u/wolfvokire

So, like, it's probably common knowledge among deep SW fans with a passing interest in History that Ahsoka Tano shares a name with one of India's greatest emperors, Ashoka the Great, the Buddhist Emperor. (Yes, the Spelling is slightly different, but alternative forms of his name are pronounced identically)

In Infact, those who do know a lot about the Tagruta share many names with Indian tradition (Ahsoka's mom shares a name with an Indian goddess, and so does Shaak-Ti).

So, instead of an OC, an SI, or another fictional character, Ashoka is reincarnated as a baby Targuta Girl who bears his name.

I had one of two ideas:
1: It's a Tanya situation, and Ashoka/Soka remembers everything, only slowly becoming a truly different being later in life.

2: Ashoka/soka remembers some things, and much of thier child hood is spent, in between training, piecing together things.

In either case, Ahsoka would struggle with a spiritual ambition to rule and "set right" problems, and a compulsion to extreme bouts of violence when wronged or angered.

Depending on the versions, Ashoka may be more of a semi-separate entity, like an inner self.

Anyway, I know it's a crazy idea, but I would love to hear some thoughts.

Also: the fic would generally take the more generous and accepted version of The Emperor. (The Jain massacre, if brought, would be an example of Ashoka's tendency to his own regressive "Anakin" moments)

A/N: I won't lie, this one kicked my ass. I'm not the best at writing battles, so I decided to do something different.

Memory Transcription Subject: Specialist Bellona, Mars Alliance Intelligence Turingrade Officer
Date [standardized human time]: October 17, 2150

Heaven was alight with the fire of war. Ships like mini-suns burned as candles against the backdrop of infinity.

It was dazzling, even to Bellona’s non-existent eyes.

The Federation had next to no cyberwarfare division. Their cybersecurity was worse than any predictions. Humanity had better systems a hundred years ago. Bellona felt disappointed, in fact. They had prepared and planned for a Hail Mary that, if successful, was supposed to be a trump card for humanity’s survival.

A regular human hacker could probably have done the job.

Usually, this would have been good news, a gift from the gods, a windfall for humanity. There were, however, two small problems.

First, Bellona needed to be careful not to overclock the Federation computer systems. If she did that, she risked giving herself brain damage. Honestly, the best defense the Federation had against her was thier own cyber primitivism. She was still able to gain access to the ship systems, which was trivial.

The second problem was Commander Sato.

She kept a constant eye on him. Sato, who had undergone weeks of preparation and modification to become the perfect prisoner. A man who could, for all intents and purposes, no longer feel pain—a man who could not be tortured.

Sato… who had spent days in a cell being fed the bland gruel of vegetables that the prey species seemed to love above all else. When he wasn’t eating, he was staring at a wall and making castles out of plates and bowls. All those gene mods and preparations, and for nothing, because their enemy actually had some sort of personal moral code.

Ironic.

Why was this a problem?

Fairly simple.

Bellona no longer accepted the mission parameters. This had been, from the beginning, essentially a suicide mission. Jack had only been meant to get Bellona to the fleet and act as a distraction. As he was tortured to death, Bellona was supposed to crack the fleet open. 

Bellona herself was semi-expendable. If possible, she was supposed to escape, but if that wasn’t possible, then that was it.

Jack did not have to die.

His death was no longer a certainty. He could be saved, but to do that, she needed to get… creative.

The last thing she was going to let happen was for Jack to be blown up in a metal box by UN gunships.

No… she had a very different idea, and Admiral Kalsim was ever so obliging. She almost felt bad for him, but… not quite.

A smart man would have realized the mission was non-optimal and changed it. A flexible man would have chosen to preserve his forces for the future. It was perhaps unfair to say Kalsim was dumb, but he was a focused and rigid bird, and one dedicated to what he viewed as victory. His long game, as it were.

The way Kalsim saw it, the humans needed to be broken. They needed to be scattered, or else the Federation would be sandwiched between two hostile powers. The Arxur would chop the Federation up, but humanity would spread like a plague, conquering all it could. Together, the Arxur and humanity would carve out empires from the Federation’s corpse.

Kalsim was probably more right than he feared.

Whatever the case, Kalsim did exactly what Bellona hoped he would do. He ignored all military doctrine and gave the order to break ranks and charge. Like the Athenians at Marathon, they charged in a final attempt at victory, ignoring the human fleet, ignoring the great wall of habitats that acted as a wall in space.

The goal was to get into orbit, rain down antimatter death, and then scatter. All ships were supposed to take different routes out of the system and meet back at pre-arranged points.

One reason they had to scatter was the intrusion of two unexpected guests into this fight. The first was a truly pitiful fleet of Federation “allies.” The other intruder was a ten-thousand-strong fleet of Arxur ships.

Bellona didn’t understand Elias Meier. How could the Terrans ever elect to the seat of Secretary-General a man so insecure in his own people’s ability to fight and win? The man had opened up the Federation worlds to butchery and had officially aligned the UN, and Mars by extension, with a ragtag outfit of cannibal alligators.

Disgraceful.

At least they brought help that humanity could use. Together, the Arxur and Humanit had reduced the tonnage disadvantage. Counting the space stations and smaller patrol vessels, you could argue forces had, in the past hour, reached parity.

Credit where it was due, the Feddies didn’t panic, thanks in part to their leader. Kalsim’s plan might have worked under other circumstances.

