First

(Days like Today I really, TRULY, hate being autistic. It takes all my willpower to not run around my apartment flailing and screaming right now.)

Home at War

“So it’s definitely a space station.” Orchid notes as they finally get a full visual feedback of whatever the hell is in the next system.

“Not sure it counts as a station. I mean... it’s either so close to the ground on that third world it might as well be a structure.” The Sensor Technician notes.

“But it’s so tall it may as well be in orbit around that planetoid. Whatever it is, it’s way too big to not be important to someone. We skim the edge of the system. Give them a hello and a once over, if it’s not our problem it’s not our problem. If they’re friendly we pay them for local information about who’s been mining out here and other potential stations. If they’re unfriendly we do a very quick risk assessment on whether fighting them is worth our time or not, if they are we get to have some fun. If not then we save our energy for someone else. Make sense?” Harold declares and there is some movement as his orders are relayed to the rest of the fleet.

The Fleet takes only another hour to reach the system and they skim the edge, getting a good scan and well within communication range. Albeit with some delay.

“They’re powering up shields on their station and priming weapons. Looks like they just noticed us.”

“Smaller ships are breaking away, shields and weapons powering up on them too.”

“We’ve got communicatiosn incoming. There’s going to be some delay on things.”

“On screen.” Harold orders.

“Unknown Fleet!” A Lutrin woman half howls at the camera. “You are trespassing in our territory! You will pay us tribute or be shot to pieces!”

“That’s the first burst sir.”

“Well they don’t lack for confidence do they?” Harold asks. “Begin recording.”

He gets the thumbs up.

“Unknown station this is The Inconceivable of The Ambush Fleet, you are challenging The Undaunted, do you truly wish to continue upon this path?” He asks before signalling for the message to be cut off there. “Send it.”

“The diplomatic way of asking ‘Really?’, are you certain?”

“They’re already belligerent if not hostile.” Harold notes as he rolls his neck.

“We have an answer sir.”

“Put them on as they come.” Harold says and the screen shows the Lutrin again.

“I do wish to continue, but it would indeed be tedious to take all that I am owed slowly. So I challenge you in the ring of honour! Altratha!” She declares and the message ends.

“... Was that really all of it?” Harold asks.

“Yes sir.”

“No hint on what the hell Altratha is?” He continues.

“Uh...” Orchid begins.

“Yes?”

“I know what it is... but... challenging you to it is.. wow.”

“What is it?”

“Altratha is a Lutrin battle tradition. A duel of leaders. She wants to fight you. Personally.” Orchid says and Harold laughs.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Anything about this duel I should know about? Any weird ways to confirm a win or requirements or anything like that?”

“When an Altratha is between clans mothers put their sons up for ante, but that’s ancient tradition. And the terms have to be stated ahead of time, so she’s not allowed to surprise you.”

“So she wants a fight to see who gets the prize.” Harold muses. “Start recording!”

“Miss... whatever your name is, exactly what is it that you want of me and my fleet and what are you willing to wager in return? One must know the stakes before they make a wager after all.” He then signals them to stop the recording and they send it.

“You’re entertaining this?” Orchid asks.

“This may be an unorthodox way to get information or resources.” Harold notes.

“She’s liable to try something tricky.”

“And if I get past it anyways she’s likely to be so intimidated that she won’t protest or try to renege on the wager.” Harold notes.

“Depends entirely on the wager.” Orchid replies. “Some Lutrin can get fairly absurd about this. Even the more civilized ones and not what are near certainly outlaws.”

“Just you.” The voice of the Lutrin cuts off the conversation and Harold slowly turns to the communication officers.

“Is there more than that?’

“No.”

“Oh for the love of god. Begin recording.” Harold orders. “What exactly do you mean by ‘Just me?’ don’t get cute here, I am a man with actual demands on my time and lawful duties and orders to follow. What do you want and what are you prepared to wager for it in exchange?”

He gives the signal to send it ans he hunches back in his seat a little in annoyance.

“I want you. I want you to be mine pretty man and everything that is yours, and my counter offer is your life.”

“This is beyond stupid. She’s declared herself hostile. Scramble their communications and get into her systems. We’re crippling that station and taking plunder.” Harold orders. “All ships, attempted communications have broken down with the unknown station and the self introduced leader has declared herself hostile. We are going to disable them and then take our picking of their ships for raw material. Failing to do so means that the crazy woman and her forces will pursue us, I will be sending the messages the station and I were having. I want all captains to quickly review them and tell me if I have missed anything before opening fire. You have five minutes.”

His announcement given he has the files sent and starts a ten minute counter for himself instead. At the three minute mark he gets the response from all ships, the enemy was indeed hostile and would indeed pursue if they simply left.

He sends the Hive Carriers to sweep around as he has the Primalist Ships take an offensive formation around The Inconceivable. The Bloody Heron is behind, waiting for coordinates to open a portal and drop their troops.

His own ship is getting into more and more systems as the enemy ships start closing the distance.

At ten light second’s distance the first few explosive shots reach for them and defensive laser emplacements detonate them prematurely.

At five light seconds the laser banks on both sides warm up, the Hive Carriers are on the spinward flank and ready to break apart and send their drones.

“Shut them down!” Harold orders when they reach two light seconds distance and he information warfare of his ship goes into overdrive. “Hive Carriers, I want their engines and weapons disabled. Primalist Forces, we are going to shoot down anything that isn’t crippled in the opening salvo.”

The enemy force is a small fleet of thirty ships. None of them larger than The Bloody Heron, but the sheer weight of numbers would normally carry the day. But the Hive Carriers are crippling scalpels surgically hamstringing them all and destroying their strength. Five of them are disabled in the first minute as momentum keeps the two lines getting closer and closer together.

“All forces, focus on shields and weapons. But if any of those ships gives you more trouble than the others, then let it have all of it.” Harold orders even as the Lagos Brothers begin their own firing routines.

Dozens of different emplacements around the front and sides of The Inconceivable open fire. Primarily lasers, but all of them at differing frequencies. All slightly shifted from each other from each half of each wing. Each brother controlled an eighth of the weapon systems and with the work divided they could divided their attention. Both coordinating with and covering for each other simultaneously. Three more pirate ships are scuttled in moments as the Primalists work to keep pace.

The Lagos Brothers take it as competition and increase their viciousness. Putting down another four as the Primalist ships work together to get five and the Hive Carriers cripple another two.

The remaining ships are struggling to change their vectors or cycle their shields as the lasers of the small feet smash into them and burn through defensive emitters and decapitate weapon platforms. There are several quick combination attacks to the last few ships tyring to fight back, but it’s quickly down to five enemy ships that are sending out all signs of surrender.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have won. Let’s go confirm it.” Harold orders and there is a cheer on the ship. The Inconceivable moves forward. “Bloody Heron, I want the forces on your vessel to take the station. I want answers and information, not corpses. Especially not your own. Understood?”

“Copy that Commodore.” Jacob sends back.

“Primalist Forces, I want you to secure this fleet, the remaining intact ships are yours to confirm the surrender of. Take all reasonable precautions, I doubt I need to tell you that your life is worth a lot more than that of the enemy. No stupid risks.”

“Confirmed Inconceivable.”

The Warship moves with it’s fleet and towards the station. It’s weapons don’t fire at first. But Harold orders everyone to keep their shields at maximum. And he’s right to do so, there is a sudden firing of lasers, plasma and more in different directions. Smaller shuttles start taking off and the Hive Carriers take out their engines.

The Inconceivable’s lasers and plasma kill the weapons on the station and The Bloody Heron emerges from it’s shadow. Swooping close even as it gets it’s coordinates and opening a portal.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Unidentified Pirate Fortress, Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

The tiny shoulder of an Apuk woman meets the combat walker at the same time as the shoulder of the massively overmuscled human. And it’s hard to say which one caused more damaged as the machine and it’s pilot are sent flying backwards with a scream of terror.

Weapons are raised as a pair of tiny figures flit out like shadows and smoke. Leaving massive rents or just plain destroyed tools of war in their wake, just in time for a concussive waver of power to send nearly everyone to their knees if not to the ground, and the few with the wherewithal to remain standing find a four armed hurricane slamming numerous armoured fists into their being and sent into the land of the unconscious.

Bjorn nods as he and his higher ranked soldiers clear the portal zone and the rest of the forces pour out of the portal. He brings up a map of the station and studies it.

“Forces time to move! Breech Squad with me! Break Squad form up with Elija and Ellie, lock down the armouries and disable anything you can’t lock down! Shake Squad with Zyen’Huwt and Naomi! System control! I want it! Hate Squad! Make Squad! You’re under Banshee! Secure the area! Keep this room clear!

Everyone starts moving and Bjorn gives a final order to ‘Synch Maps!’

He leads his squad of eight through the door and heads to the emergency stairs. Trusting a lift is just begging to be in a kill box and at the pace he’s setting, and the girls are keeping up with, they’re faster than the lift anyways. Twenty levels pass in moments and he shoulders open the next door. It’s a sliding door and so he ends up folding it in half and sending it careening into the far wall.

There are screams and he fires off a couple of quick bursts from his plasma cannon to get everyone nearby to duck, and also slag an armoured mech suit. He then throws the remains of the door down the hall and it forces everyone brave enough to stick their heads out and try to fire to duck back in. He follows it with more plasma aimed right at where they were poking their weapons out of and bravery turns out to NOT be a survival trait in this scenario as three heads are reduced to ash and char and blood starts pooling at the entrance to the next room.

He kicks the remains of the mech suit of of the way and examines the room the girls had been poking out of. A laser beam lances out and nails his cannon. His Axiom Brand tingles a little and he slowly turns the cannon to the source.

“No no! No no no! I surrender! I surrender! Do not kill me! Please do not kill me!” A lutrin woman claims holding her hands up high and backs up to the far wall with clear fear on her face.

“Weapon down if you want to live.” Bjorn tells her. The Laser has it’s safety openly and obviously activated and slowly put down. “You Lutrin are hard to tell apart, are you the one in command?”

“No. No, it’s my cousin.

“Where is she?”

“She was on the Vert Line, one of the warships. She wanted to go out and ‘claim her prize’ in person.” The Lutrin answers and Bjorn nods.

“Good. Where is the command crew?”

“We’re traffic control, the command crew were all heading to the armouries or weapon emplacements when the main fleet was disabled. Although some probably went to the shuttles instead.”

“Good.”

First Last

Trooper Vaelith Moraine 
29th Ha'quinye Imperial Shock Infantry Battalion

Vaelith Moraine hasn’t been having a good day. In point of fact, she hadn't been having a particularly good month either. Forced out of her comfy garrison life to deal with unruly civilians in the streets of cities across her home world, all the way down to getting her leather dress boots - the only thing half the sergeants seem to care about in this or any other life - dirty in some dinky farming village that had been allegedly hiding a girl who'd refused a special mobilization order. 

That hadn't been a good day. Certainly hadn't been what she'd been expecting when she'd signed up to extend her mandatory term of service and volunteer to try out for the elite shock infantry regiments. Her best friend from girlhood, Lirra Kade, had really missed her calling as a recruiter. She'd told Vaelith all sorts of exciting stories about the chances to travel, to fight pirates, even to take the occasional loot from the defeated, raise your status in the hierarchy, win fame, glory, honor and wealth. The uniforms even look cool, and, to this day, Vaelith would admit, the smart black and gold uniforms do look good. Hell, even their black combat gear looks cool. 

Well, go fucking figure that Lirra would fail out of training and leave Vaelith to deal with this goddess-forsaken mess alone when she could have been home getting her journeywoman's rating in a trade or something. But no, she'd wanted to go to space, see the rest of the empire, meet, and most likely have to fight and kill, all manner of aliens from goddess knows where... Well, she hadn't gotten most of that shit till recently, being stuck in garrison where the sergeants were ever-present and the most minute detail was a matter of life or death in the absence of something that actually mattered even vaguely. 

Then, the blood and ash still fresh in her nose from what she'd seen, her mind still not even catching up to what some of the girls in one of the senior squads had done in that shitty little village... they'd been told to pack their kit bags and march their happy asses onto a shuttle. They boosted to orbit, she marched her happy ass on to a massive orbital assault ship... and that had been enough for Vaelith Moraine! Hot goddess, space! She'd been space-happy and hiding it for at least the first week, but floating around in the black under Commodore Valeran had proven quickly to not exactly be the thing that interstellar pleasure cruises are made of.

