."

The broadcast paused, the background noise filled with the casual hum of heavy industrial machinery.

"Listen, we still feel terrible about destroying so many of your ships during our little misunderstanding out in the belt. Just as a way to say thank you for the tech, our committee bought up enough high-grade ore to completely rebuild all of your lost vessels. We’re currently warping into your high orbit now to drop it off. I really hope you didn’t get into any trouble with your superiors over this!"

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

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As soon as we detected an alien ship in the system, we knew we had to issue a strict warning under Protocol 3, Section D. We immediately contacted the ship, but it turned out this was a species as yet uncontacted by the Huxly Empire. According to Protocol 17, Section B, that meant we had to build a universal translator matrix, which required direct contact with the ship and its crew.

After some back and forth, we finally made it clear that we wanted the two ships connected. Fortunately, the other ship complied, rendering Protocol 7, Section 4 unnecessary.

After docking to a ship much larger than our own, it was clear this was an asteroid mining vessel. Huge arms delivered asteroids toward gigantic openings - a practical design with no decorations. Despite its size, the ship was seemingly manned by only five people. We tried to show them that they needed to talk in front of our matrix so it could learn their phrases. They complied, and at first the matrix developed quickly, but then it started throwing errors as I had never seen before.

According to Protocol 17, Section E, if an error occurs while building a translation matrix, we can safely ignore it as long as the matrix is otherwise developing. But it wasn't. So we were stuck at Protocol 17, Section F: manually fixing those errors. Just my luck. My team and I had been working on them for over an hour. Tedious work: the matrix had somehow picked up several different, conflicting rule systems and couldn't decide which one to use. To be honest, we didn't know which one to use either, and we couldn't find any guidance in Protocol 17. We even called the Imperial Bureau of Primary Contact Protocols, but they couldn't help because they could only follow Protocol 17 too.

Those stupid apes fortunately talked almost constantly, checking out what we were doing, even though I was pretty sure they'd never seen a Universal Translator before.

---

“Do you think they figured out that we don’t speak the same language?” asked János in Hungarian.

“I don’t think so. It seems like they are still trying to pick and choose which rule they follow in the matrix,” answered Ying in Chinese.

“Did you hear him using ‘hune’ instead of ‘hule’? I bet that’s the feminine variant of the word!” chirped Lucy in English.

“Don’t think so. I think that’s the possessive form,” said Natasha in Russian. “And I don’t think they have a clue what they are doing. I think they are not linguists, but engineers trying to fix a malfunctioning machine.”

Everyone smiled at that.

“Well, it’s not broken, just not used to four languages at once.” Aksel was the only crew member who preferred English over his mother tongue, Norwegian. He was just more comfortable with it - every other crew member spoke Norwegian too, so it wasn't a problem on their side.

“Do you think we should switch to Spanish or something, just when they are very close to finishing?” János was always the prankster.

“No, that would be a bit too much. Everybody, stick to your first language. Aksel, you should continue using English,” Ying said, stopping the prank before it even started. Since she was technically the captain, nobody objected.

“Okay, I think you were right, Nat. I think ‘hune’ is the possessive form,” came Lucy's voice, turning the focus back to the alien language. “Interesting structure. A bit like Spanish, but not entirely.”

---

After several hours of hard work and endless guessing on our part - while they just sat there chatting - the matrix finally pinged, and the green light came on.

I pressed the button to deliver the warning message according to Protocol 3, Section D. The aliens listened intently for a couple of minutes, as the warning was very detailed, covering every possible outcome.

In the meantime, I prepared the tablet they had to sign, acknowledging receipt of the warning.

When the matrix finished its speech, I saw that the apes were looking at each other. Some showed their teeth in an aggressive display. Were they attacking? We didn't have any soldiers on board because we never expected aggression in response to a simple warning! According to Protocol 79, Section A, we were required to retreat at the first sign of hostiles, so I immediately stood up and started walking toward the nearest door when the short female began to speak.

“I’m afraid your matrix got a bit confused by the four languages we were speaking,” she said in almost perfect Huxlian.

“And all of this commotion is over a warning about the gas giant's dangerous magnetic forces? We detected those before we entered the system. No need to worry about that,” she continued, still in almost perfect Huxlian.

“How do you speak our language? Have you met with one of our other ships before?” I finally found my voice after the shock of hearing her speak.

“No, this is the first time we've met a Huxly ship. But almost every human has a brain implant to help us learn new languages quickly. We tried universal translators in our early tech age, but it turned out it's much better to just speak the language yourself.”

That was crazy. They had learned a new language faster than our translator matrix.

“And, by the way, your matrix not only mixed up our languages, but it also changed grammatical gender twice, referred to me as ‘the head one’ instead of ‘captain,’ and, to make matters worse, used Hungarian postfixes on English words. I suggest you delete this matrix - and probably send the AI in it to therapy.”

She couldn’t be serious.

I numbly extended the tablet and stylus toward her. "Anyway... we need a signature..."

“Anyway, according to sub-section 9 of the warning you just played, any vessel equipped with class-four magnetometers is legally exempt from requiring a signed hazard acknowledgment,” she stated casually, taking the slate and glancing at it.

I froze. “You... you have a class-four magnetometer? Why didn't you tell us?”

She smiled, pushing the unsigned slate back against my chest.

“Because we didn't speak your language yet, remember?”

She turned on her heel and strolled back toward her ship, her crew following behind her.

My team and I stood frozen as the five apes disappeared through the hatch, chatting casually in a seamless, impossible blend of four different languages. The airlock door sealed shut with a heavy metallic thud.

I looked down at the blank slate in my hands, then over at my assistant, who was frantically tapping at his pad, ready to log the incident.

“Delete the matrix,” I whispered, staring at the closed airlock door. “Did you catch the name of the species?”

---

Wiki

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

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“Captain, a pirate ship just warped in!” the navigator reported in a near panic.

“Accelerate! Take us as far away from them as possible!” I answered as calmly as I could manage in this situation. “And activate the emergency beacon. Which station is closest to us right now?”

“The nearest Halxon base is sixteen hours away, but there’s a human colony in this system. They established it a couple of years ago,” came the disturbing answer from my communications officer.

“We definitely won’t survive for sixteen hours. Maybe the humans have a ship that can assist us so that, working together, we can force the pirates back,” I said, trying to remain optimistic.

“But we need to survive until they arrive - and the pirates have already fired their laser twice! Both missed, but it’s only a matter…” The navigator was cut off as a direct hit slammed into our shields, violently shaking the entire hull. “…of time before they hit us again,” he finished with a heavy sigh.

“Evasive maneuvers!” I ordered, though even I knew that only bought us a minute or two at best.

Just as the pirates struck our ship a second time, a massive vessel warped into reality, dropping directly between our aggressor and us.

“They are hailing us, sir,” my communications officer announced.

“On screen!”

When the channel connected, a human appeared on the display wearing a crisp, blue uniform.

“Good afternoon. My name is Captain Donna Smith of the patrol ship Independence. How may I assist you today?” Her demeanor was so relaxed it felt as if we were having afternoon tea, not enduring a pirate attack. She clearly had no idea how much danger she and her ship were in at this very moment.

“We are under attack by pirates! Their lasers have already brought our shields down to fifty-seven percent! They were never designed to survive multiple hits from a hundred-kilowatt laser!” I shouted back immediately.

“Sir, the human ship doesn’t even have its shields activated!” came a panicked warning from my navigator.

“Activate your shields! You are going to be evaporated!” I yelled into the comms.

Captain Smith looked at me strangely before turning toward her central console.

“Computer, how many hits have we received since we arrived?” she asked calmly.

“Seven, Captain,” came a synthesized voice.

“How many more do they need to land before we sustain damage?”

“At this distance, a hundred-kilowatt laser does not pose a threat to the ship, Captain,” the computer replied smoothly.

I couldn’t comprehend it. How was that even possible?

“How?! What is your ship made of?!” I blurted out, utterly confused.

“Steel, of course. The outer layer of the hull is ten-millimeter-thick steel plating, to be precise,” Captain Smith answered, completely unfazed. “Do you mind if I interrupt our discussion until we’ve handled the pirate situation?”

Without waiting for an answer or closing the channel, she turned to someone off-screen.

“A few warning shots, Mr. Anderson,” she ordered. Her tone wasn't urgent in the slightest; she sounded as though she were deciding what to order for dinner. “And please, don’t hit anything too explody this time.”

This time? This wasn’t their first encounter?

The entire confrontation took less than two minutes. After the human vessel delivered a casual volley of warning shots, the pirates decided we were no longer easy prey and hastily warped out of the system. The humans didn’t even seem remotely impressed by their own victory.