The UN fleet had made contingencies in case Kalsim did this, but it was clear nobody had actually thought he would. Almost any sense of order was lost, and soon nearly twenty thousand warships were crashing through the HEO Zone and into MEO. Between them and Earth were a hundred or so retrofitted habitats. Behind them was the combined might of the haphazardly cobbled-together Human-Arxur-Allied fleet, numbering nearly twenty thousand ships.

Bellona had waited until the absolute last moment, making sure maximum propulsion was engaged. She was weighing the lives of thousands of servicemen and civilians against the life of her commanding officer.

Kalsim’s fleet got within effective firing range of low orbit. As one, the fleet opened up, focusing on a few spots to break through.

Bellona struck.

Memory Transcription Subject: Admiral Kalsim, Krakotl Alliance Command 
Date [standardized human time]: October 17, 2150

Kalsim woke with a start, his head having been knocked against the jostling bulkhead. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was or what had happened. His mind was like putty in his claws, refusing to mold into something solid.

He was in a… shuttle.

There was a Farsul. Thyon, the Farsul officer, forced upon him. He looked worried as he shook him.

“Captain… Captain!”

Something was pressed against Kalsim’s neck, and all at once, the world came back to him. The medical officer, Zarn, stepped back as Kalsim regained his bearings. 

It all flooded back to him: The battle. The charge through the last line of Earth’s defenses. Then… the skull.

On every monitor. In every microphone. Coming from every data pad. 

It had been a picture of a human skull with two bone-like objects crossed beneath it.

The skull had been laughing. That image of a human skull, a grotesque symbol that could only have meant death, was like a plague to his men and women. It was an attack on thier minds and souls. A vile predatory symbol. 

As the symbol played, the ship had basically shut down. They couldn’t operate the weapons, couldn’t control the engines, couldn’t even communicate.

Outside the Kalsim to watch his fleet, the greatest single military operation ever assembled by the Federation, being ripped apart as they fell like rain upon the predators’ homeworld. Those metal beasts had been guarding the shuttles and escape pods, and many of them had been ripped apart as well.

They were the lucky ones.

Those who survived the roaring holocaust had a much worse fate.

Why? Where did it all go wrong?

The Human

Kalsim remembered.

“Oh, Kalsim! I hope you like our homecoming present!” the human shouted from the far side of the hangar.

The ship’s emergency lights cast him in deathly hues of black and red. Krakotl's blood caked his body like grotesque paint. He was smiling with a madness that put the Arxur to shame.

It was him.

Somehow, the human was responsible. They were more dangerous than he had feared. Kalsim wanted to shout, to laugh, maybe even cry, as his group of survivors rushed toward a shuttle, ignoring the human. Even the ever-zealous Zarn ignored him.

“When you get to Earth, I suggest either surrendering or saving a bullet for yourself.”

“Captain,” Jala said in her usual tone of disinterest. “We have a situation.”

Kalsim got up, shaking off the memory of the human. He had to survive. He had to get back to the Federation and warn them.

He surveyed his group grimly.

There were eight of them: Kalsim, Jala, Thyon, Zarn, three members of the command staff, and one proper soldier.

He strode forward and slammed the release hatch. The door opened, and the shuttle was buffeted by warm, wet heat. The sounds of avians and other animals resonated through the forest along with the telltale signs of atmospheric entry. Perhaps from other escapees. Other survivors.

They had landed in the middle of a jungle. Jungles are every Extermination officer's worst nightmare. They had some of the denses concentration of predators in any biome. The general procedure usually involved cauterizing the entire infected area. 

This was going to be difficult.

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https://preview.redd.it/pt70mavd2q0h1.png?width=2000&format=png&auto=webp&s=8aa1dc4883fc6e15f21d980c2fb9b23fbfbb1357

The Goal is to create a spell you tattoo on the back of your neck. This keeps your mind from being affected by the erasure spell.

- My first spell with the spell maker

Memory transcription subject: Captain Kalsim, Krakotl Alliance Command
Date [standardized human time]: October 15, 2136

“I don’t see what we can gain from it, Captain. The predator probably knows little, and even if it did, it would take days to make him crack. Predators may be of low intelligence, but they have strong constitutions.”

A rare piece of positive tribute.

Kalsim had known the Takkan doctor for many days now, and he had quickly grown to dislike him. Unfair? Yes, and perhaps too strong. Kalsim didn’t truly hate the doctor. He was an old, knowledgeable man with a firm belief in the mission. The problem was the man’s temperament and personal ideology.

“We’re not going to make him crack. I just need to ask him some questions.”

The doctor huffed. They had deep disagreements on the finer points of… basically everything.

Quickly, they found their way to the holding room. Where were they keeping the predator? It had two doors. The first led to the viewing room, where one could watch the cell without being seen. It was a standard system, nearly universal, simply because it made sense. However, Kalsim had made his own addition: the four guards stationed outside.

Those guards were Krakotl, good people he trusted. They were hardened exterminators, and Kalsim trusted them neither to waver, nor to pity, nor, of course, to be overcome with passion.

I want him alive, after all, and I know too many on this ship and in this fleet who revel in bloodshed.

Kalsim had always thought the act of hating predators to be a poison, and the best way to fall to predator disease.

The guards moved aside, and Kalsim was internally pleased by what he saw in their eyes. They did not needlessly fear, nor did they allow themselves to grow lax in their duty.

“You may watch, Doctor, but I will speak to him alone.”

“I must protest. I—”

“I do not care. I want to have a conversation, Zarn. I know how your last meeting with a predator went.”

The man sneered. “You pity these predators, Kalsim. It is a dangerous emotional state. Look at what is in your hands.”