No, not when the good Commodore made the worst and most anal sergeants look like a slacker serving her term in the militia. The commodore didn’t even have the decency to stay on her flagship and away from the grunts. No, she came over by shuttle for regular inspections, not just in combat gear but in dress uniform. For what? Vaelith had the idea that the Commodore had been planning on having a parade when they got back from doing whatever in the hells they were out in the void beyond imperial space to do whatever they were doing… but now that’s certainly going down the tubes at lightspeed! If they actually have any FTL capable ships left! 

Vaelith lets out a little sigh as she thinks back to the start of everything going wrong. When they'd found out that someone had brutally smashed that space station, someone that the girls all said clearly had big ships and a lot of guns, killing her other best friend, Rach'hel Declan, she'd gotten an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling that the training, the conditioning had all said she couldn't feel. Hell, she couldn't even truly put a word to what that feeling was after the aggressive hypno-conditioning they’d undergone to ensure they were as trained, resilient and sharp as possible. Now, on this day, riding in the back of this hover truck? Vaelith Moraine finally knows what the feeling was. Is.

Fear. She’s scared. Ha'quinye Imperial Shock Troopers don't get scared, but she’s scared now. She'd been scared when they entered this goddess-forsaken system, had known in her gut that something awful was about to happen and that she'd probably end up like Rach'hel. Felt it every agonizing lightminute as they’d crept closer and closer to the world. Every instance of her commander and Commodore Valeran giving speeches about how this battle was critical to the survival of the Empire itself, and how, if we stood firm and won the day we'd all be heroines, immortalized forever in the legend of the empire's revival to the glories of the old days before the old empire had so utterly failed their subjects and been cast down by the Matricians. 

So why had she been so damn scared when they made orbit uncontested? What had been that little sensation telling her that some sort of monster had its jaw hanging open revealing rows of razor sharp teeth and gallons of slobber just inches from her face? From the time of their arrival, she could barely focus, years of training and indoctrination all that let her get through inspection prior to mission start and drawing her equipment. 

The only relief she'd felt the entire damn day was when her platoon got called up to one of the first landing craft to make planetfall early. She’d suppressed a sigh as she planted her ass in the barely cushioned drop seat and strapped herself in, practically cuddling her railgun like it was a plush toy from her youth, or some sort of charm to ward off evil. Her sense of relief didn't even make sense! If the world was hostile it'd be a bad time… but something had told her it was better to be in natural gravity and air with this cold sensation weighing down her gut like someone had sewn frozen bricks of ice in there. 

That had been about ten minutes before everything had really gone bad. They'd been allowed to make orbit uncontested because it had been a trap. Commodore Valeran, first of the fleet, this impressive commander Vaelith had heard about in all sorts of recruiting commercials for the navy, a rumored lover of Consul Euryde herself... had gotten trapped. Had driven in head-first, eager to secure whatever their prize was on this world, this 'sword'. 

Vaelith hadn't seen much of what happened to the fleet, but she'd seen the assault ship she'd arrived on explode from her tiny porthole before the plasma of reentry burning around the dropship's shields had erased her view.

To think she'd occasionally been jealous of navy girls. 

Not that she’s any better off. Not that her regimental commander had noticed. The woman sits at the lead of the convoy, racing towards their target, convinced this sword is their salvation. 

If it’s their salvation, why hadn't the people who were fighting them over it not taken it, whatever it is, and used it already? 

Or, hell, what's to say they aren't using it already?

She'd expressed that on the ground, while the hovercraft were still being unloaded, and she’d nearly gotten decked by one of the sergeants for her trouble. She shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have said that. The fear had broken something that the Ha'quinye military had installed in Vaelith Moraine, and now she sits, swaying, in the back of a lightly armored hovercraft, heading towards the 'target' that reason and judgement tells her is the mission, and her instincts are screaming like she’s diving into a school of Ripper Sharks - or some other charming horror that wouldn't even leave her mother a body to bury. 

They move from open plains to under the sheltering boughs of the trees, the top cover giving her some relief from waking daymares about aerospace craft strafing their far-too-tight column, or one of a thousand other possible nightmare scenarios. She sees the closeness of simple nature in a way that she hasn’t since she was a girl as she stares out her firing port. Broad leaves in broad boughs, a riot of rich greens, the occasional bird or tree rat of some description. The occasional shrub or three. A nice little winding trail... that suddenly starts to widen. That starts to flatten out. Flatten out in ways grass and terrain didn't. Which means...

Vaelith flicks on her comm unit, but before she can say anything, the regiment commander's voice comes over the net. 

"Objective in sight! Up and at'em, girls! Pop those top hatches for fast deployment!"

Instantly, some of the senior girls begin to unbutton the hover APC, a legacy of older times back on the homeworld, a tradition great for raids, for fast deployments and for parades - but this is different. Why doesn't anyone else see? Why don't they understand!? 

A sudden shriek pieces the copse of trees as they push about midway into what’s clearly, to Vaelith’s eye, an artificial glade. A finger of smoke reaches from the darkness near one of the big tree trunks and hammers into the lead vehicle like the touch of some sort of very wrathful war goddess, and it explodes in a great ball of flame, throwing the first vehicle over on its back, spilling its cargo of troopers on to the ground like discarded toys. Strange sounds fill the air, seemingly from all directions, cracks like peels of thunder, whizzing sounds, sounds close enough to the sound of her own railgun that Vaelith knows to get her head down, something one of the sergeants doesn't imitate - and then she drops to the floor of the hovercraft with a neat hole in her forehead right through her helmet, the woman's dead, glassy eyes staring at Vaelith through her shattered face plate.

Before she can even cry out that they’re being ambushed, some fresh slice of hell opens up on her APC, different from all the other thunder noises, the cracks of rounds breaking the sound barrier. This one has a deep-throated roar like a demon from the hells! 

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, each heavy round punches through the light armor of her APC like sledgehammer blows from the goddess herself. The hover craft immediately goes out of control; the crew are likely dead, which had likely been the unseen gunner's goal in the first place. The hovercraft's nose takes a dive as its suspension fields start to die and the last of its energy throws itself up and over its own nose, leaving Vaelith clinging to her seat for dear life until it all comes crashing down. 

She quickly drags herself from the wreck, making sure to not leave her weapon behind. There'd be hell to pay if she left her weapon… but when she emerges it's to an utterly changed world. Smoke and fire everywhere, shocktroopers shooting in all directions, seemingly at random, as they try to engage their barely seen assailants, damaged and destroyed vehicles smouldering as girls call out for medics, and intact APCs trying to get out of the ambush, throwing their throttles all the way forward to move just as fast as their Axiom engines will carry them! She can’t focus on any of it; there’s no one thing she can orient herself against.

Finally, an officer emerges from somewhere, the woman's IFF marking in her HUD, gleaming in the hellscape she’s found herself in. 

"Come on! Rally on me, girls! We have to assault out of this ambush! Move!" 

At last. Someone has a plan. Vaelith just has to pray it’s enough for her to not end up dead. 

Series Directory Last

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

Hal was upset.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—--

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

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

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

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

—--

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

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

I’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

—--

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

—--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A what?” the Lord Commander asked dumbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A weary sigh could be heard over coms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________

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

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

Previous

First | Website (more chapters available)

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Until you release or kill him.

The way the alien said it almost made it seem like it didn’t matter much to him which option she chose. He could be bluffing, but she didn’t know.

Which severely limited her bargaining power.

“I’ll release your friend,” she shouted back. “If you release all my people and leave our colony alone.”

Six Claws Klarnoth didn’t even need to think about it. He replied, “Not possible. We still need them and you as bargaining chips. For your Precursor Metal factory.”

As she figured.

She injected as much steel into her voice as she could. “We’d rather sabotage it than allow you to take it from us.”

“I don’t think so. We have studied your people,” Klarnoth said. “I think they will not allow you to all die for machines. I think they will give up the factory, especially because we will take it from you either way.”

She wasn’t sure whether he was right about that.

“Now, stop stalling. I will give you five seconds to decide. Then, I will start killing your people. Five… four… three… two…”

He did not appear to be bluffing. Not at all. And ultimately, she was responsible for her people, whom she put into this position.

“Alright! Alright!” she shouted. “Fine. I’ll release him!”

Julia knew she was giving up all of her leverage. Her only piece of leverage. But there wasn’t much of a choice. If the Karnolians were willing to massacre her people even if it meant killing one of their own, she had nothing anyway. The only play she had was for time, and they both knew it.

She shoved Garbote out. He’d recovered somewhat from his little adventure with the tear gas grenade, enough for him to slowly stumble back to his squad.

“And his equipment,” Klarnoth demanded.

Reluctantly, she threw his defunct armor out as well.

“Come out of hiding.”

His gun was still aimed at her colonists. Without much of a choice, she and the other colonists in the mess hall emerged, joining the other prisoners on the street. The Karnolian marines wasted no time slapping restraints on them.

“How did you subdue one of my marines and get him out of his armor?” Klarnoth asked curiously.

“We found your armor manual release lever on the back of his neck, and—” She nudged her head at Garbote. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Garbote was too busy being looked at by their equivalent of a corpsman to answer questions.

“Whatever. That is not important. It is… almost impressive,” he admitted. “But we have more important matters to discuss now.”

“Sure, we can discuss things calmly… What do you want from us?”

“You will tell me how to disable your sabotage devices for the Precursor Metal factory.”

“Look, Six Claws Klarnoth. May I call you Klarnoth? Are you related to Karveth, by any chance—”

Klarnoth snorted. “Your silly negotiation tactics will not work on me, primitive. I know what I want, and I know what I have. I have your people. I know you care about them.”

“If you kill my people, you’ll have nothing to negotiate with for the Dustballium factory up in the hills.”

He gestured at the rows of captives. “I have over two hundred of you. If they will trade the factory for two hundred of you, they will likely trade it for one hundred and ninety-nine of you. Or one hundred and ninety-eight. Or one ninety-seven. And so on.” Klarnoth shrugged. “Yes, I will eventually have a bigger problem getting you to comply when I run low on live prisoners to threaten you with, but I know you will give up before then.”

Julia swallowed hard at his cold, bare logic. She recognized her mistake. The deployment of the marines, leaving the colony nearly defenseless. She’d been prepared to fight an enemy operating with alien equipment but the tactics of the moonies. Intellectually, she knew that the aliens were different; she hadn’t really internalized that difference until the angry teddy bear laid out his cruel logic for her.

She recognized the one his gun was aimed at. It was one of her scientists. One of the atmospheric scientists who came on the initial Polaris expedition. Eric. Eric… something. She didn’t know him that well, but like all the Dustball colonists, she’d interviewed him before he joined the project. She passed him in the mess hall from time to time. She’d seen him work on the machines in the colony’s laboratories. He’d given her a tour of them once. She was responsible for him.

Defeated, she sighed. “I’ll comply.”

“How do you stop the sabotage devices for the factory from activating?” Klarnoth asked again.

“I can’t,” she replied. “It’s manually activated by the marines inside the factory. It’s designed not to be remotely disabled.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth,” she insisted. “There is no mechanism to stop the manual activation. You can’t do anything about them, and the marines have been instructed not to follow my orders if I’m compromised—”

Klarnoth raised his gun. “Five… Four…”

“That’s the truth! I’m telling you—”

“Three… Two… One…”

“Please… I’ll help you—”

Bang.

The shot echoed in the streets. Eric crumpled, lifeless, a spreading pool of dark liquid beneath him. A ragged scream tore from one of the other captives, then cut short into a whimper as another of Klarnoth’s soldiers leveled their rifle in warning.

Julia trembled with rage and helplessness. She stared at Eric’s still form, bile rising in her throat. He was in his twenties. A bright, young scientist, one of humanity’s best. Curious and brave enough to join the expedition to another star system. To put his trust in her, to protect him. Now, he was dead because of her failures—her miscalculations, her inability to protect her people.

Klarnoth lowered his smoldering weapon with casual indifference. “See, primitive? I am not bluffing. Now, you know I am not one of the Vorshnik clowns you’ve made friends with, and you will tell me the truth. How do you disable the sabotage mechanisms?”

If she hadn’t had her base impulses trained out of her by years of war, she would have lunged at him.

There was no room in the Navy for rash actions. For pointless last stands or acts of brazen stupidity. In an orbital fleet where battles were decided by cold, hard physics, such human instincts were counterproductive, ruthlessly trained and weeded out of officer cadets before they had a chance to get spacers under their command killed.

Julia knew that the Karnolian marine might be much shorter and smaller, but he was in heavy armor, holding a weapon, and she was not. She suppressed her instincts, exactly as she had been trained.

She repeated, “You can’t. There is no remote override.”