“Sorry about that,” Captain Smith continued, as if she had simply stepped away to answer a phone call in the middle of our conversation. “This isn’t the first time we've encountered pirates in this system. We’re still waiting on defense upgrades to clear the sector completely. Until then, we just try to be everywhere at once.”

“You just had a clash with an advanced pirate warship, and you didn’t sustain any damage?!” I asked, beyond belief. What kind of species were these humans?

“Not that I'm aware of. Computer, damage report.”

“No hull structural damage to report, Captain,” the computer responded. “…Correction: one of our secondary exterior cameras sustained damage due to a direct hit.”

“Damn it, Joe won’t be happy about that,” Captain Smith sighed, shaking her head in annoyance. “He hates going outside to do repairs. Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes -do you need an escort to the nearest station?”

I sat in my command chair in dead, paralyzed silence, looking around at my crew. My navigator was staring at his console in absolute shock. My communications officer looked as though she had completely forgotten how to breathe.

The pirates had brought our state-of-the-art shields down to critical levels in under two minutes. Meanwhile, this human vessel had casually drifted into the line of fire, taken at least seven direct hits from a heavy laser weapon without turning on a shield, chased off dangerous pirates with casual warning shots, and was now treating a life-or-death battle like a mild inconvenience for a mechanic named Joe.

“No, Captain,” I finally managed to say, my voice trembling slightly. “An escort... won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

After closing the channel, I turned to my terminal and opened a direct, high-priority transmission to the High Council. It was time to update our official galaxy records on the human race once again.

File Update: Species #8472 (Humanity)

Previous Status: Classification: Terrifying

New Status: Classification: Peacekeeper

Note to Council: Do not contest their patrol routes. Do not question their hull specifications. And under no circumstances should anyone disturb a human technician named Joe while he is fixing an outer camera.

---

First | Previous

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

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The armada of the Floxra Empire hid in the jagged shadows behind Earth’s moon. It was the final phase before total conquest: intelligence gathering, tactical mapping, and target identification.

“We have compiled all required data for the operation, Admiral,” the chief technician said, offering a glass tablet.

“Thank you,” replied Admiral S’nka. He was the most decorated commander in the Floxra Imperial Fleet, and no officer had ever heard him be anything less than impeccably polite.

The tactical report was unambiguous: Earth possessed virtually no orbital defense grid, but its planetary surface forces held terrifying power. Even deploying a quarter of a million elite Floxran troops equipped with state-of-the-art equipment, total victory remained unlikely.

Thus, a surgical strike was ordered. The Floxra would infiltrate the President of Earth's private residence, kidnap him, and force an immediate, unconditional surrender. The plan was detailed, with the exact location of the target, entry points, and timings.

Curiously, the President’s compound was under-defended. No armed sentries, no automated plasma turrets, no high-voltage perimeter grid. Only a silent alarm and a modest wooden fence stood in their way: child's play for elite infiltrators.

Admiral S’nka authorized the strike immediately.

---

The extraction team dropped under cover of midnight. Dressed in matte-black composite armor, they activated their acoustic dampeners to mask the heavy hydraulic whirring of their power suits, allowing them to advance through the sleeping suburban neighborhood in absolute silence.

They breached the property boundary in seconds. The technician bypassed the alarm almost instantly, and the squad used powered leg servos to clear the perimeter fence in a leap that was rendered completely silent by their suppression fields.

Sensors confirmed two human lifeforms inside the house. Everything was going according to plan.

---

Max, a German Shepherd with impeccable instincts, snapped awake.

The ground beneath his paws vibrated. It was not the deep, familiar thrum of a passing garbage truck, but a series of sharp, heavy thuds on the front lawn. Simultaneously, a strange, high-pitched whine vibrated in his inner ears, a sound no human could ever hear.

Intruders!

Max was on his feet instantly, trotting toward the fence. His nose flared, flooded with scents he had never encountered before: bitter ozone, scorched rubber, and cold metal. Shadowy figures were moving across his yard.

He launched himself forward, lunging at the lead figure, and as his teeth sank in, sheer joy replaced his anger.

A bite suit!

Max immediately relaxed into work mode. It wasn't a threat; it was a surprise midnight training exercise! His owner hadn't brought out the heavy padded sleeves in months, and Max loved getting praised as a Very Good Boy after a solid session.

This exercise was unusual, though. Usually, there was only one decoy in a bite suit, not seven. Advanced multi-target training, Max decided. Time to show off.

He clamped down with a firm, satisfying bite, gave a strong tug to demonstrate control, and let go to target the next decoy.

Fluffy, a golden retriever whose boundless enthusiasm was matched only by his love for chaos, trotted down the porch steps, yawning. Max let out a sharp, playful boof! and dropped into an eager play-bow.

Fluffy’s tail began whipping like a helicopter blade. Padded humans! He charged in like a furry, golden bowling ball.

While Fluffy happily wrestled three of the padded figures to the grass, Max handled the remaining four. He made sure to exercise some restraint; his teeth accidentally sheared through a chunk of the suit's forearm armor, spilling a strange, glowing blue fluid. Biting through the padding and hurting the trainer was a big no-no.

Some of the trainers used a high-pitched sound occasionally; Max assumed that signaled that he should attack that opponent next. Which he did.

The session lasted a few minutes longer than usual, but eventually, the trainers retreated back over the fence in a frantic, uncoordinated scramble. Max sat proudly on the lawn, panting, satisfied with a job well done.

---

“Report,” Admiral S’nka requested softly. He remained polite, but his antennae twitched with deep displeasure.

“We were ambushed, Admiral,” the strike leader gasped, clutching a mangled arm unit. “The target compound was guarded by two hyper-aggressive biological weapons! We deployed full-spectrum neurological gas, but the beasts were completely immune. We engaged ultra-frequency sonic weapons, but it only seemed to enrage them further!”

Admiral S’nka stared at the wounded squad. “Are you telling me the humans deploy biological assets capable of shredding imperial composite power armor using only their jaws?”

“Yes, Admiral. Their bite force defies physical law.”

The Admiral sat in silence for several long minutes, contemplating the sheer horror of Earth’s hidden defenses.

“Issue an immediate order for fleet withdrawal,” S’nka said quietly. “If their low-level planetary leadership maintains super-weapons of this caliber without a single warning sign, engaging their primary military is suicidal. Set course for Floxra Prime.”

Below, Max and Fluffy barked happily at the night sky, celebrating their victorious training session.

The commotion finally woke the owner. The back door slid open, and a tired man in a flannel bathrobe stepped out onto the patio.

“Max? Fluffy? What the hell is all that noise?” The man blinked through his glasses, then froze as he saw Max holding a glowing, twisted piece of alien composite armor in his jaws. “Max! What is in your mouth?! What did you catch this time?!”

Max’s ears flattened slightly, the glowing piece of armor sitting awkwardly between his teeth. That didn't sound like "Good boy." What had he done wrong?

Beside the porch, bathed in the dim glow of the streetlamp, a wooden sign on the mailbox clearly read:

EARTH ESTATES HOA - OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT

---

Wiki

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

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When Envoy Aradne arrived on Earth, she was not entirely sure what to expect from the humans. What Admiral Ghon had told her was somewhat reassuring: humans were friendly creatures, despite their incredible power.

Ambassador Jacob Smith immediately invited her to a discussion about trade, culture, and dining. The last topic was slightly alarming; Envoy Aradne was a bit worried they might want to eat her, but she didn’t want to start the relationship with an accusation. She chose to bet her own life on the friendliness of humans.

---

"Welcome to Earth, Envoy," Ambassador Smith said, opening the discussion with a wide smile and welcoming gestures. Aradne had been specifically selected for the job because of her height; the High Council did not want to project even a hint of aggression toward the humans, so they had chosen an emissary who was significantly shorter than the human Ambassador.

"It is good to be here, Ambassador," replied Aradne. She was in completely unfamiliar territory. Never before had she been forced to initiate first contact with a species vastly stronger than the Halxon Empire - usually, it was the other way around. "I sincerely hope we can forge a peaceful partnership with our newest neighbor."

"In most human cultures, it is customary to share a nice lunch to celebrate a new diplomatic relationship," Smith said warmly. "If you have no objections, let’s continue our discussion at the dining table."

Aradne was hesitant. In her culture, consuming nutrition was a private, clinical affair, not a social interaction. In the end, however, she decided that starting the conversation with a blunt "no" would be impolite.

---

Looking back, it was the best decision she had ever made. The lunch was a triumph. She learned so much about the humans and her counterpart over those two hours that she felt completely relaxed. But eventually, it was time to get to work.

And work they did. Over the next day and a half, they discussed technology exchanges, asteroid mining rights, and trade routes. By the end of the second day, both diplomats were thoroughly exhausted. They decided that the following day would be more relaxing, focusing entirely on culture. Ambassador Smith suggested visiting the National Museum, which Aradne happily accepted.