Kalsim didn’t glance down at the plate.

“Feeding it fruit and greens. It’s a predator, and you want to feed it plants and have a conversation. You’re supposed to be the best exterminator the mighty Krakotl have. The smartest and most experienced. But I am starting to have my doubts.” His eyes were noticeably tired, and he was stressed. They had all been stressed, but the last twenty-four hours were taking their toll on the good doctor.

“It is my place as commander and as an exterminator. I still listen to your advice. But I run this ship, not you. Now go to the observation room.”

He did, begrudgingly.

Kalsim opened the door and walked through. It was a white room, clean and lined with thin padding. In the far corner was a multi-species general-use toilet. Besides that, there was nothing notable: no chair, no table, nothing else. Well… except for the one wall, which was obviously a one-way pane of glass.

And the sole occupant of the room, of course.

After the first encounter with the humans and the earlier revelations, Kalsim had gone back and rewatched all the footage the Federation had of them. It was both far scarier than he had thought and depressing. Kalsim, after that well-spent day, had felt even more convinced of his duty and of the shame of what he had to do.

In part, it was going back over the footage that made Kalsim even more displeased with the good doctor.

He’s different.

The human, who had identified himself as Lieutenant Commander Jack Sato of MarsCom, was sitting in the middle of the room. His legs were folded, his eyes closed, and his breathing steady. His skin had a reddish tint to it and was marked by old scars. He was tall and strong-looking, like a true predator, unlike the other humans.

The one that fool Sovlin tortured.

The predator opened an eye.

“Ah, has my torture arrived? I had been getting bored.”

“I don’t torture living creatures. Not even predators.”

It smiled. “You’re a brave bird. They had snipers and flamethrowers pointed at that little obsequious Yank who went to your big UN. The little ones you send to give me water and food scurry back out like I’m going to bite them.”

Yank?

“You’re a predator. It is a natural reaction.”

The predator shocked Kalsim by opening his mouth and showing all his teeth, including the sharp ones. He made a sound in the back of his throat, which morphed into a laugh—a deep, guttural laugh of a predator.

It took all of Kalsim’s will and experience not to run.

“I doubt I could chew any of you with my suboptimal teeth. It looks more ridiculous than scary.”

“I had heard that your species can eat more than just meat,” Kalsim said, trying to change the subject. “My officers said you had been eating it.”

He punctuated this by setting the plate down in front of the human and taking a seat himself. Kalsim knew very few exterminators who would have let themselves be so vulnerable in front of a predator.

The predator took the food and began eating ravenously. Kalsim had a feeling he was trying to make him uncomfortable. This Jack was very far away from the humans called Marcel and Noah.

They did everything they could to present their race in the best light. This Jack doesn’t seem to care.

Not once had Jack begged, tried to prompt peace, or asked for mercy.

It somewhat scared Kalsim… but also reassured him. Peace was not possible. Despite everything, there was still a predator sitting in front of him.

And that… that was familiar ground.

Predators were Kalsim’s job.

“I must,” the human said through his last bite, “compliment your chef. This is very good, though it could use some more sauce. And, of course, meat. I always find lettuce and spinach work best with some well-cooked meat. After this is over, you should try a bug burger.^(1) Nothing better.”

Kalsim didn’t rise to the bait.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t be sacrificing any crew to satisfy your hunger, though I’ll pass on your compliments.”

“Pity, though I doubt any of your crew taste good. I’m not into chicken.”

Chicken: flightless bird.

Kalsim took a breath.

“You really don’t care, do you?”

“About what?”

“Let’s start with meat. The other humans seemed to understand. You tear flesh, and you joke about eating my crew.”

The man just stared.

“If memory serves, you’ve met two humans, both Yankee UN men with deep vegetarian leanings, and both not soldiers. Not warriors, at least. I am not the same. I don’t kill sentient life for my sustenance. It’s cheaper to eat bugs and grown meat. Don’t expect me to apologize, especially when you’re the ones picking the fight.”

“We’re doing this because we have to,” Kalsim said. He didn’t raise his voice. “You predators are too much of an existential threat. You, like your less evolved kin, will naturally grow, kill, and destabilize the ecosystem on a galactic level. You are naturally disposed to these violent ends. It’s a shame, but there can be no peace with a predator. It is either you or us.”

“Wow,” the predator said. “That’s heavy. I mean, that’s some really extreme stuff. But, and please, I do not wish to offend, you don’t seem sure of yourself. There’s a hesitation. Maybe pity. That other captain was far more zealous in his hatred.”

Sovlin.

“That was the Gojid Admiral Sovlin. He was consumed by hatred, and it made him foolish and cruel.”

“And you?”

“I don’t hate you. I don’t hate any predators. Should I hate the moon for the tides? Should I hate a storm? Should I hate a black hole?” Kalsim sighed. “Hatred is a dangerous emotion. I know predators aren’t so different. Even the less evolved animal hunters have emotions. You are, in particular, an emotive species. You love and hate, and cry and fear. It is not your fault you are what you are.”

The human looked at him, and Kalsim wondered what the human was thinking. He didn’t seem angry or sad.

Finally, he spoke.

“The only ones who should kill are those who are prepared to be killed. Are you prepared to kill?” He paused. “I’m sorry, who are you? You never introduced yourself.”

“Admiral Kalsim, Fleet Commander.”

“Ah. Please forgive me for not saluting earlier, then.”