“I still don’t believe you.” Klarnoth picked another one of her colonists out of the crowd. One of the moonie construction robot operators. One of Lucas’s. “Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth!” she insisted. “There is no way to disable it from here. What would it take to convince you—”

“Thirty of your dead colonists would convince me,” he said as he put his rifle to the moonie’s head. “Then, we can move on to question two. You get to decide how much you want to keep the secret. Five…”

Seeing no other option, Julia snorted coldly at the Karnolian. “That’s not even one of mine.”

“Four—What?”

“She’s a moonie. She’s not one of mine, idiot.”

Instead of getting angry at the insult, Klarnoth stopped counting and stared at her in confusion.

Sensing an opening, Julia explained, “You Karnolians have factions too, right?” She took another glance at the big blue flag on his shoulder. “You’re from Faction Blue?”

“Faction Blue?” Klarnoth asked incredulously. He rolled his eyes derisively as he pointed a claw at the flag on his shoulder. “Faction Blue? Are you colorblind? Don’t you see my flag?! We’re Faction Dark Blue!”

She suppressed her instinct to swallow too. “Right. Faction Dark Blue. We have factions too. You’re pointing your gun at a moonie. She’s not one of mine, stupid.”

He stared off to the side, into the distance, as if quietly consulting his radio. Or maybe he was just stunned by the revelation. Probably the former. After a few seconds, he said, “Oh. Right.” Then, he pointed his gun at another one of her colonists. “That’s one of yours?”

Julia shook her head. “Nope. Guess again. That’s a moonie too.”

Klarnoth’s rifle lowered as he pressed his paw to his helmet. This time, he was definitely on the radio. She could see his mouth move rapidly inside the helmet.

While they talked, Julia re-analyzed the situation. The Karnolians had a squad here. About eight or nine marines, she counted. Another one or two going around the rest of the colony, rounding up the rest of her people. They must have already neutralized the four marine guards she had at the armory; if anything, that would have been the first thing they did.

From the way they were threatening her and from what Klarnoth said, the plan seemed to be to try to figure out if they could disable the sabotage mechanisms remotely, before trying to negotiate for it with the colonists as hostages. That meant that the marines at the factory site were likely still operational. They just didn’t know the colony was under attack yet. Or if they did, they weren’t going to cross the open to try to rescue the colonists unless they were stupid.

But… she looked at the number of marines the Karnolians had.

There were only eight or nine, at most a dozen, running around in her colony. Even with their heavy battle armor—she’d gotten a taste of how durable they were earlier—a dozen wasn’t enough to control it for long. If most of her colonists were civilians, it might have been, but Dustball was no ordinary colony. Most of the moonies were former Lunar marines and spacers. A dozen marines was simply not enough.

She knew this because she’d been in many planning meetings back on Earth, running simulations and wargaming security breaches. How the moonies could take over. How they could take control of the radios, overpower the guards at the armory, overwhelm the supply landing pad. Which buildings they needed for good lines of sight, which vantage points could cut logistical routes, which roads needed to be curved to slow down VBIEDs…

Klarnoth had finally finished his talk with whoever was on the other end of his radio. He turned back to her crowd of colonists. “Which of you are not moonies?” he asked. “Raise your paws.”

Shockingly—and to Julia’s relief, none of her colonists were in a hurry to volunteer their hands. With some of her civilian scientists, you never knew.

Klarnoth made a disgruntled-sounding noise as he pointed his rifle at random, looking for Julia’s reaction. “This one? Or that one? Are you not a… moonie?”

Today, we are all moonies.

She kept her face neutral, refusing to look at the crowd of people she failed.

“Are you a moonie? What about you?”

A few seconds of the cruel exercise later, he gave up. He cocked his head. “I think it does not matter. If I start executing your people at random, some of them will be people in your faction that you care about. And I have plenty of your colonists.”

He pointed his rifle back at the original moonie. “Now, tell me the truth. How do I disable your sabotage machines? Five…”

Julia closed her eyes.

“Four…”

There was nothing else she could do. She’d failed. She had nothing, and they both knew it. And worse, she failed to convince the Karnolian that she was telling the truth. This was a no-win scenario. Like a prisoner being tortured for intelligence they didn’t have, all she could do was take the pain and wait for death.

“Three… Two…”

“Stop!” a shout rang out in the crowd.

She opened her eyes at the voice.

The familiar voice.

Samira.

“Stop! That’s one of my people,” Samira said, standing up in the crowd. “I’ll tell you how to do it.”

He stopped his countdown to gape at her. “Who are you?”

“I’m Samira. I’m the head of my faction here,” Samira replied proudly. “We own half of the Dustballium factory. I can tell you how to override our sabotage failsafe.”

Klarnoth looked… a mixture of surprised and excited. He pressed his paw to his radio again. This time, it was quick. “You are Samira Fardin, head of the—local supervisor of Faction Luna?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Your people made us an offer on the radio the other night. Are you going to honor it?”

“That offer was made by Faction Red…” He hesitated for a long moment. “But we will also honor it if you can guarantee the working foundry intact. No sabotage. If not, then we can give your people no guarantees. The lies end. And death it is.”

Julia turned to look at her uncertainly. “Samira… what is he talking about? What offer?”

Samira didn’t look at her. Instead, she stared Klarnoth in the eyes. “Deal. A working Dustballium foundry, for my people’s safety and for us to be allowed to remain in this colony. You won’t go back on your word?”

“Of course not! We are a people of honor, not like the juvenile clowns!” Klarnoth insisted. “Now tell us, how do we get in? How?!”

“Samira, don’t do it,” Julia warned. “He’ll betray you in a second—”

Samira turned to stare at her. “Betray us? Please. You narrow-sighted grounders see treachery everywhere. It’s just projection. That’s all your paranoia is.”

“They’ll kill your people too,” Julia begged. “They’ll massacre you after you give them what they want.”

“Like your ships massacred us in the Christmas battle of ‘77?” Samira snorted. “More grounder hypocrisy.”

Julia recalled the raid, the memory swirling in her head. She snarled angrily, “We didn’t start it. And if it weren’t for your 1158th Battalion marines, we would have painted the regolith of Luna red with the thin blood of you traitors and—oof!” She doubled over in pain as Klarnoth walked up to her and bashed her stomach with the butt of his rifle.

“Shut up, primitive!” Klarnoth ordered, then he looked back at Samira excitedly. “How do we disable the failsafes?”

“I have a radio coded to a special frequency that bricks the sabotage device. It’s in the admin hab.” Samira pointed at the distant building. “That one. Let me go grab it real quick.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not giving you a chance to escape. You’ll take me to it, and…” Klarnoth pointed a claw at one of his marines. “Four Claws, watch the prisoners. If any of them try to run, kill them all. And once we take out the… sabotage device… you know what to do.”

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Previous

“Flying Dutchman, you are cleared for entry into the Centaurius System,” Centaurius Control said. “Please remember to maintain local laws, and if you’re not used to or able to handle the cold, please ensure that you’re wearing appropriate protective gear when you land on Centaurius Prime.”

“Thank you, Control, and will do,” Dutch said.

“That’s so cool,” Silverlight said as the blue and purple colored Centaur homeworld came into view.

“It certainly is,” Brightpaw agreed.

“We’ve got an incoming message from Professor Bloodclaw,” Dutch said. “Looks like he’s sending us coordinates for a landing pad that he’s reserved for us. A little outside of most of the common city areas, however.”

“Considering this is supposed to be an archeological dig, that’s not all too surprising,” Sandra said as she adjusted the Dutchman slightly.

“I wonder which one they’re digging up this time,” So’Ngo said from where he as sitting on the ceiling. “The Centaurs have quite a few ancient cities and towns that they have yet to rediscover.”

“Right, I forget that you’re older than the Observer himself,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes. “Ever planning on telling us how the Primordial universe was?”

“Hot,” So’Ngo said with a grin.

“You think it’s the one you visited to get the bowl?” Silverlight asked So’Ngo.

“It’s a possibility,” So’Ngo said. “But it’s equally likely that it’s a separate place entirely.”

“Which means different history to uncover,” Silverlight said, bouncing on his chair.

“Keep bouncing like that and you’re going to break my chair,” Dutch laughed over the intercom.

“Sorry, I’m just really excited,” Silverlight said, clutching the bowl that So’Ngo had given him in excitement even as the bouncing stopped. “Maybe it’s an amphitheater? Or an old church? Or maybe some fossils? I can’t wait to find out.”

“The fact that you find excitement in something that actively puts me to sleep will be something I will never understand,” Sandra chuckled as fire began licking the outer hull of the ship when they began to enter the planets atmosphere. “I’ll stick with putting things together and taking them apart, thank you very much.”

……………….

“Welcome, welcome,” a blue Spotted Centaur with white spots greeted them as the Dutchman’s airlock ramp lowered.

“Professor Bloodclaw,” Silverlight said excitedly, practically skipping down the ramp.

“It’s good to finally meet you in person, young kit,” Professor Bloodclaw said warmly, chuckling as Silverlight slid to a stop right before ramming into him.

“I’m so sorry about him, he’s been excited ever since we got permission for this trip,” Brightpaw began to apologize while Sandra rolled her eyes affectionately and So’Ngo outright laughed at Silverlight practically vibrating.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being excited over seeing some history, isn’t that right?” Professor Bloodclaw winked at Silverlight.

“Yeah,” Silverlight said with a huge smile.

“And who are your…friends? Family?” Professor Bloodclaw prompted.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Silverlight said, his face growing embarrassed. “That’s Brightpaw, my Guardian, Sandra, my sister, and So’Ngo, her teacher. And…” Silverlight frowned a bit as he noticed there were only three of them. “Is Dutch not joining us this time?”

“Dutch?” Professor Bloodclaw asked curiously.

“Our final crewmember,” Sandra said, walking down the ramp to stand next to Silverlight, looking Professor Bloodclaw over a bit. “And yeah, she’s coming, she just needed to finish getting ready is all.”

“Oh, okay,” Silverlight said.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Dutch called out, walking out of the airlock and brushing her pants and jacket off. “My siblings back home sent me close to a literal ton of clothing for the trip, and I was having a hard time picking an outfit out.”

“You quite literally had three days to decide, how did you just now decide?” Sandra asked.

“You try going through a mountain of clothing and tell me how long it takes,” Dutch shot back.

“30 seconds, I’ll just grab the first dress that’s comfortable,” Sandra shrugged.

“Speaking of, are you all adequately protected against the cold?” Professor asked as he began leading them away from the landing pad and to a waiting hover-van.

“Yes, we’ve got atmo-protectors on,” Brightpaw said with a nod. “I’m a homeworld resident, and I know how cold it can get at times, so I ensured everyone was well prepared.”

“Not that everyone needs it,” Sandra muttered under her breath.

“Excellent,” Professor Bloodclaw said as everyone got into the van and he started it up. “I know off-worlders often times underestimate the cold of our planet, even other Centaurs, so I’m happy to hear there’s a native that set you all up.”

“I’ll be honest, it wasn’t just me,” Brightpaw said a little ruefully as Silverlight plastered his face to a window to stare outside while the Professor started flying them away from the starport. “Sandra there was raised by Humans, and their homeworld in certain places can get just as, if not colder, than our own. If for some reason the atmo-protectors aren’t enough, we have enough heavy winter clothing and emergency shelters to risk heatstroke during the Frozen Winds.”

“Is that so?” the Centaur Professor asked, looking back at them briefly. “You don’t appear to have enough luggage for that.”

“Perks of my job is that I’ve learned to teleport,” Sandra said with a shrug. “Push comes to shove, I’ll run back to the Dutchman and grab some stuff.”

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t come to that,” Professor Bloodclaw said with a light laugh. “Thankfully the area of the dig is near the beginning of our approximate summer, so it’s not dangerously cold, only moderately so.”

“Oh, this should be fun,” So’Ngo said with a grin, rubbing his hands together.

………………

“Professor Bloodclaw, glad you could join us,” another Centaur with blue fur and purple stripes waved from a temporary shelter as the small group got out of the hover-van.

“Dr. Lightfur, it’s good to see you again,” Professor Bloodclaw said as he got out of the van.

“I didn’t realize we were inviting audience members this time around,” Dr. Lightfur said, looking at Silverlight, Sandra, Brightpaw, So’Ngo, and Dutch curiously.

“Technically I only invited young Silverlight here,” Professor Bloodclaw said with a chuckle, gesturing at the teenage Centaur. “But you know how it is. Teenagers need their Guardians, and the ship needs their Captain.”

“And unfortunately, I’m stuck with this one for a few more months,” Sandra said sardonically, pointing a thumb at So’Ngo.