They began their day at the museum, touring the art exhibits first. The art turned out to be remarkably similar to what the Empire classified as art, which put Envoy Aradne on familiar ground. Next, they toured the science exhibits. This was a fascinating mixed bag; in some sectors, the Halxon Empire was centuries ahead, but in others, they were the ones centuries behind. A technology exchange would undoubtedly benefit both parties tremendously.

"Ah, look at that," Smith said, gesturing toward a set of glass doors. "They have a military history exhibition in the outdoor courtyard. Do you want to take a quick look?"

It was a perfectly natural question, but Aradne froze for a second. She desperately wanted to see Earth's real weaponry, but she didn’t want to appear eager or suspicious. Fortunately, Ambassador Smith was already pushing the doors open, sparing her from having to formulate an answer.

When they stepped outside, the first things Envoy Aradne noticed were the vehicles. They weren't exactly what she had expected - they looked rugged and sturdy, but still clearly just basic transport trucks. It was interesting, but not the terrifying military hardware she had anticipated.

After about ten minutes of checking different kinds of jeeps and trucks, they came across something much larger. It was a massive, boxy metal vehicle riding on eight heavy rubber wheels, rather than the four or six she had seen on the others. Protruding from a small turret on top was a strange, menacingly long device.

"What is that vehicle, Ambassador?"

"Oh, that’s an APC - an Armored Personnel Carrier - from our Cold War era," came the answer.

"We have similar transport vehicles," Aradne said, studying the turret. "And the device on top... is that a weapon?" asked Aradne, trying and failing to hide her curiosity.

"Yes, that’s a standard heavy machine gun. It's just there to protect the vehicle."

"And what kind of ammunition does it fire?"

"Just kinetic slugs. Solid lead jacketed in copper, or sometimes steel cores."

Aradne stared at him. "You shoot solid steel? At high velocities? Can the vehicle's armor actually stop a steel projectile?"

"Against a small caliber, absolutely," Smith smiled. "But in our warfare, there is always a bigger gun."

"Bigger than this?" Aradne’s voice squeaked.

To answer her, Ambassador Smith simply pointed toward the very back of the courtyard, where something even larger was parked.

It looked infinitely more terrifying than the APC they had just inspected. It didn't have wheels; instead, it sat on massive, heavy metal tracks designed to crush anything in its path. Protruding from its central turret was a colossal, hollow steel tube.

"What is that vehicle, Ambassador?"

"Ah, that’s a medium tank," Smith said proudly. "A real classic from our Second World War. It weighs about thirty tons."

"Thirty... tons," Aradne whispered, her mind struggling to comprehend a single land vehicle weighing as much as a small Halxon starship. "And the massive tube on the top?"

"That’s the main cannon. It fired seventy-five-millimeter explosive shells."

"Explosive... shells?" Aradne asked, her legs beginning to feel strangely weak.

"Yeah! Steel canisters packed with TNT. The tank would shoot them miles away to blow up concrete bunkers, buildings, or other tanks," Smith chatted happily, as if discussing the weather.

Aradne stared at the massive steel monster.

And this was their history. This was what they built eighty years ago, before they even had computers.

The courtyard began to spin. The green steel of the tank blurred into a dark fog.

"Envoy Aradne? Are you alright?" Ambassador Smith’s voice sounded very far away.

With a soft sigh, Aradne’s knees buckled, and she collapsed entirely unconscious onto the paved courtyard.

---

Several weeks later, Envoy Aradne stood before the High Council once again to deliver her diplomatic report.

"We had a highly successful mission," Envoy Aradne reported, her voice steady, though she kept her eyes firmly on her tablet. "We have established several frameworks where technology sharing could benefit both parties, and we have begun negotiations regarding interstellar trade."

"And what of their military technology, Envoy?" the Council President demanded. "Did you secure any agreements to trade weapons?"

"The humans politely declined to share any of their military hardware," Aradne replied calmly. "And I strongly advise this Council to never, ever ask them for it again."

The Council members murmured in confusion.

"Why, Envoy?" the President asked, leaning forward. "Are they hoarding their secrets?"

"No, Mr. President," Aradne said, shivering slightly as she remembered the thirty-ton monster in the courtyard. "They are protecting us. Trust me... we are not nearly monstrous enough to wield what they call a 'tank'."

---

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---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

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Admiral Ghon arrived on Earth a week later. She opened a standard communication channel using the pre-established translation matrix to initiate contact with the locals.

The humans looked rather surprised to see aliens, which wasn’t at all what the Admiral expected after they had defeated her forces just a couple of weeks prior. Nevertheless, they quickly agreed that meeting face-to-face was the best way to handle the situation and hastily designated a neutral meeting location.

---

When they arrived, it turned out that Admiral Ghon stood a full head taller than her human counterpart.

"Welcome to Earth, Admiral Ghon. My name is Ambassador Jacob Smith," the man introduced himself.

"I have come to discuss our unconditional surrender to Earth’s forces, Ambassador. No need for pleasantries," the Admiral answered in a completely flat tone.

"What?" Smith asked, entirely unprofessionally. He was the absolute picture of utter disbelief.

"You heard me correctly. After our disastrous defeat a few weeks ago, the High Council decided that an unconditional surrender is our only viable option." The Admiral was definitely no diplomat - she simply delivered the exact message she had been ordered to give.

"What?" Smith repeated, still unable to comprehend what she was talking about. "What do you mean by a 'defeat' a few weeks ago? This is the first time our species have ever met."

"No, Ambassador. A few weeks ago, I was here to initiate a preemptive strike, but we suffered a devastating rout," she admitted through gritted teeth.

"Can you tell me exactly where this defeat took place, Admiral?" Smith finally asked, trying to clarify the situation.

"Sure, I can. But why does it matter?"

"Because then I can have my staff investigate the area and finally figure out what on Earth is going on," the Ambassador answered patiently.

---

While the Ambassador's background staff scrambled to dig up information, he politely attempted to sustain a conversation with Admiral Ghon. Understandably, the Admiral remained incredibly stiff and formal.

Finally, the staff located the site and returned to the briefing room, accompanied by Jack, to explain the whole mix-up.

"Admiral Ghon, this is Jack Johnson. He might have some relevant information regarding your... strike," the Ambassador said.

"Eeeehm, hello. I just wanted to say, I think your costumes were awesome. Well, maybe they weren't actually costumes, but they were still really cool." Jack was completely babbling. He had never participated in an interspecies diplomatic summit before.

"Jack, can you explain to us what happened three weeks ago at that cosplay-themed paintball match?" Smith prompted.

"Sure. Umm, we had a pretty good game, but your gear was a bit weak. Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude! So, yeah, I guess we won, but we never realized you guys were actual aliens. We just thought you had incredible costumes," Jack explained, getting hit by a wave of enthusiasm. "And you left before we could even hang out or talk about the match! We definitely want a rematch, but you guys seriously need to tweak your equipment."

---

Four weeks later, Admiral Ghon stood before the High Council once again.

"What kind of surrender terms did you manage to negotiate, Admiral?" the Head of the Council inquired.

"Well, I am not entirely sure," Admiral Ghon began. "They don’t really seem to understand why we want to surrender in the first place."

"I think the reason is rather obvious after our crushing defeat, is it not?"

"From their perspective, no, it isn’t," her voice was surprisingly calm and relaxed now. "They viewed our battle as nothing more than a game. Therefore, they do not consider it a valid baseline for a surrender."

"A game, you say?"

"A game. It turns out that what we believed to be a critical tactical engagement was actually a weekly sport played by a local college. They use weapons that function almost identically to our own service rifles. They were just playing."

The Admiral paused and looked around the chamber, ensuring everyone fully absorbed the staggering weight of her next words.

"Our elite vanguard fought a serious, life-or-death battle against a college sports team. And lost."

"And they do not believe that warrants a surrender?" asked one of the stunned council members.

"No. Furthermore, the captain of the team we engaged actually invited us back for a rematch," she continued. "I was hesitant to accept, but Ambassador Smith was adamant that we should experience the game the way it was meant to be played. This Jack character was incredibly open and friendly. He insisted that we upgrade our equipment before playing again, because they 'didn't want to hurt us'."

The Admiral looked as though she still couldn't quite believe what had happened next.

"They freely gifted us a massive upgrade to our armor - strictly refusing to play with us until we wore it for safety - and vastly improved our weapons. I returned with the highest-quality armor and firearms we have ever laid eyes on. They gave them to us without asking for a single thing in return, because to them, it is only a hobby. For us, however, it represents a monumental technological leap forward."

She scanned the room one last time to ensure everyone was hanging on her every word. She needn't have worried; the entire council was listening in dead, paralyzed silence.