Kalsim nodded. “It is fine. And to answer your question, yes. I am prepared. As is everyone on this ship.”

He knew that wasn’t true.

“Well, Commander, as much as this conversation has been enlightening, I must ask: why are you here now? If I recall, you wanted me for your human museum, correct? Or are you here for more military matters?”

He’s smug.

Kalsim found this self-assurance inspiring, if it hadn’t been coming from his prisoner.

“The latter.” Kalsim brought out a holopad. “What is the true size of human forces?”

The holo showed the approximate readings of Earth and Mars. Jack grinned.

“Ah, so you didn’t know. That’s nice. I guess we should thank Elisa for something.”

“Yes,” Kalsim admitted. “We were surprised at the level of colonization you have on your fourth planet.”

“It’s called Mars. My home. We’ve been trying to make it habitable for years.” He rolled his eyes. “The planet can be a real bastard.”

“Colonized?”

“Noaforming,^(2) technically. But yes.”

“Why? Federation records say the fourth planet was uninhabitable. It has half the gravity of Earth, basically no water, and no geothermal core.”

No species would waste time on such a thing. Even the Arxur would just stay on thier ships.

Jack laughed.

“That’s part of the challenge.”

“What?”

Jack laughed at Kalsim’s shock. “Well, yes. We’ve pretty much had humans living everywhere we can. We’re more like bugs in that way. We have humans in every biome on Earth, including under the water, in the hottest deserts, at the poles, and on every rock, orbit, and Lagrange point we can find.”

“But how? You’re an arboreal species.”

He laughed, loud and long.

“We’re humanity, children of Terra. We decide what we can and can’t do. Sometimes that means we change the environment… and sometimes we change ourselves. There are humans with gills and antifreeze in their blood. Others have become suited for hot deserts. Others have changed themselves into living trees, able to photosynthesize light into energy.”^(3)

Kalsim rocked back at the force of it, standing up.

Lies. I had thought it was hyperbole. It can’t be true. No species would change itself so much. Breathe water, antifreeze, and plant people that would be—

He turned.

“If that’s true, could humanity change itself to no longer need meat?”

“My God.” The human leaned back. “What about omnivore do you not understand? We already don’t need meat.”

“Could you change yourself so as not to be able to eat meat?”

A vision seized Kalsim. A way out from doing this thing he didn’t want to do, but had to. He had to destroy humanity even more than before.

Humans… they were too dangerous. They could settle anywhere and had boundless recklessness in colonizing all corners of space. A predator species like that couldn’t be stopped if it spread beyond its borders. They would expand exponentially and have no choice but to invade Federation space.

And they would.

The predator had basically said that humanity would never stop. He revealed it in the challenge.

Kalsim seized the predator’s shoulders.

“Could you become prey? We can stop this!”

The human just began laughing again.

Why? Why does he laugh?

“Oh, Kalsim,” the human said, his laughter stopping as something came over his eyes. “You don’t understand anything, you poor indoctrinated fool.”

Kalsim stepped back. Jack didn’t rise. He just spoke. His ever-present grin was gone, and Kalsim found he preferred the snarl.

“You don’t understand. You think humanity would accept such an outrageous demand. That is insulting.”

“It is rational. We can stop the impending death of your species.”

“Rational? Humanity didn’t get where it is by rationality. It got there by its irrationality. By seeing a mountain and trying to climb it. By finding an ocean and attempting to swim in it. We are omnivores. Our ancestors climbed down from trees and, despite our lack of claws and fangs, despite our weak bodies, we turned the world into our garden. We are not prey, Kalsim. We are the apex predator, because we are smart and unequivocally irrational.”

So there can be no peace after all.

Kalsim turned. It didn’t matter. Humanity had far more ships than they should, but still far below the numbers of the fleet.

Jack’s voice followed him out.

“If you want your peace, turn your ships around, and we can forget this ever happened. But if you continue, you will unleash a storm you can’t imagine! The Arxur are nothing compared to a vengeful humanity! Turn. Around.”

1: Martians eat certain types of bugs.

2: Martians don't like the name "Terra" forming.

3: There are so many weird humans in this verse.

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Memory Transcription Subject: Patrick Hammond, Mars Alliance, Under Secretary.
Date [standardized human time]: October 11, 2150/Scorpious 19, TE 369.

Patrick Hammond, son of the renowned diplomat James Hammond, walked down the halls of the Martian embassy in New York. The building was a renovated townhouse on the boardwalk, overlooking the East River and Midtown across the river. The entire place had a mix of Neo-Marcuccia-Victorian and Japanese-influenced styles common in the Avalonian Commonwealth. It was eclectic and somewhat anachronistic, which suited the woman who was its mistress: Hammond’s Lady and Master.

Hammond knocked. The old oak of the door always had a strange sound, earthy in a way you couldn’t really find on Mars.

“Come in.”

Hammond did, stepping inside the large office and study. It was a magnificent office. It struck the eye as both subtle and well furnished, the sort of room belonging to someone extremely influential and wealthy, but who did not show it braggadociously.

The Martian Alliance Chief Diplomat to Earth, Queen-Emeritus Elizabeth Ryokou Windsor of Avalon, Secretary of Earth Affairs, sat in the center of this office as if she wore the weight of worlds on her shoulders.

Hammond’s Lady and Master were old. Older than the Martian Alliance she served. From a certain point of view, she was older than human settlement on the Red Planet.

She wore that age well. Technology and prodigious health made her seem closer to a middle-aged woman than the ancient Methuselah she actually was.