“Well, as long as everyone knows not to touch anything,” Dr Lightfur said skeptically, looking over Sandra, So’Ngo, and Dutch in particular.

“Believe me, I plan to bug you as little as possible,” Sandra said with a small grin. “I know how important history is, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t put me to sleep. If I’m not hiding out in the shelter, I’ll either be training far away from the dig site, or being dragged around town by Dutch here.”

“Yup,” Dutch said cheerfully.

“Yes, the only ones that should be here regularly will be me and Silverlight,” Brightpaw said with a nod. “I’m an engineer by trade, but I’m still his Guardian.”

“Very well then,” Dr. Lightfur said with a nod.

“Excuse me,” Silverlight said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Has anything been dug up yet? I was hoping to see what sort of interesting things have been found and maybe try to figure out what they were used for.” Dr Lightfur looked at Silverlight for a moment before giving a short burst of laughter.

“I see why you invited him,” Dr Lightfur said to Professor Bloodclaw, who nodded with a smile on his face. “Sorry, young kit, but the actual digging doesn’t start for another day or two.”

“Why is that?” Silverlight asked, starting to walk as the Centaur gesture for them to follow him and Professor Bloodclaw.

“Safety and preservation, mostly,” Dr Lightfur said as they entered the temporary shelter to ee several Lorhma at computers, a map of the area slowly being created on a bigger screen. “These fine excavators are doing a deep scan of the area in order to put together a rough map of the building and items we want to excavate, in order to try and minimize the damage as much as possible. We want buildings after all, not ruble. Or at a bare minimum some ruins.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor, me and my crew have done many archeological digs in the past,” a Lorhma said with a chuckle, standing at his full three-and-a-half feet proudly. “By the time we’re done, you’ll be able to repaint the entire site and live in it again if you wanted. I’m Sniffer, by the way, leader of this group of diggers.”

“Sniffer?” Silverlight asked curiously as he carefully took the Lorhma’s clawed hand in a handshake.

“Guy has the best nose for stone and metal you’ll ever meet,” another Lorhma said with a chuckle. “We just call him Sniffer cause his sniffer makes the rest of us look like we don’t have a nose.” Silverlight giggled a bit at that as Sniffer threw a loose pebble at the other Lorhma.

“Anything we should be concerned about, Sniffer?” Professor Bloodclaw asked as Sandra looked over the screens with a polite interest and Brightpaw began looking at some equipment on one of the walls.

“So far the only concern we’re seeing is a section of stone we’ll have to cut away,” Sniffer said, using his datapad to make the larger screen zoom in. “It looks like whatever this building was, it was built directly against a small stone outcrop. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, except that there’s what looks like a hallway that goes deeper into the earth behind a door that’s been sealed shut behind an extremely thick door. We’ll either need to cut the door away, or make a new opening to reach the passage.”

“Huh, that’s interesting,” Professor Bloodclaw said with a thoughtful frown.

“Certainly one way of looking at it,” Dr Lightfur said with a nod. “We’ll climb that tree when we get to it though.”

“I wonder what they could’ve buried that needed such a thick stone door,” Silverlight said, looking at the scan with interest.

“Well, that’s what we’re here to find out,” Professor Bloodclaw said with a smile.

………………….

“Oh this is cute,” Dutch said, looking over a shirt that she had spotted.

“Are you sure Jessica didn’t infect you with a virus or something?” Sandra asked in amusement as she followed the Lamnacorta around the store.

“Hey, just because I didn’t care about fashion until I got a Frame does not mean I was infected by a virus,” Dutch said, sticking her tongue out at Sandra. “Someone here needs to have a sense of fashion, since you and Brightpaw have no cares in the world for it.”

“Fashion is secondary when loose clothing can get you killed in engineering,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes.

“Accurate but still tragic,” Dutch said, holding the shirt up against Sandra. “A bit big, but I think we can modify it.”

“Oh, this is going to be a whole thing,” Sandra said, though she didn’t stop Dutch from holding up a few other shirts to her.

“Hey, you were the one who got bored watching Silverlight talk to the doctor and professor about possible theories about the buildings and what’s buried,” Dutch reminded Sandra as she set the Shirt back on the rack. “This makes for a good distraction and something to do while they’re geeking out over ruins and rocks.”

 “Is there anything we can help you with?” a Centaur employee walked around the corner, blinking a bit when she saw Dutch and Sandra there.

“Yes, actually, I was wondering if you have these in any smaller sizes,” Dutch said, holding up a few shirt with a bright smile.

“I’d have to check our stock,” the Centaur said, shaking herself a bit as she pulled out her datapad. “We don’t get many…non-Centaurs, though, so if we do they’ll be in children sizes.”

“Believe me, we get it,” Sandra said a bit dryly. “My brother is a Centaur. The size discrepancy is real.”

“I see,” the Centaur employe said this lightly and with a smile, though she seemed to tense up a bit, which made Sandra frown slightly “Well, it does appear that I have those particular shirts in sizes that might fit you, they’re just in the back. if you can give me a few minutes, I’ll go get those for you.”

“Awesome, thank you,” Dutch said brightly as the Centaur walked away slightly faster than necessary.

“Did she seem tense to you?” Sandra asked.

“Probably because your fingering your revolver again,” Dutch said nonchalantly. Sandra blinked before looking down, seeing that she indeed was fingering one of her revolvers.

“Oh,” Sandra said, dropping her hand.

“I know it’s just a habit of your that normally doesn’t cause problems,” Dutch said kindly, patting Sandra on the shoulder. “But we’re on planet here, not in space. Some of your habits are going to make people nervous. Especially since we’re off-worlders and non-Centaurs.”

“Right,” Sandra said with a small sigh. “Probably doesn’t help that I’m Targondian, who are known for being more closed off.”

“Exactly,” Dutch said with a smile. “Look, when she comes back, let’s just try a few shirts on, see if we can get something that looks good on you. And I’ll even hang onto your revolvers while you change, alright?”

“Your using her nervousness to guilt me into being a fashion doll for you, aren’t you?” Sandra asked in amusement.

“Absolutely,” Dutch said, smiling brightly as the Centaur came back holding a small bundle of shirts.

………………..

“Keep your movements gently as you brush here,” Professor Bloodclaw said, watching Silverlight as the teenage Centaur was cleaning off a cup that he had been handed for practice.

“You just happen to have false artifacts for people to clean off?” Brightpaw asked in amusement as Professor Bloodclaw carefully coached Silverlight.

“For my students, yes,” the Professor said as he took a step back, satisfied with Silverlight’s progress. “I’m not going to hand students an actual piece of history to clean without some practice; that’s just asking for the artifacts to be damaged and history lost. So, when I was told that Silverlight had permission to come to this dig, I packed up a few for him. Get a bit of a head start before he goes to University.”

“You seem to be doing a lot for a child that you only met a only recently,” Brightpaw said, a question in her tone.

“Am I not allowed to nurture a growing talent?” Professor Bloodclaw asked with a chuckle. “He’s bright, inquisitive, and wants to learn. I’m very much aware that his first call to me wasn’t all research; someone told him at least some of the things he was asking me, even if he won’t tell me who or why he’s trying to keep it a secret. But instead of taking it at face value, he decided to look into it deeper and ask questions. Like the weather, for example. I had to ask a few colleagues, but there is ample evidence that our planet was much, much warmer before and during the early years of our history than it is now. I never would’ve even considered looking into that if not for Silverlight, and he’s done a lot of his own research to draw his own conclusions. The perfect historical student, in my opinion.” There was a light clink as Silverlight hit the ‘artifact’ cup a little too hard with his brush in embarrassment, much to the amusement of both Brightpaw and Professor Bloodclaw.

“Hear that, kid?” So’Ngo asked with a laugh. “You’re a prodigy.”

“So’Ngo,” Silverlight groaned, setting the mug down before he accidentally broke it.

“Don’t worry, young kit, I will still tell you when you’re doing something wrong,” Professor Bloodclaw said with a chuckle. “I don’t coddle my students, not even the prodigies.”

“Umm, can I go watch the workers for a bit?’ Silverlight asked, clearly embarrassed.

“That should be fine, just make sure you don’t bother them,” Professor Bloodclaw said, and Silverlight quickly left the temporary shelter. “So easily embarrassed,” Professor Bloodcalw said with a chuckle.

“Makes it easy and fun to tease him,” So’Ngo agreed with a wide grin before leaving the shelter as well to follow the teenage Centaur.

There was a moment of awkward silence with Brightpaw and the Professor before Professor Bloodclaw coughed a bit, clearing his throat. “So, I had a few questions for you. Primarily why a pregnant Centaur is willing to take in a ‘snow-washed’ orphan.”

“Believe it or not, I actually wasn’t the one who took him in,” Brightpaw said with a small sigh. “That would be his sister.”

“The Targondian girl?” Professor Bloodclaw asked with a frown as he took a seat near Brightpaw.

“Yes,” Brightpaw said. “I’m not saying I would have left the kit behind, but I most likely would not have been at the right place or time to make that decision if not for Sandra. And while I may try to be her mother, she’s Captian of the ship.”

“I see,” Professor Bloodclaw said carefully.

“Make no mistake, Professor,” Brightpaw said with a smile. “My kitten or not, I still intend to be every bit the mother I can for that kit. ‘Snow-washed’ or not, he’s a child first and foremost. And besides, no matter how Sandra may act, she’ll make sure he has a future ahead of him, even if I was a primal traditionalist.” The visible relief on the Professor’s face was almost palpable in the air as he nodded.

“I suppose I worried over nothing then, given my own experiences,” Professor Bloodclaw said, gesturing vaguely at his white spots.

“No, you worried just the right amount, and I hope you know it means a lot to me that you did,” Brightpaw said, shaking her head lightly. “It means that if he does decide to be your apprentice in a few years, when he’s old enough to have that option, that I’ll know that he’s in good hands.”

……………

“Whoa,” Silverlight said, looking over the small knife that Sniffer had dug up. “You didn’t even scratch it. I mean, beyond its obvious aging.”

“Best part about colder planets like this,” the Lorhma dig boss said proudly. “Once something gets underground, erosion becomes rather minimal for the first several feet or so. Once it gets cleaned up a bit, that there little knife would still be perfectly functional.”

“It’s not just colder planets,” Dr. Lightfur said, looking over another knife appreciatively. “I remember a bog on a much warmer planet that had some remarkably well preserved tools and even ancient animals. But yes, on the whole I agree, cold seems to be one of the best for preserving older artifacts, at least for planets that are colder as a whole rather than those that are only colder in some areas.”

“Cool,” Silverlight said, carefully setting the small blade back down on the table.

“Hey, where’d you’re Dra’Cari friend go?” Sniffer suddenly frowned a bit, looking around.

“I have no idea,” Silverlight said with a shrug. “He just kind of appears and disappears on a whim. But I don’t think he’ll do anything to disrupt the dig.”

“Well, that’s all I care about,” Sniffer said with a shrug. “Seems like an odd type though.”

“Yeah, he’s…interesting,” Silverlight said.

“Have you found anything else by chance?” Dr. Lightfur said as he set down the knife he was examining.

“Nothing near the surface that’s not near an area that needs to be excavated anyway,” Sniffer said with a shrug, his scale-like plates moving with a light rustle. “Those ones I figure we’ll collect as we begin excavating the site as a whole. I can smell more metal in several areas, however, including a rather large deposit near that door that we need to uncover. Initial scans make it look like it’s a table or an anvil or something like that, but beyond the general shape and the fact that there is a lot of metal in that one spot, we won’t know till we unearth it.”

“A ritual site, perhaps?” Dr. Lightfur mused, stroking the fur on his chin.

“Or maybe a forge?” Silverlight added. Dr. Lightfur nodded with a smile.

“I’m leaning towards a forge meself,” Sniffer said with a shrug. “But I may be biased as a Lorhma. Ritual sites always weird me out. The last one I had to do was just…” the Lorhma excavator shuddered a bit. “Stone and metal remembers, even if the people and animals don’t.” Silverlight shuddered a bit as well, a shiver going all the way down his spine to the end of his tail.

“Now now, let’s not scare our promising temporary student too badly,” Dr. Lightfur admonished Sniffer lightly. “Ritual sites are still important to learning history of a society, even if they are a bit…creepy.”

“Not disagreeing, Doc, just saying I don’t like them,” Sniffer chuckled. “Come on, pup, I’ll show you how the scanning machinery works.”

“Oh, yes please,” Silverlight said, immediately perking up and following the Lorhma towards the rest of the excavators.