"They have invited a formal diplomatic envoy back to Earth to officially establish peaceful relations - and to make sure we forget all about this 'surrender' nonsense."

---

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---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

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My name is John Stevens, and I’m the head of the farthest-away research station from Earth. It is a small station with only about five thousand people orbiting a magnetar. Most of the inhabitants of the station are physicists studying magnetism, astronomers studying neutron stars, and chemists studying the neutron material this star is made of. We are about 450 light-years away from Earth, which means a ship needs about nine to ten centuries to arrive if it comes directly - which has never happened so far, even though the station was established about twelve centuries ago.

The surrounding area has not been catalogued, but there’s already a ship on its way to look around here. They are going to drop by on their way, but it’s still about one and a half centuries before they arrive. Until then, we are alone.

So we definitely didn’t expect an object entering the solar system and decelerating. It’s still going to be at least two months before they arrive, but the huge energy output they are using to decelerate gave their presence and artificial origin away early.

We already tried to contact them, but got no answer. We don’t know about any incoming human ship - which means they are probably not human.

---

Seven weeks later, we finally made contact with them. It took a while to build a complete translation matrix, but eventually we could ask them who they are and why they are coming. They are still weeks away from the station, so a call is not possible yet, but we still got the answers: they are a mining ship from the neighboring solar system coming to mine the heavy elements around the neutron star.

They were pretty adamant that we should in no way mine ourselves, which is a bit weird, since there are so many resources around this star alone that no civilization will ever run out of them in the foreseeable future, but we reassured them that we have no intention of mining anyway, so they can have all the mining rights if they want to.

---

When they finally finished decelerating, they decided to dock at our station just to get to know each other and discuss the future of our interaction.

“Hello, Mr. Stevens,” the one I was talking with in the last week or so stepped into the room, “it’s nice to meet you. My name is Captain Joo Embr.”

“Hello, it’s good to see you face to face, Captain,” I answered truthfully. I never really liked remote work; I’m more of a face-to-face person, so talking to him directly was nice. It revealed immediately how much taller he is than me; although I’m definitely short for a man, he was at least two and a half meters tall, so he was almost a meter over me. “I hope we can have a nice partnership between the two species.”

“Me too, Mr. Stevens. I want to reiterate that you must absolutely not mine in this system, or you face the wrath of the vast Javvu Empire.” He tried to look intimidating, but was obviously not military, so it fell flat. I tried not to show it, but I’m not an actor, so I may have failed to do that.

“I can assure you, Captain, that we have no intention of mining in this sector. We are solely here to study this neutron star.” I tried my best diplomat mode, but I was a researcher and not a public figure.

---

In the next few days, the Captain was a guest on the station, and he talked to me, to the engineers, and to some of the researchers. He was very interested in our anti-matter power generators - they still used fusion, and with that, the fuel requirement for a trip was enormous. He talked about the Javvu Empire all the time. The huge number of people, the three planets they inhabit in the neighboring system. He was obviously very proud of the empire, but also very cautious: he never mentioned actual figures, locations, or technologies. We were not so cautious and even shared a better version of the fusion reactor they were using with him. We haven’t used those engines for several millennia, but for them it would be at least a 30% decrease in fuel consumption.

When it was time to say goodbye, we had a banquet to celebrate the beginning of a new partnership, and the Captain and his crew were freely mixed with the crew of the station. Everybody was talking to everybody, and I ended up talking to one of the alien engineers, who was always a lot talkier than her captain, and in this setting she talked about everything.

“You know, Mr. Stevens,” she had just finished a long story about her family at home, “I think humans would love to see our home planet, the Javvu. But I think you’d be overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. Especially in the capital!” She was maybe even prouder than her captain. “Just imagine it: seventy thousand people in one city!”

I stopped for a second. What did she just say?

“You said seventy thousand?” I asked for clarification. Maybe the translator was not as perfect as we thought.

“I know it sounds unbelievable,” she said, clearly thinking that I couldn't believe the number because it was so high, while I couldn’t believe it because it was so low. “There are people everywhere, but a capital of an Empire with seventeen million people in it must be huge!”

Only seventeen million people? I tried to hide my surprise, which I think I managed well enough that she interpreted my facial expression as awe.

“I know, it’s so many people. The Javvu Empire grew very fast after the unification. Now all of our people live under the protective umbrella of the Empire.”

She was talking happily long after this intermezzo, but I was still thinking about those numbers.

---

The next morning we finally said our goodbyes to the mining crew, and we agreed to keep in touch while they were in the system.

When the airlock closed behind them, I took a deep breath and hurried to my office.

I sat back in my chair, rubbed my eyes, and opened a new outbound dispatch queue toward the regional sector hub. The light-delay meant the contact committee wouldn't receive it for another eighty years, but some protocols couldn't be delayed.

[OUTBOUND DISPATCH - SECTOR 32, BLOCK 8] TO: Regional Contact Directorate

SUBJECT: First Contact Report / Species #402

First contact established in the Magnetar-4 accretion sector. Sapient, space-faring, non-aggressive but intensely proud. Total species population stands at approximately 17 million across three local planets.

Advise formal diplomatic outreach. Recommend immediate designation as a Protected Biosphere Zone and deployment of orbital monitoring buoys. They are technologically primitive, localized, and extremely fragile. Please draft contingency plans to mitigate local extinction risks.

---

This is a standalone story in the Postcardverse

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

💙 Donate via PayPal

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🇪🇺 Direct Bank Transfer / IBAN (EUR): HU42 1091 8001 0000 0019 4860 0039 (SWIFT: BACXHUHB)

Meet the Vorans

My name is Elias. I am the primary contact for the intelligent lifeforms we discovered after a 126-year trek from our last stop. This will be the first First Contact for our ship, the Aeterna.

We spent the entire deceleration phase studying every past contact on record. We want this one to be perfect: no biological contamination, no social upheaval, no unintended consequences. We want this to be the gold standard that other ships emulate.

To ensure this, we spent thirteen years hiding in their system before revealing ourselves. We deployed probes and intercepted radio transmissions to study their biology, economy, and culture. They are remarkably human-like in appearance, although shorter and sturdier than we are. And possess a diverse range of languages and customs. They call themselves Vorans in the planet's most common language.

Most of our crew learned at least one Voran language as a hobby. Even though our translation software is flawless, humans prefer the personal touch; it makes a better impression when you speak someone’s native tongue rather than through a machine.

When we finally decided the time was right, we dropped our stealth and revealed the Aeterna. We moved into a high orbit, but we didn't send a message immediately. We wanted them to see us, to study us, and to process the shock before we spoke.

Being close allowed us to see their world in high definition. They have advanced industry and agriculture, but curiously few satellites. This is what we expected; their planet is twice Earth's size; escaping that gravity well must have been a nightmare. In most respects, their tech level mirrors 22nd-century Earth, with two exceptions: spaceflight and medicine. They haven’t cracked the code on longevity. The average human lived over a century before regen; the average Voran dies before sixty. We saw no sign of a breakthrough on their data network. Most likely, the higher gravity is the reason for their shorter height and shorter lifespan as well.

We studied every earlier failed first contact and concluded that we have to have some kind of “gift”, something we are able and willing to give them to make us more interesting. And we are almost certain that our regenerative healing technology will be that gift. We just have to be careful how to play our cards - offering it too early led the people of Larix 5 to be suspicious, and they stopped all communications after only a few weeks. So the committee decided that we are going to teach them how to do it, instead of giving them the technology outright. I’m not exactly in favour of this decision, but I was outvoted at the end.

Of course, we were the main focus of discussion on their internet equivalent after we moved to orbit. The Vorans immediately nicknamed our ship "The Silver Needle." It’s an ironic name, considering the Aeterna looks nothing like a needle - we suspect the metallic outer layer of the ship mirrored the light of the sun in a way that made it look like a needle over a simple telescope, hence the name. I do like the name, even though it’s hard to imagine anything that’s farther from a needle shape than a 20km long, 4km wide cylinder. Okay, maybe the metal color fits.

After five weeks of silent orbiting, I finally sent the first video message. I didn't want it to look clinical or intimidating. I filmed it in one of the ship’s gardens, green plants in the background, wearing a simple, black suit:

"People of Vora,

My name is Elias. I am a traveler on the vessel you have called 'The Silver Needle.' Our ship is named Aeterna, and we are humans.

First, we ask your forgiveness for our silence. We waited to introduce ourselves to give you time to come to terms with the fact that you are not alone.

We have come from a very long way away. We move slowly because we live for a very long time. We have a gift to offer: the gift of time. We have mastered the art of healing the body so that it does not wither. We wish to share this with you, not as your masters, but as your teachers.