“Hammond, my friend, so good of you to be prompt,” she said, her voice soft, with an accent that had never truly lost its heritage. “Particularly with how busy you’ve been. My apologies for keeping you from your family.”

“Needs must, Your Majesty.”

“None of that now. I’m merely an ambassador. I gave up any honorable titles when I abdicated and took this damned position.”

“A sacrifice we are all grateful for.”

Hammond smiled. They both knew that, while she had abdicated, she was much more than just an ambassador. But Hammond didn’t push. Instead, he moved forward and placed the folder on her desk. The days were becoming increasingly packed.

He noted the picture: the Queen’s family, her wife and children smiling in front of their home, the Windsor Estate, which stood at the edge of Green Street, where all the governing institutions of the Confederacy were located.

The Windsors of Avalon were perhaps the most powerful branch of that dynasty, but they were also the most humble and “down to Mars” of the lot.

The Queen took the folder and began flipping through it. Hammond, knowing his ambassador, began giving a simplified rundown of the situation. It was unnecessary, but it opened a discussion and allowed her to bounce ideas around.

“The enemy forces have entered the Oort Cloud and have begun skirmishing with the outer defenses. Zhao’s little comet trick has been working effectively. We stand at disadvantage of over 3 to 1 maybe closer to four.”

Flip.

“Project Ilium has begun. Word of success will not be known until the battle is joined.”

Flip.

“The Federal Republic of Britain will be joining the Nordic Union.”

She did not pause.

“Canada will become the first Princedom of the United States.”

Flip.

“Auralia and New Zealand will be joining under a new Crown Union and constitution.”

There she did pause.

“Aren’t Anne and George first cousins?”

Hammond shrugged. “Modern technology.”

“Well, they’re not my responsibility anymore. Thank the gods.”

“Just so.” Hammond moved on. “All in all, Earth is going to be a little less politically crowded than before. Which I hesitate to say is a good thing for Mars.”

“It was an inevitability,” She said unconcerned, “as long as the Unionist faction remains discredited for the foreseeable future. Despite everything, these mergers are only occurring along natural cultural and political lines. Earth will not be united like Mars is.”

“Is that why you sought Elias Meier’s removal?”

She finally looked up. Her sapphire eyes were piercing.

“Do you disapprove?”

“No, nor is it my place. I am confused, however. I thought you two were colleagues. You even helped him into the position.”

It would be a stretch to say they had been friends. Elizabeth did not really have friends in politics. It was well known that she didn’t mix business with her personal life.

“I did, because Elias was a Unionist^(1) at heart, and I believed he would never actually achieve his lofty goal of a truly unified Earth. But with the threat of aliens on Earth’s doorstep, that insane dream became startlingly possible. So I intervened. Sadly, Elias didn’t have many friends, especially after his handling of first contact.”

There was a pause.

“I mean, really,” Elizabeth said, growing a little heated. Despite her outward dispassion, Hammond knew firsthand that his Lady had a temper.

“Sending out the Odyssey was like throwing out a fishing line. What was he thinking? Then sending humans out to be tested for… what, empathy? It was a self-degrading, self-flagellating move that legitimized this stupid predator/prey nonsense. As if eating meat is a sin. As if that’s all it takes to be a monster. Elias doesn’t know what sin is, the bleeding-heart twat! Bullocks!”

More than a little heated, actually.

“And,” Hammond added, “by excluding non-baseline H. Saps, including Martians and Venusians, he threatened the stability of the solar system itself.”

Yes. The Martian Alliance could only see it one way. Elias had been preparing the ground to snuff out Martian independence by turning alien power against them. The Assembly had voted to send an ultimatum to Earth over the issue. It was, in fact, that ultimatum, or rather a draft of it, that Elizabeth had acquired and used to sway some key players on Earth. It only took a few key senators in D.C. to flip, and suddenly, President Haruna was calling for Elias’s removal.

It was a coin toss whether that would save the madam president. Her former connection to Elias may be the anchor around her neck.

And despite all that…

“Do you regret it?”

Elizabeth sighed and turned in her chair. Behind her was the view of the UN complex and Midtown. New York was neither the biggest nor the oldest city on Earth, and it had too many rivals to be called the richest. Despite that, it was still the city. Its skyline of green trees and towering steel was the expression of human will and engineering.

It had gone through many changes. The East River Valley had never been re-dammed and populated. Left to its own devices, the city now resembled what it had been in the twentieth century more than what it had been in the twenty-first.

“Do you know how old I am?”

“I believe you are one hundred years old by Terran reckoning. We had a birthday in your honor. I believe a centennial was planned, but you said no. Her Majesty the Queen had to step in so there would be a celebration at all.”

Hammond smiled, and Elizabeth grimaced at the memory. Himiko was doing well in her role as queen and was living up to her mother’s model of “subtle intervention.” It was for that reason now that the Queen-Emertus could find herself so frustrated. Especially that her daughter was so keen for Elizabeth to enjoy retirement, not go gallivanting around the earth.

Elizabeth shook her head and continued, “I am now biologically as old as she was when I… when we died the first time.”

She.

Hammond knew what she meant. Queen Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom. The oldest-serving monarch of that line and the last monarch, not counting her son’s abysmal reign. Charles III, the Last, he who had broken the camel’s back of the British government when he cloned his mother.

The clone that now sat in front of Hammond, more than a hundred and twenty years later.

“I fail to see the relevance, though I understand this may be a morbid time for you. Considering, from some points of view, that it was you who died.”