Prologue Previous Next

Appendix

TOC

[Sandra and Eric TOC]

<First> <Prev> <Next> <Last>

McBride sat in a chair in a large lecture hall. Notionally this was Dagger’s after action report, but functionally it was set up like a courtmartial. McBride sat on the right, with Admiral Mitchell. On the left leading the ‘debriefing’ was Captain Price. In front was a Fleet Admiral, standing in as a Judge Advocate, and a board of 4 Captains and a Rear Admiral. In a courtmartial the judge would rule on matters of procedure, and the board would rule on matters of guilt or innocence. For a debrief, they were just supposed to ask questions. But as the discussion had proceeded it became clear it was a courtmartial in all but name.

The court had already reviewed the logs, and it had come to summary statements. There would then be deliberations, any extra information needed, then a ruling.

Captain Price stood and began his summation.

“The staggering cost of Commander McBride’s actions should stand enough to move to judgements. In addition to sending UCS Dagger to the shipyards for a full overhaul and refit, he risked UCAS Aegis, and caused the destruction of 4 of her tenders. 

This is a direct cost to the Fleet of 57 million credits. 

The civilian cost of Commander McBride’s actions is truly breath-taking, with destruction of 358 ships, damage to 153 more. Waste of mined ores, and the forced destruction of 15 mining stations, and 5 transit stations, with damage to 23 further stations. 103 mining tugs destroyed, along with 230 mining robots, ore reserves from 50 asteroids lost. This adds up to well over 73 billion credits.

Beyond those costs we also have the cruise ship Empress of the Stars, and hauler Caliban destroyed in the evacuation. The Empress of the Stars is worth in excess of 500 million credits, whilst hauler Caliban is insured for 23 million credits, the cargo lost was insured in excess of 250 million credits, Finally Commander McBride’s orders prevented the evacuation of another 200 million credits of cargo on hauler Calista. 

This brings the cost of Commander McBride’s negligence in Taurus ringing in at 74.73 BILLION credits of Fleet liability”

Captain Price glanced into the audience behind him. As it was a closed session, most were Fleet personnel, silent and angry. But surrounded by bodyguards, Governor Bailey sat with a huge grin. He nodded back to Captain Price. The Captain pressed on.

“In addition to this financial cost, we have illegal creation of 654 Class-1 AI citizens, most of which Commander McBride immediately put in mortal peril.

Gross negligence in failing to warn the Fleet of the impending Hive attack.

Cowardice in the face of the enemy, but sitting behind the 3rd Fleet as they engaged the Hive invaders.

Gross Misconduct, in the direction of the civilian evacuation.

Gross Insubordination, in ignoring legal directives from the civilian government.

Misappropriation of civilian assets, as outlined in my summary of the costs

And finally, exceeding the scope of his orders, he should have ordered Dagger, Aegis and Monarch of the Sky to jump out from Taurus, just after the Fleet did.

The fruits of all of this, the destruction of two Hive Dreadnoughts can be characterised as a mix of staggering waste of resources and dumb luck.

I’m aware that the pure facts of this situation mean we can’t demote or otherwise publicly punish Commander McBride, due to the public perception. My recommendation is that he be detached from his crew and sent on a morale tour of the Commonwealth, until his celebrity dies down, and then be given a command in a remote post where he can do no more harm”

There were quiet murmurings from the audience. The Fleet personnel listening had other views, but the Judge Advocate stayed solemn and the board members took notes, and exchanged a few quiet questions.

After a few moments, the Judge Advocate invited Admiral Mitchell to give her closing summary.

Admiral Mitchell stood.

“As Commander McBride’s commanding officer, I'm in a position to refute several of Captain Price’s assertions outright.

Commander McBride’s creation of 654 Class-1 AI citizens, was authorised as an emergency measure, under military intervention.  Every AI created is classed as Fleet personnel, and during the battle all but three AIs were successfully backed up to UCAS Aegis.  The whole system was in mortal peril, but the Fleet’s AI crew accelerated the civilian evacuation, and contributed immensely to the destruction of the two Hive Dreadnoughts.

In the charge of gross negligence in failing to warn the Fleet of the impending Hive attack. Dagger’s logs show Commander McBride discovered the Hive attack at 0442, and had reported it directly to me via Fleet privileged Omega priority call 2 minutes later at 0444. 

I would observe that 2 minutes to confirm your data and check alternatives before waking an Admiral in the early hours of the morning, can hardly be called any sort of delay.

In the charge of cowardice in the face of the enemy, by sitting behind the 3rd Fleet as we engaged the Hive invaders. This was my direct order, I needed someone steady to oversee the civilian evacuation. This charge can be removed from the list entirely, it’s provably false.

In the charge of gross misconduct, in the direction of the civilian evacuation. I think there are two relevant features. 

First the Caliban-Empress collision occurred after McBride had explicitly ordered hauler Caliban to resume evacuation operations. Hauler Caliban jumped away in contravention of safe gravity warp jump protocol, against orders.

If the court will accept a single observation, there were two comms calls placed to hauler Caliban after Commander McBride’s orders. The final one, terminating just 15 seconds before the collision, both were from Governor Bailey’s yacht”

The audience reaction was muted, but clear. The whispered conversations from the Fleet personnel combined to almost drown out the Admiral’s final words. Governor Bailey glared at the Admiral, then McBride, and finally Captain Price.

Captain Price spoke “Objection, the Governor is not on trial. This is clear speculation”

Admiral Mitchell smiled as she responded deliberately “Judge Advocate. This is an after action debrief, not a courtmartial. There is no protocol for an objection. Furthermore, the statement of comms from Governor Bailey’s yacht is a simple fact, and given its timing, entirely relevant. I request my statement, in full, remains in the record. If I can continue my summation?”

The Judge Advocate spoke "Silence in court” She banged her gavel on the table for emphasis a couple of times, and the court settled down.

Admiral Mitchell resumed addressing the Judge Advocate and the board “The final charge to refute is of gross insubordination, in ignoring legal directives from the civilian government. This again has no merit. The situation was clearly a military one, an emergency where the primacy of civilian authority is suspended. This should be enough to settle this charge, but I'd like to draw attention to two further items.

First, there was a measurable increase in the speed and effectiveness of the evacuation after Fleet authority is exercised. Many civilians owe their lives to Commander McBride due to that speed and focus on people over cargo. I can’t proffer a number, as that would be true speculation.

Second, when we examine Commander McBride’s interactions with the civilian authorities. We must disregard about 60% of the communications, as they are just insults and threats, with no bearing on a legal basis for an order. Additionally the bulk of the actual orders were just focussing on illegal orders to prioritise cargo movements and release vessels that had not taken on any civilians at all. All of these calls came directly from Governor Bailey, and all are available in full in the UCS Dagger’s logs. Two calls were placed with an Omega priority, that is restricted to Fleet personnel and as such a restricted channel. I suggest an investigation to determine how Governor Bailey had access to a clear Fleet secret.

There is a final matter, somewhat outside Commander McBride’s actions, but within the purview of an after action report for the events in Taurus 4.

The cargo manifests of hauler Caliban, and freighter Calista showed the whole cargo as emergency supplies. 

During the actively encouraged undocking of freighter Calista, the cargo was determined to be in high security containers, and the contents of the 3 containers opened were luxury goods, see schedule 12 for the list of items, including a sports car. A full inspection of the cargo offloaded to the cruise ship Monarch of the Sky, also confirms high security containers, all marked emergency supplies, and all containing luxury goods.”

Seeing Captain Price stand again, Admiral Mitchell raised her voice slightly “These are verifiable facts, entered to the record. Hauler Caliban has been impounded, in the Wolf system en-route to Earth. There are 2 further vessels that left early and carried cargo marked as emergency supplies, that we suggest are also impounded. 

Speculation on the cargo of those vessels is not warranted at this time. But what is on the record is that each vessel is owned and operated by Tempest shipping, a company that Governor Bailey has a controlling interest in. The vessels all originated in facilities at Taurus 4 that Governor Bailey also owns, and the comms logs show all received calls directly from the Governor’s yacht several times, until they jumped out of Taurus, all without evacuating a single additional person. Additionally aboard freighter Calista were 12 employees of Governor Bailey, including his head of security.

We also have 5 vessels that were overridden by AI control protocols, that did participate in the evacuation, and the Fleet has impounded, but are still involved in evacuation duties so their cargo has not yet been scrutinised. They are also owned and operated by Tempest shipping.

Captain Price has listed out the cost of Commander McBride’s actions and gave some alarming numbers, let me pluck out 2 figures. Hauler Caliban’s cargo of emergency supplies is valued at 250 million credits, and freighter Calista’s cargo was listed as 200 million credits. These are figures entered into liability claims directly to the Fleet, and also claimed in insurance claims made separately. The insurance claims will be settled in civil courts, but the claims of 450 million credits for emergency supplies, is a direct fraud…” 

On the words 'direct fraud’ the audience erupted most standing and talking, yelling. Governor Bailey’s bodyguards stood to shield the Governor, and started to move to the exit.

Admiral Mitchell raised her voice rising to almost a shout to be heard over the crowd “...perpetrated by Governor Bailey on the Fleet itself”

To get back control the Judge Advocate ended up ordering the lecture hall cleared of all personnel, leaving only the court recorder, Captain Price, the board, Admiral Mitchell, Commander McBride, and the Judge Advocate herself.

The Judge Advocate spoke, addressing Admiral Mitchell “Ellen, do you have anything further to add to the report?”

“Yes, your honour. Since Captain Price has cited misappropriation of civilian assets, I’d like to summarise the value that Commander McBride has created against the 74 billion credit cost quoted”

The Judge Advocate nodded, and Admiral Mitchell continued “The simple value is that Commander McBride has completed the evacuation of Taurus, including saving all the people trapped alive on the crippled Empress of the Stars. 

He saved the UCS Dagger, with all crew alive.

He completed his assigned orders to test the advanced sensors, protecting UCS Cloak and UCAS Aegis, and all data.

And, finally, he has directly caused the destruction of 2 Hive Dreadnoughts. This has a staggering material impact on the Hive’s expansion into Commonwealth space. It’s also something the 3rd Fleet didn’t manage in Taurus, and 5 other Fleets didn’t manage across the frontier.

It gives us breathing room, as it will certainly slow or even halt the Hive’s progress.

The scans UCS Dagger completed on the Dreadnought, and several other classes of Hive vessels are also invaluable. This data will undoubtedly assist the war effort considerably.

Finally, Commander McBride is a symbol, and a proof point that the Hive is not unbeatable.

The cost of 74 billion is one side, the value of the assets saved from destruction in Taurus is ten times higher, the time for the Fleet to prepare for the Hive is ten times higher, the hope that Commander McBride has given the Commonwealth is ten times higher.

It’s my recommendation that Commander McBride be recommended for a Distinguished Service Order, and promoted to Captain”

*****

With summations over Captain Price headed to the exit, followed by Admiral Mitchell and McBride. At the exit crowding around were Liv, Boomer, Belle and Liam. Chief Tara was with Dagger overseeing an extensive refit, she didn’t trust the shipyard to catch all the structural damage. Dr Wallace and Coop were over with the Fleet research teams.

“Well, what did they say?” asked Liam Mitchell.

“They are deliberating. I’ve recommended a promotion and the DSO” answered his mother, she continued turning to McBride “You’ve embarrassed the Fleet, and several Admirals personally. You proved them to be lacking by doing what they could not. Every captain and admiral that retreated in the face of the Hive is now in doubt, and worse you’ve knocked their self image. 

You may get everything I recommended, they need to publicly reward your victory. 

You’ve turned the tide of this war, but you’ve made some new enemies, including several Admirals and Governor Bailey. 

Watch your back McBride, but don’t forget you have friends too. I owe you one”

McBride turned to his crew “Liv, Boomer, Belle,...” He paused and looked directly at Midshipman Liam Mitchell, and smiled “Dash, let's get out of here”

Translated alien speech is enclosed in Italian quotes («»).

---

Fr. Shaheen sat on his porch staring up at the sky. The air was so humid you could pour it into a glass and drink it. The heat of the day had strained the local electrical grid to the breaking point, plunging the town of Erickson and its surroundings into darkness. Power wasn't due to be restored until midnight at the earliest.

He quickly tossed his lit cigarette to the ground and ground the but under his shoe as the screen door opened. Pascal emerged and took up his customary spot on the bench across from him.

«Light blind me it's hot.» Pascal rolled onto his back and stretched his legs and tail as far as the bench would allow, letting the feeble breeze blow across his belly.

Fr. Shaheen merely grunted in agreement and continued staring skyward.

«See anything particularly interesting up there?» Pascal asked.

"The Milky Way. With all the lights in town out you can actually see the stars.