We are not in a hurry. We will not land today, nor will we demand your resources. We have opened a channel. Ask us your questions. Tell us your fears. We will answer them all, whether it takes a day, a year, or a generation.

The channel is open. We are listening."

Meet Kyran

It’s been twenty-one years since Elias introduced humanity to us, and this is going to be only the third time we meet face to face. The humans kept their promise: they answer every question, they are always open to help, but they don’t tell us what to do or how to solve a problem we are facing on the way towards regenerative healing. They just help by directing our attention. Very frustrating, to be honest.

I celebrated my 59th birthday a couple of weeks ago - thanks to the advancements we have already made, thanks to their guidance, I may have 5 more years. Maybe 10 if I’m lucky. But the progress is very slow - according to our experts, we are still centuries from reaching full regenerative healing. Till then, billions will die. We tried to persuade the humans to give us the technology outright, or at least to provide more help to accelerate its development. But they are relentless - they say they have time and they are going to be our teachers even if it takes centuries to achieve our goals. They may have time, but we don’t. I don’t.

I know it’s selfish, that I want to see the result of our efforts, but I cannot help myself. I was one of the first scientists assigned to this effort 21 years ago - since then, I have spent all my time learning as much as I can from them and leading the effort to make as much progress as possible in as short a time as possible. But I’m running out of time.

The door to the room suddenly opens, and Elias steps in. He looks exactly as he did 21 years ago in the video message he sent to greet us. I envy him - I look old, I feel old.

“Hello, Kyran, nice to see you,” says Elias. We talked over a video call just last week, but looking him face-to-face somehow makes the lack of change in his look even more apparent.

“Hello, Elias. It’s good to meet you again after so many years.” As I was looking up at him, I felt like a child. And in a way, I probably am; he’s definitely older than my parents.

“Yes, I know we come down rarely, but we don’t want to influence you too much in your research. And working remotely is a tradition in human societies since the computer age.” We talked about their lack of physical interaction several times. I still don’t understand their reasoning.

“Maybe you could stay for a few weeks this time - I could show you around the research lab. I can even take you for sightseeing - the weather is perfect this time of the year.” As I age, I start to become more and more forward. I want to know more about them, and I want them to know more about us. Maybe if we can build a personal relationship instead of a professional one, I will understand them a bit better.

“You know that no one has ever offered me a tour in the city yet. I might take you on your word!” comes Elias’ reply. I did not see that coming. I so expected him to decline that I could not say anything for a couple of seconds.

“I’d love to show you around after this meeting, if you want to,” I say honestly. “Do you want to see the city center or a national park? Maybe a nice restaurant after a walk in the park?”

“Ohh, this sounds like a date! I’m in!”

Several hours later, after we had finished the grueling technical review of our progress, the topic returned to the tour.

“Are you sure I’m not a burden?” Elias asked. “I can wait for a better time if you’re busy.”

“It’s no burden. I’m actually a little ashamed that it took twenty-one years for someone to offer.”

“Don’t be,” Elias said softly. “It’s not a problem. I can wait.”

“So,” I said, trying to match his light tone. “What will it be? The city or the park?”

“Let’s go with your earlier offer,” Elias said, smiling. It was the first time I had seen him truly smile in two decades. “A walk in the park and a nice restaurant. That sounds perfect to me.”

Ancient history

The park was a sprawling expanse of violet-hued flora and ancient, twisting trees that predated the arrival of the Aeterna. As they walked, the soft evening light of Vora’s sun cast long, rhythmic shadows across the path. For a moment, with the wind rustling the leaves, it felt almost normal - two colleagues taking a stroll.

“You have a beautiful world, Kyran,” Elias said, stopping to examine a flower. “The biological diversity reminds me of Earth’s Mediterranean region, though the cellular structure is, of course, entirely different. I actually did my fifth degree in botany. It was a nice change after being an engineer for so long.”

Kyran wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. The walk was beginning to tire her, a reminder of the heart that had been beating for sixty years. “Your fifth degree? How many do you have?”

Elias tilted his head, thinking. “Active? Probably a dozen. Over the years, I’ve picked up about forty. You have to do something with the time, after all. At first, I was interested in machines, so I had several engineering degrees - software, electrical, things like that. Then I changed my focus to the living things and studied plants, animals, and even organic chemistry. My sixth wife, Sarah, used to tease me that I stayed in school just to avoid doing the dishes.”

Kyran stopped walking. The casualness of the remark hit her like a physical blow. “Your... sixth wife?”

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” Elias laughed gently. “Humans don’t usually stay married for thousands of years. We grow, we change, we drift. We remain friends, usually. I think I’ve been married thirty-two times? Most of them were wonderful. I still get digital postcards from Sarah - she’s currently living on a station orbiting Jupiter. We haven't seen each other in person in several centuries.”

Kyran felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the evening breeze. She looked at Elias - really looked at him. The smooth skin, the bright eyes, the steady hands.

“Elias,” Kyran’s voice was a dry rasp. “Exactly how old are you?”

Elias paused, looking up at the darkening sky as if the answer were written in the stars. “It’s hard to keep track of the small units. We don’t really do birthdays anymore; they’re too frequent. We usually just mark the centuries once we pass the first millennium.”

He looked back at Kyran and smiled warmly. “I’m seventy centuries old in Earth years, which is roughly sixty-two centuries in Voran years.”

The world seemed to go silent. Kyran leaned against a tree, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Sixty-two centuries. When Elias was a child, Kyran’s ancestors were still fighting with bronze swords. When Elias met his fifth wife, the Voran people hadn't even discovered electricity. This man wasn't just a teacher; he was a living, breathing piece of ancient history. He had watched empires rise and fall while he practiced the piano.

“You were born… before we even knew what iron was,” Kyran whispered.

“I suppose I was,” Elias said, his voice tinged with a soft, accidental melancholy.

Kyran looked down at her own wrinkled, liver-spotted hands. To Elias, Kyran’s entire life - her birth, her education, her career, and her impending death - was nothing more than a flicker. A seasonal bloom.

“To you,” Kyran said, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and renewed bitterness, “I am just a Mayfly. I’m a spark that goes out before you’ve even finished your morning coffee.”

The smile on Elias' face was fading into something more empathetic, yet still terrifyingly distant. “No, Kyran. You aren't a spark. You’re a person. But now you understand why we are so patient with the technology. When you’ve lived seven thousand years, you realize that a century of waiting to get something right is better than a millennium of suffering because you got it wrong.”

Kyran looked away. The beauty of the park was gone, replaced by the crushing weight of the time she didn't have.

The dinner was both nice and absurd at the same time. They couldn’t find a restaurant where Elias could sit inside, so in the end they chose a restaurant with a nice garden. But even then, the staff had to find an extra-large table for Elias to sit on. And he looked like an adult trying to sit at the kids’ table.

And when he was finally seated, it turned out that he could not hold the utensils properly: they were too small for him. It was comical seeing an old man trying to eat a nice stew with a spoon, because he couldn’t eat with the small fork. Despite his size, he ate like a small child trying to figure out how to use utensils for the first time.

We laughed about it - but every time I watched him carefully try to use the too-small spoon, the difference between us was stark. He was a permanent monument trying to fit into a dollhouse. And the dollhouse was decaying.

The dinner that night wasn't the end of a date; it was the start of a decades-long professional relationship that turned into a friendship.

The Hospital Bed

Over the next thirteen years, Elias became a frequent sight in the capital. He didn't just visit the labs; he went to the theater with Kyran, debated philosophy over Voran ale, and even attended the wedding of Kyran’s granddaughter. To the public, Elias was the "Star-Man." To Kyran, he was the brilliant, infuriatingly patient architect of a future Kyran would never see.

While the Voran scientists made breakthroughs in cellular mapping, the "Great Filter" - the final stage of the Regen process - remained locked behind a door the humans refused to open.

"We are close, Elias!" Kyran would shout, his voice growing thinner with every passing year. "Another decade of research could be done in a week if you just gave us the sequencing algorithms!"

"If I give you the map, you won't learn the terrain," Elias would say, his face still that of a thirty-year-old, even as Kyran’s hair turned to snow and his back began to bow. "If you don't understand the why, the first mutation will wipe out your species."

The room smelled of sterile ionized air and the faint, sweet scent of Voran lilies.

Kyran lay beneath the thermal sheets, her chest rising and falling in the shallow, hitched rhythm of a machine running out of power. She was eighty-two. By Voran's standards, she was a miracle of modern medicine. By human standards, she was a flickering candle in a hurricane.

Elias sat on a low stool, his knees nearly touching his chin. The infirmary was scaled for Vorans; to him, it felt like a dollhouse. Kyran looked impossibly small amidst the tangle of tubes - a tiny, fierce engine that was finally cooling down. Her hand, barely the size of Elias’ palm, was a knot of feverish heat and trembling strength.