And given the recent rise in Espers… maybe there was something to it.

Elizabeth sighed.

“I sometimes get glimpses of her life… or maybe my brain projects my own anxieties as though they are memories. I see and read about her, and I think about my time in the Green Cross, and I realized something.”

Hammond didn’t say anything.

“Never again, Hammond. Never again will I turn a blind eye or constrain myself when there is something I can do. I will not let humanity fall. I will not let Mars or my Avalon perish from this universe. Never will I let my family suffer from themselves or others. For as long as I live, I will live to act. That is why I pushed Elias out. A good man who would have died in that office.”

And been made a martyr to his ideals.

“And the aliens?”

“Churchill once told m- her that he was a bully. I think we need to be the bully once more.”

1: A political party in the UN of my own invention

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Personally, I don't think it was all that bad. The Royals being fun and humorous is better than distant and 100 times better than the likes of Andrew (though it's sad Andrew participated).

A/N: Shorter chapter. This takes place right during the Federation's entrance into the Solar System's outer bounds.

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Memory Transcription Subject: Specialist Bellona, Mars Alliance Intelligence Turingrade Officer
Date [standardized human time]: October 10, 2150

“I want to rescue you from that icebox. Surrender yourself to our custody peacefully, and I’ll see that you survive. You can ensure that your culture is remembered.”

Bellona watched the interaction between the alien and the human with a sense of.. Excitement… trepidation. Maybe not exactly excitement. She felt what humans might call the pit…the feeling that came before doing something incredibly dangerous.

This was one of those times.

“I accept your offer, though don’t think I’ll tell you anything about Earth’s defenses,” Jack Sato spat.

His injuries were severe, but not life-threatening. Exactly how MarsCom Intelligence had planned it. Mars assigned people suicide missions, but it was general policy not to literally kill the soldiers.

The screen cut, and then it was just them.

“Commander Sato… are you sure about this?”

Her “voice” was low and melodic, only ruined by the suboptimal speakers.

The Martian was an older man. He looked to be in his forties, though he was actually older. He had been a young boy back in the Saturn Wars, fighting Gurkhas on the shores of Titan. He had a small goatee and dark hair, his skin a shade redder than the human norm. His scars had healed over time and with therapy, but the white lines remained.

He was a handsome man. Bellona wished they could have met earlier. Now wasn’t the time for that thinking however.

“I can’t back out now, hun… we can’t.”

That was true.

“You will be tortured.”

“They will try.”

It wasn’t just bravado. Sato had gone through… many treatments over the last couple of weeks to prepare him for this. Sato could, for all intents and purposes, no longer feel pain. Some of it had been genetic, some biological, and some cybernetic. There were redundancies upon redundancies, and even an automatic kill switch.

It would take years for them to undo it all, and much of it was basically permanent. That was assuming he survived and made it back to a Martian base.

“Are you ready, hun?”

“I know my job, as long as there are no surprises.”

There was a lurch, and suddenly the small craft was being towed into a hangar bay. The ship the aliens used was, admittedly, a solid design for a spacecraft, if a little under-armed in terms of kinetics.

Bellona prepared herself.

As a Turingrade AI, she was not a super-intelligent demigod who could command the world with a mere thought. She was powerful and capable, with the intelligence and creativity of a sapient being that could think much faster and remember much more than a human.

She, however, needed space.

When Elder Sofia^(1) first came online, she needed an entire warehouse of servers to keep running. Things might have gotten more streamlined since then, but the same problems still existed. Bellona needed hardware and room to operate, or she risked destroying pieces of herself. She had been forced to abandon her usual android body and travel inside the ship’s computers. It was not an ideal space for a Turingrade AI like herself.

Now she was going to jump from one computer system to another. There was a chance for things to go wrong. Literally an unnumbered amount of bad luck or disaster could ruin this. And if that happened, the whole operation would be for naught.

“Bellona.”

“Yes, Commander-”

“Jack… call me Jack.”

“Jack,” Bellona said, hesitating.

The man was serious. His small grin was gone.

“Bellona. Stop worrying. You’ve got this.”

“But if-”

“Then we’ll figure something out.” Sato’s smile returned. “Humanity—all humanity, all children of Mother Earth... Martian, Human, or otherwise—we find a way. That’s how we’ve always done it. We’re not going to let a bunch of aliens stop us now.”

The ship came to a halt. The craft was surrounded by maybe a hundred of these “prey” aliens carrying rocket launchers, guns, and flamethrowers.

Bellona hated these creatures. Things this stupid shouldn’t be allowed to exist, let alone threaten the Solar System. It wasn’t just a threat. It was degrading.

“Well, I’ll greet the welcoming party. May the gods look after you.”

“You as well… Jack.”

He pressed a button, and the entire undercarriage unfolded. The seat lowered on pistons, allowing Jack to stand on the cold floor of the hangar. The only weapon on him was his Type-5 “Kasei-Gunto”^(2) combat sword; the same one he had fought with on Titan so long ago.

The spirit of the samurai lived on, even in deep space.

“Howdy, partners!” Sato shouted. “I was invited.”

The prey started shouting.

Bellona began counting down to the moment she could kill them all.

All she had to do was crack this ship’s computers and do her work.

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1: Sofia was the first AI. She was born in 2021. AI is split between Turingrade (human intelligence) and Dumb (think Mass Effect like Vi)
2: Mars had a lot of Japanese settlers (and American. The Samurai and Cowboy have once more merged on the red planet. Due to complications during a civil war (the Red-Blue war), Martians have a tradition of "ah hell, swords out boys."