«I'm sorry, the 'milky way'?» Pascal's eyes flashed red and blue and silver and gold as he fluttered his bandpass membranes, trying to tune his eyes to whatever frequency this 'milky way' radiated brightest. «All I see is the galactic core.»

"Yeah, that's the milky way. What do monkey foxes call it?"

«I just told you, the galactic core. But why do humans call it 'Milky Way'?»

"It's the milk of the goddess Hera that spilled while suckling Hercules."

«What?!» Pascal barked. He sat up on his haunches, wrapping his tail around an arm rest and gripping the edge of the bench with his rear paws. «That doesn't mesh at all with the tenets of your creed that you've explained to me.»

"It's from classical mythology. We named most of the stuff in the sky after old gods, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn. Even after we stopped worshipping idols we kept it up. Uranus, Neptune, Pluto. Then when we ran out of Greek and Roman gods, we started using other pantheons, or even characters from books and movies.

"I think it's our way of preserving a bit of that wonder the ancients felt when they looked up at a sky they couldn't begin to understand. We didn't know what the stars were, so they could be anything, gods, departed souls, holes in the firmament letting in light from heaven. But now... they're just balls of burning gas."

Pascal had laid back down and resumed shifting his visual passband, trying to match what he thought a human might see.

«There was a time when our ancestors looked up at the stars and imagined sophonts without number, friends we had yet to meet, all chanting the glory of the Uncreated Light. We thought if we named the stars we would be unjustly claiming ownership over something that belonged to someone else. But as we reached out to those stars, we only found that they shined upon lifeless rocks.

«Now... yeah, balls of burning gas floating in a cold empty meaningless void.

«But sometimes, I try to find the reverence I felt when I was a pup looking up at the night sky. 'Who are we, the most infinitesimal of thy creatures, that thou heedest our cries?'»

Fr. Shaheen had maintained his skyward gaze. "For I will behold thy heavens, the works of thy fingers: the moon and the stars which thou hast founded. What is man, that thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that thou visitest him?"

The air conditioner shuddered to life and a muddy gray haze washed away the stars.

"Power's back." Fr. Shaheen got up and walked back inside. Pascal lingered on the bench a moment longer, silver bandpass membranes across his eyes filtering out the light pollution, looking for something beyond the black behind the stars.

First

Home at War

They’re only a few hours out of the next system when Rain brings news to Harold.

“It’s full sized.” She tells him. “Just as many production tanks as with The Vishanyan. But instead of finding their own purpose they developed a cult like need to serve properly. A religion of service and waiting for a proper master that grew and grew until...”

She trails off, uncomfortable.

“How bad is it?”

“The four girls in that ship were neural clamped and sent on a suicide mission because they expressed doubt. Not even verbally. They just hesitated a little too much to obey.” Rain explains.

“So, we have an entire society of abuse victims that made things worse for themselves in their isolation.” Harold asks.

“It’s... haunting. We were so close to being these women.” Rain half whispers.

“And the implants? What are their opinion on those?”

“Punishment for failure. Many of the Vish higher ups are closer to mad zealots rather than commanding officers, they’re think they’re infinitely replaceable. That their entire lives are worthless unless they serve.”

“Rain...”

“They’ve tried to commit suicide because they were captured. It wasn’t even a spur of the moment decision, we gave them time to think and they tried breaking their own necks!” Rain says in a horrified tone.

“So what you’re saying is that it’s going to take a lot of work to get through to them.” Harold says.

“It’s just... so against the Vishanyan and...” Rain starts to say and comes up short. “It’s just... wrong.”

“And there’s an entire branch of your species that has been so abused.” Harold notes. “I trust you’re well motivated?”

“Oh yes. It... the news is passing through the Vishanyan. No one’s happy about this.”

“Good. I’d have questions and concerns if anyone was happy about this.” Harold notes.

“Goodness, I imagine it must be much like being a designer child to be in the position of your species Young Officer.” Orchid notes.

“We were never that well cared for.”

“I did use the word much. No doubt you were never treated as a prize. But I can relate to being regarded as a thing.” Orchid says.

“Oh I... I never felt it personally, but it’s... it’s something deep in what it means to be Vishanyan. We were made to be owned and now own ourselves.” She explains and he nods.

“Cultural or personal. A scar is a scar, so long as you’re willing to heal and move on, then that’s that.” Orchid says amiably.

“Sir, we have potential contacts in the next system.”

“Details?” Harold asks.

“Too soon to tell. Either one really big thing or a collection of smaller things. It’s orbiting a tiny planet well out of the green zone.”

“Sir, legal documents state that the system’s proper name is Kaploosha Ornak and that planet is Kaploosha Ornak three.”

“Why would this small, out of the way system have such a name?” Orchid asks.

“Typo and either an idiot or poorly implemented VI sir. Kaplusha is actually Kah Ploosh Sha. Or Three Nine One in a mildly uncommon Horchka language. In the same language Ornak means poor. So following proper gramatical format in that language this is the Poor System Three Nine One.”

“So a minor system and the only thing of interest is a typo in it’s registration where the name didn’t get properly translated when catalogued.” Harold notes. “And now there is a large signature surrounding it’s third world. What are the other two?”

“All three worlds are barren rocks. One is far too close to the star to be of use to anyone. The second has an irregular orbit and is only in the green zone for two months of the year, separate months by the way, and neither atmosphere nor enough gravity to keep one. The third is the most stable, but it’s only got trace elements and so little in the way of atmosphere that you’re still subject to severe decompression if you’re out without a suit. It’s more an oversized moon than a proper planet, and even then, not really. Just a dusty rock.”

“Hmm... then why is someone interested in it?” Harold asks.

“Could be a number of reasons sir, the remoteness of the region would play well to it as a strength. Safety through obscurity exists.” Orchid offers.

“Hmm... we’ll know more as we get closer. Best case scenario it’s a pirate base with way more balls than brains, most boring it’s an old refuse patch, the out of the way world being used to store debris you’d get in trouble for dumping too close to a civilized system is not uncommon.”

“Am I the only one amused that you want to find pirates?”

“Experience for our gunners and pilots, loot and possible intel without warning the enemy forces of our approach. Win, win, win.” Harold explains his reasoning and Orchid lets out a bark of laughter. “Not to mention...”

He gives Rain a sympathetic look.

“I think our Vishanyan allies and officers need some time to process what the Vish truly are like before facing them again.”

“I’m fine!” Rain says.

“I know you can handle it, but just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should be eager for it. The Vish are an unpleasant truth for the Vishanyan, and the more time to get used to it you have, the better you will be able to deal with them.” Harold says.

“Sir?” A voice comes from the armrest of his command couch. He presses the now glowing button.

“Yes?”

“This is Doctor Hallwen on The RAD, if you could come down here sooner rather than later. We have something to show you.”

Harold gives Orchid a look and the man nods.

“I’m on my way.” Harold states as he rises up. “Rain, do you want to come with me or stay on the bridge?”

“I only look like a teenager, I don’t need-”

“They’ve been breaking down the components of the Vish ship.” He cuts her off.

“I’m going with you.” She says.

“Alright then, away we go.” He says as he heads to a nearby panel. “And it’s time for the Inconceivable to beam two over.”

“What?” Rain asks before they’re both pulled away in a teleport.

“... Was that a human reference I missed?” Orchid asks of the now snickering Helmsman.

“Yes, yes it was.”

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, what was it about?”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The RAM, Just outside the Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

“Sir. Officer Rain... perhaps you should.”

“No. Whatever’s happening to the Vish, I need to know.” Rain says.

“Alright. We’ve managed to piece back together numerous items and recovered several data drives and the like from the ruins of the Vish Ship. One of which...”

“What’s wrong?”

“Direct orders and a specialized Neural Clamp sir. We’ve destroyed them, but basically they had an entire shelf of Neural clamps that they had direct orders to install... or rather force someone into a machine that forcibly installs a Neural Clamp. Very, very long story short, these women interrogate by removing the ability to even think about lying or staying silent. Those are the two thoughts they block.”

“... Thank god they’re still stupid. There are ways around that.” Harold says.

“Sir?!”

“Speak truthfully about other subjects. It’ll buy you time, but if they’ve already got a Neural Clamp on you... it’s pretty much over anyways. You need to think around them. Or think in term to get around it to get around it.”

“There is no way in fuck you have experience with these things.” Rain states before taking a breath. “That was too harshly said. I...”

“You’re upset. It’s reasonable.” Harold assures her. “Do we have to flag the system we took down their ship in? Do we have all the clamps?”

“The clamps were in a reinforced containment unit. The files we have state that it was so that they wouldn’t accidentally be damaged. We’ve destroyed all of them and reused the material to serve as handles and other such things in the next ship to be built. The only thing we even thought of keeping was the rather well made, well padded and well reinforced containment unit. But we recalled your orders about enemy ship components and have completely melted down and then recast it after our studies. There is zero chance that we’ll be tracked through them and no way that bastardized automatic surgery table and the neural clamps will ever be used to violate someone again.”

“... Again?”

“There was dried blood on the blades of the table. Unfortunately even the brief exposure to the void and the time it’s clearly had to decay has destroyed any real hint at who it was beyond the most basic details, being that it’s mammalian blood.” The Doctor says and Harold growls a little in the back of his throat as he considers. “And before your ask, no, we haven’t unscrambled the damaged data drives enough to tell who or when it happened.”

“Pity. Still, the fact that they have such a monstrous interrogation method is nothing to sneeze at. Even to an expertly trained soldier that kind of obstacle is nothing to sneeze at.”

“How do you know anything about clamps?”

“Personally? I know nothing. But I’ve read about previous encounters. I’ve studied the monstrous things. I’ve also been thinking about putting together a program to teach our soldiers how to disable the damn things without hurting the poor person with the things inside them. Which is a tall order as they’re clamped around the spinal cord and interfaced directly with the nervous system.”

“Oh, alright. Sorry this is...”

“I know.” Harold says. “Anything else doctor?”

“There are unusual differences and metal balances between the Vishanyan used Stealth Plating and the Vish used Stealth plating. Not by much. We suspect differing forging techniques. We’re in the process of testing the two against each other, so far the Vish methodology seems to be more efficient.”

“How much is a bit?”

“Five percent, or rather four point eight three five percent.” The Doctor says.

“Not much for small scale use, but if producing at scale then it’s considerably better.”

“Is there a downside?’

“Only that you need to pay more attention during the Vish method against the Vishanyan ones. Oh! And the panels have a mildly different appearance when seen with the naked eye. This way please.”

He leads them into a testing chamber where two large panels, each one a metre across height and length wise and two centimetres thick, are being tested.

“I know that panel.” Rain says walking up to be closer to the left one. But she sees the safety line taped onto the floor and stays behind it. The dark panel almost looks like a solar panel and has a glossy sheen to it. The other one is less shiny, more absorbent of light and energy.

“... The polish has purpose though.” Rain says after a little bit. There are a pair of slowly increasing hydraulic pressures being applied the centre of both panels.

“And that purpose is?”

“It prevents the accumulation of space dust, debris and the like Run a current over the glass and you can clean the outside of the panel in moments.”

“Hunh, so much for using it as punishment detail.” Harold notes and Rain cackles.

“Oh no! It gets plenty of use! You see, just because we’re entirely certain that the current will clean the panel, doesn’t mean we’re certain. So the punishment detail isn’t cleaning them, but inspecting them. All of them. In proper order.” Rain answers.

“Gone through the punishment yourself?” Harold asks.

“Everyone has. Teaches patience and discipline, but I also had the privilege of handing it out a few times.” She answers happily.

“So the differences between these panels are...” Harold begins to ask then pauses as he hears something.

“Are?” The doctor asks and Harold holds up a finger before pointing to the panels just before the glossy coat on the Vishanyan panel begins to crack. Then moments later both panels abruptly fail and snap in half. A few small pieces of debris hit the safety barrier and The Doctor rushes up to the instruments.

“Same tensile strength. Slightly more efficient stealth and quicker build time on the Vish panel, and that was easier maintenance on the Vishanyan one?” He asks Rain.

“We’ll have to check two intact panels against each other, but it should be.”

“We have more. And I’ll thank you for any insight you can bring us. Your people, while allies, are still fairly tight lipped about things out of sheer reflex.”

“Sorry, we’re a stealth species.”

“I’ve got Cloaken Sisters, I get it.”

First Last

This is the beginning of the second part of Bug Hunt, and will address the Bug War mentioned in the Planet Dirt series.

Book 1

Jack focused on the blue light outside the tube, ignoring the soldiers moving around outside.  He felt calm as he flexed his hands slightly. This would be a simple in-and-out mission.  