For the first time in centuries, the immortal man looked uncomfortable. He was wearing his formal ship uniform, the silver fabric catching the dim light of the monitors.

In seven thousand years, Elias had lost friends by moving to another city. He had lost contact with colleagues by changing careers. He had lost wives to the slow drift of time and changing interests. He had seen civilizations vanish into the rearview mirror of the Aeterna. But he had never sat by a bed and watched a mind he loved simply... stop. He had forgotten that death wasn't always a tragedy of fire or blood. Sometimes, it was just a quiet, cold theft.

In the 24th century, humanity had essentially "opted out" of time. To Elias, a person was a permanent fixture, like a mountain. You might not see them for five hundred years, but you assume they were still there, somewhere in the vastness, living their tenth or twentieth career.

Sitting by Kyran’s bed, Elias realized that his "patience" wasn't a virtue - it was a symptom of his disconnect. He had been treating the Vorans like a long-term climate project, waiting for the "natural cycle" to complete. He hadn't realized that for Kyran, there were no cycles. There was only a straight line leading to a cliff.

"You're afraid," Kyran whispered, her voice a dry rasp.

Elias didn't deny it. He couldn't. "I don't understand this, Kyran. I know the biology. I know the cellular decay. But the idea that you - the mind that argued with me about Laxon jazz for six hours - could just... cease? It feels like a glitch in the universe."

"It's not a glitch," Kyran said, a tired but sharp spark in her eyes. "It’s the original setting. You’re the ones who hacked the code."

That was the moment the weight of his seven millennia finally hit him. It wasn't the wisdom of the ages; it was the scar tissue of a man who had stopped feeling the urgency of life. He realized that by being "patient" and "careful" with the technology, he was effectively choosing to let billions of "sparks" go out.

He looked at the monitor. The heartbeat was a fragile, rhythmic protest against the void.

In that silence, Elias stopped being a representative of the Aeterna. He stopped being a scientist. He became a man who was unwilling to accept that his friend was "statistically replaceable" in the grand timeline of a species.

"I've spent seven thousand years watching," Elias said, more to himself than to Kyran. "I think it’s time I started doing."

Elias reached down and squeezed Kyran’s hand. For an immortal, his grip was surprisingly desperate. "Don't die today, Kyran. I’m going back up. I’m going to convince the Council."

In front of the Council

“Yes, she is dying”, confirmed Elias calmly, “but that’s not why I’m here. That was only the catalyst.”

“Please, elaborate,” asked Oroclet, the Head of the Council, in her usual slow and calm voice, “why now if not because she’s dying?”

“I just realized how we distance ourselves from the fact that people are really dying because we don’t give them the technology. They are close, but still 40 years out from reaching regen. In those forty years, billions of Vorans will die. Billions who could be brilliant musicians, awesome engineers,” argued Elias. “Or just great friends,” continued almost in a whisper.

“You do know the risk of giving them the technology,” warned Oroclet. “We talked about it earlier: if we give them the technology too early, that will cause cascading issues affecting everything from the climate to their economy.”

“That ‘earlier’ was thirty-four years ago. I think they are ready. With our help, they can manage these issues easily.”

They argued like this for hours. For practically immortal beings, time is not important, and a quick decision is almost unheard of. But Elias was adamant; he wanted to give regen to the Vorans today. Or at least this week. He argued, he proved - and he was more forceful than he was in the last millennia or two.

“Very well, Elias, if you so want to give them the technology, be it. Your argument is sound. But you have to be there to help them solve the problems this is going to cause,” said Oroclet.

“That was always my intention,” replied Elias kindly. “I plan to guide them till they can build their first city-ship. In a century or two.”

“Alright, in the meantime, the Aeterna will start building a new city-ship as per our original plan, before we knew about the Vorans. Which means we have to move the Aeterna to the asteroid belt between the seventh and eighth planets. That means you will be alone without immediate help for years to come. We expect the new ship to take 24-26 years to build.”

“No problem. I’m going to need a small team to help me coordinate everything we need, and if everything goes south, I can still call back the Aeterna - even if it takes months to get back,” replied Elias. “But I don’t expect any problem we couldn’t solve with the Vorans.”

When Elias landed back at the capital hospital, the quiet serenity of his 7,000-year life was shattered. Kyran had slipped into a deep, non-responsive coma. Her heart rate was a flat, erratic line on the monitor. The local doctors were preparing her family for the end.

For the first time in three millennia, Elias ran. He sprinted through the hospital corridors, dragging a heavy, metallic human medical pod - unauthorized and frantically stripped from his transport shuttle - into the Voran research lab.

The next four hours were a blur of pure adrenaline. Elias threw his decades of software and organic chemistry degrees into a frantic, chaotic synthesis. The pod was there, but it was programmed for humans - it had to be changed to Voran DNA and replace the code for their proteins instead of the humans.

With a team of terrified, wide-eyed Voran scientists shouting data at him, Elias bypassed safety protocols, manually rewrote the gene-sequencing algorithms, and re-soldered the pod's primary fluid intake to accept Voran synthetic proteins. His hands, usually so slow and deliberate, moved with a frantic precision he forgot he possessed.

“Her blood pressure is dropping!” a Voran doctor shouted. “Elias, we are losing her!”

“Close the seals!” Elias roared, slamming his palm onto the emergency start button. And the first time in millennia, he had to hope that he didn’t mess up.

The pod hissed. The thick, pale blue regenerative fluid surged into the chamber, submerging Kyran’s fragile, elderly frame. For ten agonizing seconds, the monitors flatlined. The alarms in the room screamed.

Elias stared through the glass, his heart hammering against his ribs, a feeling he hadn't experienced since he was a kid back on Babylon station.

Then, the monitor beeped. A slow, steady, artificial rhythm.

Inside the fluid, the deep, ragged gasps of Kyran’s chest smoothed out. The cellular decay didn't just stop -it began, atom by atom, to reverse.

Elias let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for a century, leaning his heavy frame against the modified console.

Two weeks later, the fluid was drained, and the pod hissed open.

Kyran opened her eyes. She didn't look like a twenty-year-old - the first session only repaired the immediate, lethal damage and stabilized the biology - but the gray pallor was gone from her skin, and her breathing was deep and clear.

She looked up at Elias, who was sitting on the same ridiculously small stool, his knees nearly hitting his chin, looking exhausted but smiling widely.

“You look terrible, Star-Man,” Kyran whispered, her voice stronger than it had been in years. “Did you actually have to work for once?”

“I had to hurry,” Elias said, stretching his aching back. “It’s a horrible sensation. I don't recommend it.”

Kyran looked at her hands, watching the steady pulse of life beneath her skin. “You brought the fire down from the heavens, Elias. The Council let you?”

“They did. But they left us behind to deal with the consequences. The Aeterna has gone to the asteroid belt. I’m stuck here for the next few decades.” Elias shrugged, his smile softening. “I told them it was fine. I promised I'd stick around until you guys build your very first city-ship. I figure a century or two of your company is a fair trade.”

Kyran laughed, a bright, youthful sound that filled the sterile room. “A century? Careful, Elias. You might actually have to finish that tour of the park.”

“I have time,” Elias said, leaning back. “We both do.”

---

This is a standalone story in the Postcardverse.

---

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It was the quickest decision the High Council had ever made: they voted unanimously to launch a preemptive strike against Earth. To ensure victory, they chose the most decorated war veteran in the known Galaxy: Admiral Ghon. They also commissioned special hazmat suits for the infantry, specifically designed to protect against the absurdly poisonous transdermal defense weapons of the human race.

---

Three weeks later, the armada arrived. Knowing Earth possessed no orbital defense capabilities, the Admiral didn't even bother to prepare for a space battle. As soon as they achieved stable orbit, she began scanning the surface for a landing zone.

Before long, her scanners spotted a location where the locals seemed to have a small, isolated outpost. It was the ideal spot to test the waters before a full-scale invasion. She deployed a single vanguard battalion - only four hundred elite soldiers. The scans showed no more than two dozen humans defending the area, guaranteeing zero chance of a Halxon defeat.

Or so she thought.

---

The invasion began the moment the troops hit the dirt. They initiated a swift offensive against the largest concentration of natives, but immediately encountered fierce resistance. The enemy was wearing full protective armor, including tactical masks, and carried weapons with a fire rate that far surpassed the finest Halxon engineering. The alien offensive ground to a halt; in the chaos, the vanguard was forced to retreat, leaving several of their wounded behind.

After regrouping, they launched a second, highly coordinated assault to encircle the enemy. This attempt went slightly better - the Admiral received reports of a few casualties on the human side - but ultimately, the Halxon lines buckled, and they were forced to retreat yet again.