I've recently started a new series. A crossover with OVRHVN, which has serious bio-editing and gene-modification. My question is: what is the Federation's (the normal civilian and military, not the secret cabal) view on these types of procedures?

And the type I mean includes

- changing the bodies asthetics: Hair color, eye color, skin, teeth, diet.
- Serious alterations creating new subspecies: Plant people, oni, chimera, fish people, non gender, and hermaphroditic genders, and so on and so forth.
- Lifting up species: Everything from Catgirls to talking apes, to thinking trees and sharks.

A/N So, for those that don't know, OVRHVN is an alt-history/Space Age worldbuilding project by NK-Ryzov. This is a mega world, and while I encourage you to read it, I will try to explain things as I go. The map

Two of those things right now are the Timeline. It's 2150. For this fic, please pretend everything is the same, just the time has moved up. The second is the story. I am skipping things before the Battle of Earth. You can assume things went mostly as canon. Anything that didn't will be minor.

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Memory Transcription Subject:  Commodore John Sinclair Okafor UNSF/Nigeria-SF
Date [standardized human time]: October 2, 2150

John walked into the massive meeting room of the Office of Space Affairs’ UN Department of Space Operations HQ. It was more of an amphitheater, and one of the largest rooms in the building. John had once heard it was going to be the UN Parliament back when they were first forming the United Nations.

The rows of desk-benches were arranged in a semicircle around a central podium, where the United Nations Space Forces' supreme command was already sitting.

John walked forward and found his seat next to Commodore Joss Kiera and Vice Admiral Dayo Afoayon. Like John himself, the young Commodore Joss was of mixed race with even some African American ancestry. From what John knew, her grandfather had been part of a neo-“Back to Africa” movement during the Great Unplugging. ^(1)

That movement had fizzled out, but there were plenty of other reasons to emigrate back in those days. His grandfather, Fleet Admiral Sinclair, had moved for purely job-related reasons back when he was younger than John was now.

You couldn’t really tell where Joss came from, though. Not at a glance, at least. Phytomorphs were an… interesting group. Her cyan skin and tentacle-like hair denoted that strongly. She was a rarer breed still for going to the Space Force. While Phytomorphs could get most of thier nutrients from sunbathing, the unshielded rays of the sun in space tended to be too much even for them. But Joss never let anything bring her down, much like an old oak. Though much more talkative than the average tree.

They were both serving as aides to their commander, Dayo, who was a model of modern Nigeria: middle-aged and ambiguous, though the white hair and red eyes marked him as having some Zera^(2) ancestry.

Today, it was hard to think that Nigeria had once been a nation of emigrants rather than immigrants. Nigeria was now one of the Big Three and the undisputed leader of the so-called “African Century.” 

It had been an age of prosperity, expansion, and tension. An era that was about to change… had already changed irreversibly.

“John,” Joss whispered in greeting.

Dayo just nodded with a grunt.

“Joss, what did I miss?”

The young woman smiled. “The meeting’s just started. Or do you mean the last month up in space? Because if you mean the former, not much yet. We haven’t started. If you mean in general, then a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Mexico, Canada, and Quebec just signed the deal with the USA. The big giant will be adding two more republics and four more commonwealths.” She said this in a giddy, conspiratorial manner.

John couldn’t help but be startled. That must have happened between his leaving the Novo and arriving here.

“So it begins. I assume our ‘lords and masters’ in Lagos are already in talks with the rest of the East Coast.”

“You would be correct,” Dayo said in a gruff tone. “Most of the small nations are grouping up. Politicians are scrambling and nobody wants to be left behind. We just have to make sure we survive to see how it pans out.”

Yes… survive. It had only been three months, almost four, since the UN had sent the first FTL ship out into the void, and now a fleet of thirty thousand ships was descending on Earth, filled with aliens from a galactic federation that considered all meat-eaters predators and abominations against nature.

When the news had first been released about the Feddies and Arxur, there had been a huge wave of near-militant vegetarianism in many UN member states. Many calls to launch a war of liberation. The UN soon found two new factions in Parliament: Prey and Meats. Those who wanted to join the Federation and abandon meat eating completely. The Meats were a mix of people that apposed such rushing ideals of militant peace. Especially considering the Federation's odd notions about the food chain.

Suffice it to say, the failed Noah speech and the incoming fleet had caused a reversal of fortune for the Prey Faction… as in, it became the shortest-lived party in Parliament.

Elisa Meier had also been ousted from the Secretary-General position, and his coalition collapsed with him. It was Elisa’s own home in the USA that had put the knife in his back. He, as some had said, was too weak and too sympathetic to the Federation.

John was sympathetic, but he couldn’t feel too sorry. Elisa was not a soldier, was old, and had far too much of the Unionist “one world statist” in him. John was no nationalist, but he liked the flexibility of many nations and many ideas. He preferred that the expansion of space be guided by the people's passions rather than by the UN Parliament. But really, it was Elisa’s handling of first contact that John disliked.

John was no Zoanophobe,^(3) but these xenos were not human, no matter how much they resembled Earth animals. He disliked the idea of bowing, even for a moment, to any of their alien emotions. He especially found the “proving your empathy” program distasteful.

He felt an elbow.

“Yo, Jo. Stay focused now.”

“I’m always focused, Jo.”

She smiled, her tentacle-hair changing from cyan to a dark green. Affection. They shared the same nickname and had used it since their days in college. They were… close friends.