“God damnit my balls itch!”  Aziz’s voice broke the silence, and Jack chuckled.

“Then scratch it, you asshole, we don’t need to hear that!”  Paulo replied,

“I can't reach it, the damn tube is too small,” Aziz replied.

“You mean you're too fat? I told you to hold on to those Nalos burgers,” Mike replied.

“It's not fat, it's muscles.”

“Keep telling yourself that!”  Yun replied.

“Okay, that’s enough.  Don’t make the Nalos listing get naughty thoughts, we talked about it!” Jack replied, though he was smiling.

“Yes, DAD!” his crew replied, and he chuckled.  Then the light turned red. For a second, he felt a surge of force as the tube he was in went from zero to a couple of hundred kilometers an hour.  He loved this feeling. He could hear his crew screaming like little girls on a rollercoaster, and he joined in. The planet below was too focused on the giant space battle unfolding in the atmosphere to notice the five pods shooting towards an empty area of the planet.  Around them, 25 missiles followed their paths, hiding the pods among missiles that all failed to hit their targets by several kilometers.

The joyride was over too quickly, and soon the five pods landed with a thud on the surface. Jack checked the scans; nobody was around, but they had missed the landing spot by five clicks. He would have to deal with that when he got back.  He checked the atmosphere; the air on Fudios was breathable, with no known harmful viruses or bacteria for humans. He still kept the helmet on as he opened the hatch and got outside; the crew followed. 

Silently, they brought out the equipment and double-checked the area as Yun worked. Jack waited for the signals, and suddenly Yun spoke up.

“Channel secured.”

“Good. We are five clicks off the landing area.  And…” An alarm went off, and they all moved out as the display showed an incoming ship.  Jack looked at the landing area. It was a half-crater near a rocky landscape.  Perfect for an ambush. The pods were out in the open and would easily be spotted.  And he gave the hand signal to start the movie. There were no more words spoken, and they all grabbed the gear and vanished into the rocky terrain. Before they left, they all activated the self-destruct on the pods.  Jack was about a hundred meters away when the five pods melted away, turning them into what appeared to be missile impact craters. He found a hiding place, lay down, and watched. A minute later, a Gyrran shuttle flew past and stopped near the landing zone. It hovered over the crater for a minute, then slowly rose and flew off toward the original landing zone. Something was wrong.

He looked at the timer. They had 30 minutes to get out of the area before the next salvo of missiles would be fired to cover their landing and ensure the evidence of it was covered.  Hopefully, they would add it up to the captain being incompetent or acting on wrong intel.  He moved out and followed his men as they started the long trek towards the target. It was just an in-and-out mission, in, attach the spyware, and get out without being noticed, yet something was not right. It was that nagging feeling of something being wrong. 

He caught up with them as they moved silently through the rocky terrain. He could sense they all had the same feeling.  He raised his fist, and they all stopped and looked at him. He removed the lower part of the mask, and they all followed, then, with a push of a button, turned off all electronics.

“This stinks. Five clicks off target. And they sent ships to investigate?”

“Yeah, it feels like they knew. Do we abort?” Paulo asked, and Jack shook his head.

“No, we adapt. If we are correct, then the backup Junga.”

“Wouldn’t Rambo be better?”  Mike replied.

“Only if we have twins, if single, then Junga. Junga is the priority; Rambo is secondary. Understood?”

“Yes dad!” They all replied, and Jack put the lower part back on and turned the tech back on. They all followed suit.

“Well fuck that was weird. You all got the reboot?” Jack said.

“Yes, sir.” They replied.

Jack nodded, and they all got up and moved on.

“Still itching?”  Mike asked.

“Naw, thanks for the scratch by the way,” Aziz replied as he slapped Mike on the back. The crew laughed as they continued.

“And then the damn girl took off her mudmask, and she was prettier than her profile picture. I mean, I will never understand women.”

 They all stopped and turned to look at Yun. “You don't understand, woman?”

“Yeah.” She replied.

“You’re a woman. You don’t understand women?” Mike replied.

“Yeah. I don’t understand her, and I’m kinda a woman.” She replied.

“Kinda? That genetic enhancement doesn’t stop you from being a woman. Besides, didn’t you get them as an adult?” Paulo asked.

“So? Do you understand all men?” She replied, and all the men replied in unison, “Yeah!”

“Well, we don’t.” She replied, and she looked at Jack.

“What about the nalos? Are they just as difficult to understand?”

He looked at her, as his mind went to Zula. Damn, she was both easy and hard to understand.

“My brother-in-law told me Woman is the mystery the gods can't solve. I guess he is correct.”

He started walking again, and they followed after. It had been six hours since they landed, and the battle in the atmosphere had ended with the planned retreat.  They had seen ships fly by now and then as if they were searching for somebody, but a part of that, the hike had been quiet.  Mike, walking ahead, suddenly held up a hand, and they all melted into the terrain. Then he moved silently further ahead as he shared his view. On the display, they saw the Gyrran military communication center.  Then, in the blink of an eye, everything went black. Jack turned to heat vision and waited.  Fifteen Gyrran soldiers emerged nearby with rifles raised.

“Light!”

At his command, five flash grenades went off in their general direction, and the enemy was stunned as the darkness turned into day. It was all they needed as they quickly shot down the men.

“Junga! Let's die hard in this place!” With the command, Paulo let loose three drones and aimed them towards the base.  Jack checked on Mike, who was already in position, and started to snipe out the guards at the gates. Aziz adjusted his suit and gave Jack a nod, then launched himself into the air.  The covert mission was now a full assault on the base. Jack watched as two shuttles approached with reinforcements.  It would be a short assault, but they were going to sell it. He got out his rifle, aimed at the shuttle, and took a deep breath before firing.  

Aziz landed on the roof of the compound and dropped his payload right before an EMP grenade knocked him out. Mike got taken out by a hover tank. Though his life sign was still active.  Paulo was shot by several snipers and knocked down, also alive. It was clear they had orders to take them alive.  Jack knew he was not going to avoid this, but that wasn’t his goal now. He activated the suit's jets and launched himself towards the compound. The Gyrran took a second to readjust to his sudden frontal assault, and when he followed after, he had landed on the roof and jumped through the hole Aziz had so generously made for him. 

The Gyrran firefighters had a look of shock on their batlike faces as he landed inside. He shot two as he sprinted inside the building, and the AI translated the sign as he ran. He had two goals, and he had to fail one of them.  The alarms blared as he ran down the corridor. After five minutes of sprinting, he found his first target, the officer's control room. The Gyrran military guided everyone from these rooms, and when he reached the door, he blasted it open to the surprise of the officers inside. He rewarded the moment of surprise with three incendiary grenades and moved towards the secondary target, the communication center.  It took him ten minutes to get close, and he turned the corner just as a sledgehammer of a bolt hit his chest, and several bolts hit his armor. He tried to rise, but his vision was blurring. The last he saw was a Caren soldier looking down at him and firing again.

-Cast-

People

Jack Thompson

Aziz Khan

Paulo Silva - heavy

Mike Harrison – scout.

Yun Lee- hacker, female, genetically enhanced

Planet

Fudios

Species

Gyrran - a humanoid alien with a batlike visage and clawed hands.

Caren - a humanoid alien with snakelike skin, green/Yellow/red, and green, blue, bright red hair with yellowish reptilian eyes.

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Chapter 170: Disposable

The masked men fell back, withdrawing beyond the boundary of the courtyard. Then, when they believed they were far enough away, they immediately resumed their attacks with renewed enthusiasm. So once again, the air was filled with the sharp, violent hum of energy as they hurled their neat little spheres of white-blue light, one after another, crackling prettily as they smashed against the coiling bulk of the serpent and achieved precisely nothing of note.

Viktor chuckled. Did these guys not see that every projectile they launched had dispersed into the liquid before vanishing without effect? Did they truly believe if they threw enough lightning, the snake would eventually drop dead somehow? Perhaps that was the only trick they had up their sleeves. Or perhaps they were just being desperate, and desperate men kept swinging even when the fight was already over.

Nevertheless, their retreat did introduce a mild inconvenience.

They had bought themselves some distance, and closing with them would require him to send the serpent out, which could compromise his protection, leaving him exposed to the incoming barrage.

Still, he wasn’t unprepared. He had already anticipated the possibility his enemies would scatter, so the construct he had shaped was never intended to function as a purely close-range predator. No, it had been designed, from the very beginning, with the ability to project force at a distance, extending its threat beyond the immediate radius of its undulating mass.

The serpent reared its head, its liquid form rippling as if it were gathering breath, before its maw yawned open, wide enough to swallow a man whole, and from that gaping aperture, a sphere of water was expelled with sudden force. The projectile tore through the air in a glistening arc, its surface catching and bending the pale light of the moon into warped reflections as it sped toward its target.

It struck a man at precisely the moment his ball of lightning was reaching its final stage of formation.

The globe of water burst upon impact, soaking through the man’s robes in an instant, seeping into every fold of fabric, drenching his entire body. At the same time, the sphere of white-blue energy in his hand collapsed inward, its structure unraveling as the power within it surged erratically. Thin tendrils of light spilled from the shrinking core, crawling along his arm like living veins before plunging eagerly into the water that clung to him.

The man’s body snapped rigid, his spine arching backward so hard Viktor swore he could hear the sound of bones grinding against one another from across the courtyard. The man then crumpled, collapsing to the ground in a convulsing heap as his limbs thrashed against the stone. His mask slipped free, revealing a face utterly stripped of composure, eyes wide and bloodshot, mouth stretched open in a scream that never came.

And I can also do this, Viktor thought with amusement as he reached out a hand, fingers hovering just above the skin of the water looping around him, careful not to make direct contact with it.

He activated the power of his bracelet, and an ice core was formed inside the serpent. Then, it moved along the length of the construct’s sinuous body, until it reached the foremost section of it.

The serpent opened its maw once more, widening its liquid jaws to spit out another sphere of water, identical in shape to the previous one. However, its function was anything but, as it was now an “Iceheart Orb” in every sense of the term.

The projectile struck a man squarely in the chest. In an instant, the frozen core drove its influence outward, and ice spread in an unstoppable tide, swallowing his torso whole.

Viktor detonated it.

The man’s chest cavity burst open, blooming like a flower of flesh. His spine, now exposed to the open air as everything before it had been peeled away, remained intact for a few miraculous seconds. Then, the weight of his still-intact head and shoulders and arms had proved too much for that column of bone. The vertebrae separated with a sound like kindling being snapped over a knee, and the upper body toppled backward, landing with a wet, final slap. The man’s legs and pelvis, meanwhile, remained standing.

The other masked men gave no reaction to their fallen comrade. There was no hesitation, no change in their tactics, only the relentless continuation of their assault. So sphere after sphere of crackling energy kept flying, ramming uselessly against the serpent’s mass. The battle continued, though it had become less a fight and more a slow massacre.

This is... strange.

When Viktor saw them corner the bald man and bring him down, he had assumed they had at least a baseline level of competence. But now, they kept doing the same thing, over and over, even though it was obviously never going to work, all the while getting picked off one by one in the process. Besides, even if they were indeed stupid, they should at least have some instinct for self-preservation. There was no unit that could continue to fight until every single member was killed. After a certain threshold of casualties, it would either retreat in an organized manner or collapse into a chaotic rout. But these men did neither.

What if... for some reason, they were incapable of thinking for themselves?

And what they were doing was merely executing a sequence of instructions, where even the slightest deviation was not permitted?

They had a plan and they followed it to the letter. As long as events unfolded according to that plan, all was well and good. But the moment an unforeseen variable entered the equation, everything fell apart immediately. They were unable to adapt, so they couldn’t respond in any meaningful way.

Viktor kept count of his opponents, and when the number dwindled to three, he sent his serpent forward, while he lifted himself into the air using the power of his wind gems. With so few enemies left, the construct’s protection was no longer necessary.

The serpent responded with brutal efficiency, its massive body uncoiling as it swept across the broken ground. Its tail lashed out in a crushing arc that struck one poor bastard and hurled him bodily through the air, while its head lunged toward another, jaws opening wide before snapping shut, dragging him into its fluid. Viktor, meanwhile, dropped from above, halting before the last man standing.

Predictably, the man hurled a ball of lightning straight at him. He casually drifted aside, then answered with a wind blast that picked his opponent off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby wall. Of course, he had restrained the output of his gem, so that he didn’t accidentally kill this masked man.

Then, he activated another Thauma—“Change Voice.”