---

Two weeks later, a visibly shaken Admiral Ghon stood before the High Council to deliver her report.

"After the second assault failed, I…" The Admiral hesitated, struggling to find the right words under the weight of her shame. "I ordered my soldiers to deploy the red balls."

An audible gasp rippled across the chamber.

"You knew you did not have the authority to authorize the red balls, correct?" the Council President asked, his voice dangerously level.

"Yes, President."

"Then why did you do it?" The President was visibly losing his composure. "Deploying them without explicit Council authorization is a galactic war crime! The red balls are 70% alcohol, 20% caffeine, and 10% capsaicin. They are lethal to every known sapient species in the Galaxy!"

"I must correct you, Mr. President," the Admiral’s voice dropped to a whisper. "They are lethal to every known sapient species in the Galaxy... except one."

Dead silence fell over the room.

"After I ordered the third assault, I equipped my remaining troops with the chemical rounds," the Admiral continued, staring at the floor. "We scored direct hits, and my scouts reported seeing the enemy drop instantly. Curiously, however, the fallen humans were dragged behind cover by their comrades almost immediately. I found it strange, but pressed the attack. But then, mere minutes later, I received the first report that one of the 'killed' soldiers was spotted back on the firing line. And then another. And another."

"Are you implying that humans can survive a direct hit from a red ball?" The President’s patience finally snapped. "That is impossible! The chemical shock alone should liquefy their nervous system!"

"Yes, Mr. President, that is exactly what I am saying. Not only do they survive the compound, but they are back on the battlefield fighting us again in a matter of minutes." The Admiral looked completely broken. "When I confirmed this data, I ordered an immediate, total evacuation. If they can shrug off our deadliest chemical weapons, there was no point in risking the lives of my men. Fortunately, while many suffered severe injuries from the human projectiles, we didn't lose a single soldier."

The Admiral’s briefing sparked the most terrifying debate in the history of the High Council. They had to face a grim reality: if humanity could shake off weapons of mass destruction like a minor inconvenience, a counter-invasion would mean total galactic annihilation. Surrender was their only logical choice.

In record time, the decree was signed. The High Council ordered Admiral Ghon to return to Earth - not to fight, but to beg for a surrender protocol that might spare at least some part of the galactic population.

---

Meanwhile, two weeks earlier on Earth...

"So, how was your game yesterday?" John asked his favorite grandson.

"It was awesome!" Jack said, practically bouncing with excitement. "We decided to add a sci-fi cosplay theme to our usual weekend paintball match. And you wouldn’t believe it, Grandpa, but the guest team that showed up had the best costumes you've ever seen!"

"Is that so?" John smiled.

"Yeah! They had full-body armor like something straight out of a movie. Their markers looked just like real laser pistols, and they even brought custom paintballs. First, they were shooting purple fill, and then they switched to red. It was so cool." Jack wrinkled his nose slightly. "Though whatever they used to dye the paint smelled terrible. Especially the red ones - when you got hit, the skin underneath stung a little bit. Still, the costumes were incredible."

"You haven’t mentioned the actual gameplay, Jack," John observed dryly.

"Yeah, well, I think they spent so much time and money making their armor look good that they didn't have anything left for their gear. The build quality was total garbage. When we rushed them, our paintballs were literally cracking their armor open. And their markers were terrible - I'm pretty sure their helmet visors were fogged up because they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Hardly any of us got marked."

Jack paused, reflecting happily on the day.

"We played with the standard revival rule, too - if you can drag your teammate back to the starting base, they can wipe off the paint and respawn. It made for some awesome saves. The only weird part was that the guest team never stuck around to talk after the match. When we walked over to their staging area to hang out, they had already packed up and completely vanished. I'm kind of bummed out. I'd love a rematch, but man... they seriously need to upgrade their gear."

---

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---

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I always wanted to write sci-fi stories where the "sci" is the main factor, and be as realistic as possible. Now I know that it's called "hard sci-fi". I actually have several story ideas in this universe, so I kind of posted this story to create the "Postcardverse". Please tell me what you think of this approach.

---

I’ve always loved old sci-fi, especially from the 22nd and 23rd centuries. Even the earlier stuff has its charms. It’s fun to see such relentless optimism and hope: faster-than-light travel, galactic wars, artificial gravity, and empires heroically protecting "weaker" species. In those stories, humans are often portrayed as "space orcs" or "deathworlders" - my personal favorites.

None of that actually happened.

We eventually had to accept that the speed of light is a hard limit that cannot be broken. Besides, space is so vast that there’s no real need for war. It is far more efficient to simply find a new planet, a different asteroid, or another star. It’s not like we’re in a hurry.

Ohh, yeah, one thing those old stories got right: we did figure out regenerative healing in the 24th century. It quickly became publicly available, and since then, no human has died of old age. We are still not immortal - we can still die in an accident - but if you don’t die before help arrives, you are going to live.

The trade-off was a crisis of overpopulation on Earth, which was already crowded. We colonized Mars and eventually settled every habitable moon and rock in the Sol system. We even have cities on Mercury. And even though overpopulation was a problem, it wasn’t an urgent one; if your biological clock isn’t ticking, you are not in any hurry to have children. After regen was invented, the average age at which women had their first child went from 35 to 90 within a century! Soon after, we had to implement strict birth control for everyone to reduce population growth to a manageable level.

Still, the numbers added up. By the end of the third millennium, the human population reached 20 billion. Most of them lived on Earth. So we needed somewhere to grow.

The first “space city” was built in the 29th century. It was a gigantic effort at the time to build a space station the size of a city - 12 kilometers long and 2.5 kilometers in diameter. Its population was over a million people. It was named Babylon, after a cult-classic 20th-century sci-fi series. It was parked - and still sits - at the Earth-Sun Lagrange point.

Since there are only so many stable Lagrange points, we began building elsewhere. The second space city orbited between Earth and Venus, and we built more and more of them. There are thousands of space cities in Sol now; most are much larger than Babylon. We built most of these in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, then moved them to their final orbits after completion. Gaining experience moving a city-sized station around meant it was only a small step to build city-sized ships to travel between solar systems.

Our first interstellar vessel was modest: 8 kilometers long and 1.2 kilometers wide. The physics were simple: accelerate at 1g for six to eight months until reaching roughly half the speed of light, cruise for a few years, then decelerate at 1g for the final stretch. During the acceleration phases, the engines provided gravity; during the cruise, the ship rotated to provide centrifugal force, just like the space cities back home.

Our first ship reached Alpha Centauri in eight years (only six years for the crew, thanks to time dilation). We weren't fast, but we had all the time in the world. Today, most of the hundred-or-so solar systems within 20 light-years of Sol are colonized. We rarely bother with terraforming, though; it’s much easier to build city-stations that orbit a star than it is to fix a hostile planet.

If you do the math, our population doubles every millennium or so - even with strict birth control. With the city ships, the equation is simple: a captain has to find a solar system to capture a few asteroids and build a new city ship every thousand years. With space stations, the solution is similar: we have to build as many stations as we currently have every millennium. It’s doable, and not even a stretch for our production tech.

The problem was Earth. We couldn’t build another Earth every thousand years. The first and most obvious solution was to completely ban birth on Earth. This was the policy for more than two thousand years, but it was never popular, and humanity kept spilling outward.

In the ten thousand years since that first interstellar trip, we’ve pushed out about 500 light-years from Sol. Because distances are so vast, information crawls. Every colony and ship broadcasts its data to every other known habitat, but there is no "United Federation" or "Galactic Empire." We receive "postcards" from other systems every week, but the news is often decades or centuries old. Consistent law is impossible to maintain, let alone a central government. Every ship is its own sovereign nation.

When you have thousands of independent, immortal micro-societies spread across the dark, they solve problems in different ways. To generate enough living space without crowding the old home worlds, we had to think bigger than planets.

Have you ever heard of Dyson spheres? It's a structure built entirely around a star, capturing all of its energy output and creating vast quantities of living space at the same time. We don’t have a full one yet, but we built a couple of rings around red dwarf stars - those are much easier to construct and practically achieve the same goal. We currently have seven of these rings. The largest one alone has more living space than all the other stations, ships, terraformed planets, and Earth combined. And right now, out on the frontier, we are building our very first true, complete Dyson sphere. It should solve our space problem for the foreseeable future.

Which leaves only the big question: Are we alone?

No. We’ve made seventeen First Contacts so far. The results vary. We’ve met a few species with compatible atmospheres we can actually live with - the Laxons even joined our journey. We’ve never found a "hostile" species, though some have politely asked us to leave them alone after a brief exchange. We respect their privacy, but we always leave a door open in case they change their minds.