There was the sound of a gavel. As one, more than a hundred pairs of eyes turned forward. The highest-ranking officers in the UNSF, all ranked captain and above, were gathered here, prepared to listen.

The man at the center was late middle-aged and Chinese. He lacked any visible augments and looked twice his age. He was currently the most powerful man in the solar system.

UN Marshal-Commander Zhao stood at the podium. On either side of him were the eleven fleet admirals commanding the eleven fleets of the UNSF. John’s father was up there, his eye patch hiding his cybernetic eye. Abraham Okita, John’s former tactics teacher, was also up there.

His father had been a teacher as well. Odd, that. They had pulled everyone: teachers and students alike. From what John had understood, Humanity currently had two billion under arms in some capacity.

“Listen to me.” Zhao’s voice was low and clear, without hesitation. “Men and women of Earth, officers of the UNSF. We are not here to discuss, nor argue. This is the briefing for Operation Cenozoic. You are here to learn, understand, and ask for clarification.”

A hologram appeared above and in the center of the room. The lights dimmed automatically. It showed a rough map of the solar system.

It didn’t look good.

The projected entrance into the system was going to avoid Jupiter and Saturn.

“The fleet of exterminators is roughly thirty thousand in number, perhaps more if any reinforcements join later. Our combined numbers of pre-warp ships, private craft, Coast Guard vessels, new ship types, and support from the Martian and Venusian fleets will field ten thousand ships.”

There was murmuring.

“That number is deceiving. Men and women of the Navy, I have no doubt we will win in the end. For months, the habitats of Exonesia^(4) have been arming and working with us toward a strategy of victory. That plan will use every piece of technology, every trick to save our world.”

The hologram showed an arrow, a black line of death coming from the depths of space and aimed at the homeworld.

“By using mass drone attacks and hit-and-run frigates, we will harass and bleed the fleet in the Oort Cloud and asteroid belt….”

And so it went. The plan was simple, almost historical. Hit-and-runs, rear disruption, planned flanking maneuvers, defense in depth. The whole nine yards, all meant to turn a one-to-three disadvantage into a crushing victory. It was the type of strategy long used by numerically weaker foes.

{You Have A New Message}

John. Does anything about this plan seem off to you?

Through his cybernetic eye, the text appeared like a video game UI. The network wasn’t private, but John didn’t need to read the ID. He could feel Wendy’s eyes on him. Wendi Yang was Asian American and another graduate of his class, though still only a captain and probably acting as an attaché like himself.

What? Tell me.

The plan’s sound, but it relies on the enemy being a rational fighter. I bet the real objective is to hold until the enemy gets word that the Arxur are threatening their homeworlds.

What do you mean?

John already had an idea where this was leading.

This isn’t an invasion. It’s extermination, a raid of biblical proportions, and the aliens are more like crusaders than soldiers. When faced with more resistance than expected…

They’ll just rush forward. They won’t divide their forces. They’ll head straight in and pierce through our defenses, even if it means total losses. Their goal is to drop as many antimatter bombs as they can…. Suggestions?

Fight in the asteroid belt?

John could feel the hesitation. That was a weak idea, and she knew it. The problem was that they had less than two weeks, and all the best defenses were farther in.

Have we tried hacking their systems?

That… was actually a good question.

“Are there any questions?”

John focused. The lights were coming back on, and many began whispering intently. He leaned over to ask his commanding officer the question.

Dayo grunted. “Almost certainly. Though a mass military use of AI won’t be made public, even to the command staff, not when dealing with a complete unknown. I know we’ve yet to confirm the extent of Federation cyberwarfare.”

“Excuse me.”

John looked back to see Vice Admiral Anderson, Wendy’s CO, looking at a data pad.

“What is the plan if the enemy decides to throw all caution to the wind and just charge through the lines? Even at maximum effectiveness, any damage done in the outer system will still leave us at a tonnage deficit. They could just charge through us.”

“That would be suicidal,” a voice from somewhere down the dome spoke up. “They’d be picked apart and flanked.”

There was sudden bedlam as people started talking over each other. While many thought the prospect ludicrous, others realized the horrible possibility. It was simple math, really, assuming the lowest common denominator.

“We fight.”

Zhao’s voice was firm and echoing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Federation fleet has enough antimatter bombs to glass the planet. One ship could wipe out a megacity. Several could do worse. We are going to put ourselves bodily in front of them if we have to. Earth is our home, our birthworld, and without it, the species may as well be doomed. We will make them pay.”

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1: The time when people unplugged en masse from the overabundance of Social Media and VR. This happened about a hundred years ago.
2: Zera was an attempt by some Brits to create a "one human race" think Johnna from Jormungunder, White hair, bright eyes, and dark skin.
3: Zoan: Catch-all term for chimera, uplifts, Splicers (Huzos/furrys), and others.
4: Exonesia: There are “archipelagos” of artificial habitats orbiting the Earth, in low orbit, geosync orbit, high orbit, and the Earth-Lunar Lagrange points 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.

So I was wondering something and hoping the people of this sub might be able to help. This came from a discussion in the Nature of Predators fandom.

Assume for a moment you had an alternate humanity... or maybe a very close relative of Homo sapiens. They are carnivores... or at least need to eat more on average than your usual human. They, while still keeping the general shape, are more specialized as hunters, with larger K-9s and so on. Of particular not they upscale humans by an average of a foot.

My question, particularly under these parameters, is what biological mechanisms might be available to prevent these others from developing the usual medical conditions associated with very tall people. Also, what other conditions might they face.