It’s not a hard job being an engineer on a city ship. Most of the tasks are handled by droids and AIs, but right now I’m doing the second hardest thing I’m going to do on this trip. I have to pack a package and send it to another ship! Yeah, I know, it sounds like the easiest job in the universe, which is true until you consider that both ships are moving at about half the speed of light.

Now, that complicates things, to say the least.

Our ship, the Utazo, has just finished a survey of a solar system where two planets had life. No intelligent life, but life, nonetheless. We collected about seven million cell samples and thousands of seeds. Of course, we already sent the DNA structure of every animal and plant we catalogued there, but Earth has a vault that stores physical samples from every planet ever surveyed, and they are eager to have them as soon as possible.

We are on our way to another system to conduct a survey and build a new city ship - a project that won't see us return to Sol for a millennium or more. But we just happen to cross paths with the Aeterna, returning to Earth after spending more than fifteen centuries away. It’s standard practice to pass on packages when ships cross nearby, but it would take a planetary amount of energy to stop for a transfer - so, we do it at speed.

I’ve been in talks with the engineer on the Aeterna for the last month, planning this transfer. We calculated the relative vectors - not forgetting Special Relativity, which changes the relative speed calculation by more than ten thousand kilometers per second. If we didn’t use the correct relativistic math, our package would miss the target by hundreds of kilometers - or worse, hit the hull with enough kinetic energy to punch clean through the whole ship.

I’ve been building the "package" for two weeks now. The structure is simple: a relatively small container with a massive maneuvering drive and a fusion reactor the size of an elephant. Our ship's specialized magnetic railgun will give it a starting velocity of about twenty percent of the speed of light, but the onboard drive has to supply massive delta-v to match the intercept vector. Lots of power.

The release timing needs to be accurate to the millisecond. The container can correct its course slightly, but a single millisecond of error at this speed displaces the trajectory by two hundred kilometers, so the window is brutally narrow.

There’s another nice thing about being in proximity to another ship: near-real-time conversations! Of course, the Doppler effect causes the incoming signal to sound compressed into a chirpy, high-pitched voice, but it's still incredible. We get about a ten-minute window before the distance creates a lag so unbearable we have to switch back to digital postcards.

I just opened the feed with the engineer on the other ship - a nice guy named Elias - and we’re staying on the call for the entire run. I’ve already loaded the launch sequence into the computer and programmed the package’s AI to navigate the intercept. Now comes the wait - and the anxiety over whether I did everything right. We both triple-checked the math; we both had our ships' AI matrices run the simulations, but in deep space, you can never be entirely sure.

"Package is on its way, Elias."

I follow the launch sequence on my console - so far, so good. The package cleared our magnetic rail, hit its target velocity, and is tracking smoothly. It moves too fast and is too far away for manual intervention now: if it misses the Aeterna, there’s nothing I can do.

"The package is a bit behind," Elias says. It’s always easy to tell the exact second we pass the point of closest approach; his voice instantly drops out of the high blueshift chirp into a slow, deep redshift.

"But it seems the AI has compensated for that. Which is good," comes his drawn-out voice over the speaker. I hold my breath, watching Elias on the screen as he monitors his own console. He’s focused, but calm. After several long, stressful seconds, Elias smiles and announces the package has landed in their capture grid. Their onboard system managed the slight timing variance, though we're already discussing how to improve the tracking algorithms for the next handover. Elias's first hunch is that millisecond precision isn't tight enough for an intercept like this, and future protocols should mandate microsecond bounds.

His responses take longer and longer to arrive; we are rapidly pulling out of range. Soon the signal latency will be several minutes - no longer suitable for a live chat. I wave goodbye to the screen and wish him a safe run back to Sol.

See you in a few millennia, my friend.

---

This is a standalone story in the Postcardverse | Wiki

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

💙 Donate via PayPal

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Several weeks later, Captain Xerx received his next assignment. As the crew prepared the ship to depart, the cleaning crew finally arrived to sanitize the investigation room where the human had been tested. There, they immediately found the walking stick left behind. Following standard protocol, they sent the alien object to the lab for analysis.

It took only two hours for the lab to conclude that the coating on the object was lethal to most intelligent life in the Galaxy. It was toxic even to the touch; it was a miracle the cleaning crew had been wearing standard-issue protective gloves. However, because the object wasn’t officially classified as a weapon, the toxicity report took a full week to navigate the bureaucracy and reach Captain Xerx’s desk. By then, he was already well on his way to his next destination.

---

At first, the Captain couldn’t believe a citizen of an average planet would casually carry a chemical weapon for a stroll in the park, so he ordered a deeper analysis. The second, more detailed report reached the Captain in mere hours, and it was even more devastating. Not only did the paint contain several highly toxic compounds, but the flexible rubber tip was also lethal, though slightly less concentrated than the coating.

The report theorized that the stick was a standard-issue self-defense weapon, used by the natives to fend off predators.

The Captain actively considered abandoning his current mission to update the council. But he had an immaculate success rate to protect, so he decided to finish the job first and report the new human development later.

---

Four weeks later, Captain Xerx stood before the New Species Classification Committee once again to update his file.

“After our departure, we discovered a weapon of mass destruction left behind by the human specimen,” the Captain began, a hint of nervousness slipping into his voice. This was the first time in his career that he had ever been forced to amend an official report.

“A detailed analysis reveals that practically every component of this device is highly toxic to all known intelligent life in the Galaxy.” His voice grew ominous under the weight of the data. “And in most cases, the toxicity is transdermal—it kills just by touching it, without needing to inflict an open wound.”

An audible gasp rippled through the chamber, followed by a tense murmur.

“Captain, do you believe this weapon was engineered specifically to target us?” the Committee Head asked, maintaining a surprisingly calm demeanor.

“No, I do not believe they are aware of us,” the Captain answered confidently. “...Yet. But if they discover our existence and are given time to mobilize, they will be unstoppable. No matter how average their physical traits may be.”

The murmuring intensified. Now, the Captain could clearly catch phrases like “preemptive strike” and “total containment.”

“I strongly advise the Committee to petition the High Council for an immediate strike against the humans, before they can prepare!”

With that, the Captain concluded his briefing. The ball was now in the Committee’s court. He could only hope they acted swiftly.

---

“John, I finally bought you a new cane. Unfortunately, I could only find a cheap metal one on short notice, but I’m going to keep looking for one like your old wooden one. Are you absolutely sure you still don't remember where you lost it?”

---

First | Next

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Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

💙 Donate via PayPal

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After the Halxon Empire caught the first radio waves coming from an unknown intelligent species, they did what they always did: prepared an expedition to investigate the new species and determine how to handle them.

Captain Xerx led the expedition with several similar investigations already under his belt. His experience had never been questioned, so everyone on board knew he was going to do a perfect job, as usual.

---

“Captain, we are in a standard orbit around the planet where the radio signals originated,” the navigator said nervously. Being around someone with so much experience made everyone on board a bit anxious.

“Keep stealth mode active. We don’t want this new species detecting us,” came the captain’s calm response.

“Yes, Captain. We are detecting numerous satellites around the planet.”

“Prepare a probe to find us a specimen to investigate.”

“Yes, Captain.”

---

The planet was crawling with these bipeds, who called themselves “humans.” There were so many of them that it wasn't easy to find a specimen that could be abducted without anyone noticing. But after several hours, they finally spotted one sitting alone in a park. It was the perfect candidate to transport back to the ship for evaluation.

From then on, the investigation went routinely. They tested all the biological capabilities of the new specimen: stamina, sensory ranges, and strength. The usual protocol.

After the tests were complete, they erased the specimen's memory and transported it back to the surface, to the exact spot where it had been taken.

The crew could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Being near a planet with so many satellites always carried a high risk of discovery, but with the investigation wrapped up, they cleared orbit and headed back to report.

---

A week later, Captain Xerx stood before the New Species Classification Committee, delivering his final report on the so-called “humans.”

“As stated in my documentation, the humans are slightly weaker than the galactic average; their hearing and vision are mediocre at best. The only area where they surpass the galactic baseline is their stamina. However, even that is not exceptional; there are several species in the Galactic Community with similar endurance.” The captain’s voice was steady and calm. He had given this exact briefing dozens of times for dozens of different worlds.

---

Meanwhile, back on Earth, one week earlier...

“John, where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting for dinner for hours! I was starting to really worry, you know! You shouldn’t be going for long afternoon walks at your age - you are eighty-seven years old, for God's sake! ...And what did you do with your walking stick?!”

---

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

💙 Donate via PayPal

💳 Donate via Credit/Debit Card (Stripe)

🇪🇺 Direct Bank Transfer / IBAN (EUR): HU42 1091 8001 0000 0019 4860 0039 (SWIFT: BACXHUHB)