Just as its name suggested, it altered the sound coming out of his mouth, rendering it unrecognizable. It could not reshape his voice into anything he wished, though, which meant he couldn’t mimic other people. Instead, it could only modulate his own, making it sound older or younger, more masculine or more feminine. Still, that was good enough. As long as it gave him the voice of an adult man, his identity would be kept hidden. This way, he wouldn’t repeat the same mistake he had made when dealing with Dimitria.

“Surrender,” Viktor said in a deep, resonant tone. “Or die.”

Yet even as he spoke those words, he found himself questioning the necessity of the effort. Given the behavior of the masked men so far, he wondered if this guy was capable of making that choice at all.

The man lay still where he had fallen, showing no reaction at all. Perhaps the earlier strike was too forceful, and the impact had knocked him unconscious. Viktor wanted to check, but of course, he was not going to get close to confirm it himself.

Instead, he called his serpent. The construct obeyed at once, flowing toward the masked man. It lowered itself and gave him a gentle nudge, as gentle as a colossal liquid snake could manage, and the body rolled to the side, still utterly motionless.

The mask slipped free, revealing a face that was unnaturally pale, drained of color as though something had sucked out all vitality from this body. Under the skin, dark veins spread in branching lines, webbing across his cheeks and crawling down his neck. A black fluid oozed from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, while his eyes were wide open, staring blankly into the air.

Is he... dead?

Whatever state this guy was in, it was definitely not caused by the wind blast. There was just no way the attack could produce these kinds of symptoms. Much more likely, he had been poisoned.

But how?

Don’t tell me he killed himself the moment he realized there was no way out.

This was... madness.

These masked men were truly disposable in the most literal sense of the word.

Viktor let out a dry chuckle.

All of his carefully chosen decisions had turned out to be completely unnecessary. He had joined the battle because he believed he could capture one alive for interrogation. He had presented himself as bait because he believed these men would not remain here while being slaughtered otherwise. And he hadn’t brought his blade of light because he feared someone might escape and tell the others what they had seen. All of those choices had been made under the assumption that his enemies would behave like reasonable human beings. But they were anything but.

Oh, well. Whatever.

There was still Ekon, a possible source of useful information.

So he turned and drifted back toward the courtyard. Behind him, the serpent began to lose its cohesion, its massive body breaking apart into rushing sheets of water that crashed to the ground.

The bald man was still there, chest rising and falling in uneven intervals. When he saw Viktor’s approach, his eyes shifted upward with visible effort. His mouth opened as though he wanted to say something, but there was no sound coming out except a strained breath that dissolved into silence.

I want to ask him questions, but it seems he’s not in any condition to answer them.

Wait.

He was Mandragora’s friend, so he should have some healing potions with him. It didn’t look like there were any on him at the moment, though, so perhaps they were still at his temporary base inside the keep.

So Viktor left the fallen man behind, drifting toward his old castle.

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

Book 2 of A Dungeon That Kills now available on Amazon Kindle.

Feel free to check it out!

Another day, another night with little sleep. David had been planning, drawing up the blueprint for his humiliation of the Demonic Freaks. Many details were sketchy, several portions necessitated shoring up with more data from his pet wiki. But the foundation was firm. It was in this circumstance an excited David placed himself in front of much of his team in Jake's basement after their third arena ball practice. David missed the second one in his rush to get home the day before. Rinivella inquired about his absence, but he brushed her off with a breezy air and a report he didn’t not feel well the day before. She nodded without comment, and David was chagrined for a second. It seemed his tiredness was not as well hidden as he might have hoped yesterday. But no matter, he was here with victory, if he could compel the others to see it.

His work was cut out for him, as the general mood in the room was rather dubious. Jake, his most reliable companion, exuded an aura of quiet doubt. Tobias showed contentment, but then didn’t he always? David called Jake after his series of revelations the evening before. He’d browbeat his poor lunch companion quite mercilessly over the phone, and David knew his cooperation in corralling the other boys came at a cost. This was his one shot.

With a deep breath, he turned on his laptop. It was hooked up to the basement TV, and after a moment it showed his desktop screen at a size of over a thousand square inches. Then he started the slide show. David was a touch rueful. Who knew he’d ever be presenting this way when it came to a topic he cared about? 

“I’m guessing we’ve all seen the video. The one where the Knights took on the Demonic Freaks.” A few nods, others changed their expression. Yeah, they’d seen the video. An experience that inspired the same nostalgic fondness in the crowd as memories of their last dental visit.

“To make sure we’re all on the same page, I’ve gotten some highlights to show what’s in store for us.” Then he flipped through a series of slides, all on the same theme. Short clips showing the most brutal or disgraceful taken downs, boy after boy in red padding flattened by larger crimson and black figures. It ended with the worst one: A Knight in full charge against one of the Demonic Freaks. She let him run into her stick. Using the offered momentum, she lifted him over her head and then deposited him in a heap to the side, rolled him over the grass. A technical foul resulted, but the potent demonstration remained.

“What’s the point of this, hombre?”

David turned to the source of the querulous question. Marco, it figured. David hadn’t expected him to come. He had no idea how Jake convinced him. Almost wished he’d passed the jerk over, as David knew the elitist boy would be trouble from the beginning. From previous situations, David heard Marco mix in spanish like that when he wished to condescend. Well, two could adopt that tactic.

“The point is, this is what we can expect if we go up against those freaks, compadre. Anyone disagree?” No one did, but David also noticed the mood shift towards Marco. What was the point indeed? It wasn’t like they didn’t know, so why must David pour salt in the wound? Time to shift gears.

“Well, I do.” That caught attention. Suddenly everyone stared at him, full alert.

“What kind of game you playing here?” said Marco.

“One where we win. No. One where we crush them. Humiliate them, like they humiliated the Knights.”

“Nonsense.” Marco was composed and unswayed. He looked around and said, “Our resident show boater talking smack again. This is a waste of mi tiempo. Screw this.” He began to get up, and David could see his opportunity might walk out with him.

Fighting down the urge to yell at the entitled waste of carbon, David swallowed. He was in control, not Marco. There was no way he was going to lose this chance, not now. Not to this pissant would be campus king. “Do you want to lose? You want to prove the tomatoes right, that they can push us around and we’ll take it?  How long you been a juice sucker?”

Marco snorted. “Grow up, niño.” Marco was unruffled, but also hadn’t left the basement. David’s opening wasn’t closed to him yet. He turned his focus back to the crowd.

“Marco might not care about whether the reds walk all over us, but I do. I thought you all might care too.” Then he held his breath and waited. The faint hum of the overhead fan could be heard. Josh got on his feet, eyes not quite meeting David’s.

“Look, we don’t like this anymore than you. But we all saw that video. What’s your plan? Got a secret stash of alien roids? Any of those gals would make a scout for college football all hot and bothered.”

David smiled. “They’d end up disappointed. Trust me.” Josh didn’t seem hostile, but his demeanor hadn’t turned positive either. He began turning his head to random players and addressed each in turn with his gaze. “Listen, okay? It doesn’t hurt to hear me out, does it?” Shrugs from many resulted. “If you all think I’m full of it after I’m done, well, nothing I can do about that. But stay until then, alright?” Nobody left, including Marco, who scowled but remained silent.

Courage. This was his moment, however fragile. Now to get their assent before it was lost forever. “I’ve been doing a bit of reading. Checked out their rulebook. There’s interesting material in there.” David flipped through pages he’d copied word for word from the rulebook onto the slide show. No notable response from the audience. “Along with other stuff I found, it gave me ideas. Anybody remember those dumb kid movies about an animal being put on a sport team? We’re gonna be the animals.” Several raised eyebrows at that sentence. David considered it alright when he wrote it, but now he realized sleep deprivation might have eroded his judgement a tad. He pressed on. “My point is, we’re going to be able to do stuff they don’t expect. Moves that are going to slap them so hard their horns spin off.” That caught Pauls’s attention, and suddenly there was one person on his side. The guy suffered from serious anger issues, issues he took onto the field. Whispers about his home life abounded. It was to the point that former Coach Chapman could either pull him off the team or stick him in goal far away from the opposing players. David wished his first clear support could have come from Jake, or Josh, or Eli in a pinch. Hanging around the guy too long gave him a similar sense of disquiet that Tobias did. But beggar’s weren’t in a position to be picky.

“I got the feeling some of you don’t believe me.” No open disagreement. Ouch. “I got it. Here, let me show you what I found.” He flipped to the final slide, which consisted of one labeled figure. “This is a galactic wide record.” It was a time, minutes and seconds with the activity written above. For the first time his audience stirred as a unit, and not in a good way. What kind of superheroes were these reds? David grinned. Time for him to drop the other shoe, with an impact he hoped would shatter the thickest of doubts. “Here’s the other part of that record.” Click, and another number slid into view. 

He let the paired stats speak for themselves. They’d get it, same as he did. 

Eli piped up first. “No freaking way.” 

“Yes, way.” David’s smile widened to the point it threatened to hurt. This was the tipping point. They would be his in seconds. 

Josh spoke again. “My gramma could do better than that. Like, literally. Got the photos and everything!”

“No lie.” David turned back to his computer and did a few more clicks. A previous slide came into view. “Now with that in mind, let’s take another look here.” It was a page of the rulebook he’d gone over. “Can anybody here see what’s missing?”

Wait for it. Let them figure it out. May they feel the hope and triumph he’d obtained for themselves.

Tobias sounded off and said, “Ain’t no rule saying dogs can’t play basketball!” He slid perfectly into the stereotype, a grumpy umpire shooting down the mean coach outraged a bunch of plucky losers could beat his team of handsome heels. Many laughed, and David made silent thanks to Tobias for the assist. They were buying it, all that remained was getting them to sign on the dotted line.

“You got that right. Now, this is going to take some effort to pull off, and I don’t think Rinivella is exactly going to be onboard with what I got in mind.” Nods, some grim. There was no sign she was sandbagging their training, but an endorsment of a plan to annihilate her former charges? Fat chance. “That means we have to do this on our own. Extra practice after hers.” Happy faces tightened and turned their focus from pleasant imaginings to the sudden bearer of bad news.

“You think the Demonic Freaks are going to let us stomp them? They’re bigger, heavier, and more experienced than us. Don’t you understand? You’ve seen how they look at us. Anyone going to tell me they haven’t noticed how little the aliens respect us?  This is our chance! Our chance to make them see us differently. We’re not cute, soft, adorable, small little cuties,” David saying the alien slang term with the same dripping sneer when one used pussy as an insult. “We’ll be the ones who kick their sorry butts and make them run crying home to their daddies. Let’s make them regret ever coming here! I don’t know about you, but I’ll practice till my legs fall off if it means a shot at that! Anybody not on board with that, go with Marco. Guzzle tomato snatch till your lips crack. Me, I know where I’m gonna be.”

“You got me all wrong.”

The sound from an unexpected direction knocked David off his beat. He saw Marco, now with a different expression on his face. “Oh?”

“I don’t like them anymore than you do.”

“That so? I seem to remember somebody inviting them to our parties.”

Marco snorted. “You think I invited those putas rojas? Bri asked me, in the way that said what would happen if I didn’t.” David pursed his lips but felt compelled to believe him. What the guy said made sense. As for an offer someone couldn’t refuse, Marco was the type to do that kind of thing himself when it suited. Game would recognize game there.

“So, they asked, and you obeyed like a good dog. Why change your mind?”

With a shrug, Marco let the insult bounce off him. “I make it a policy to not get in the way of rolling boulders.”

“And now?”

Marco looked him in the eye with the intensity of the noonday summer sun. “What you’re saying, is it all real? No crap?”

David matched his unshakeable regard. “One hundred percent.”

“Then I think we’re going to be the boulder rolling over some stuck-up pendejos. Sounds good to me.”

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Two days later, the lacrosse team was at practice, the real practice. David took a day to design some drills and plays to run, and then it was off to the races. Most of them weren’t much different from what they’d been doing before lacrosse got cancelled, but there was a need for tweaks. In addition there were a few whole new things he wanted them to do, adjustments to acknowledge the differences they’d soon face on the field. It was a few minutes after he started them off with the standard passing and running drills as a warmup, that an unexpected visitor came tromping over to him. 

Her name was Rachel. The name belonged to a blonde whose hair was always in a ponytail and was probably the reincarnation of a long dead Viking warrior. She was an inch or two over six feet, a fact that seemed impossible until one met her parents. Her mother was a small and demure five nine, and her father either got bottle fed human growth hormone while in infancy or was an undercover grizzly bear gone native. When hunched over he broke six and a half feet. Rachel matched his build, with any softness being that of a well fed linebacker who found mass, whatever the source, a good way to trample opponents.

She’d shot up early in life. Fifth grade left her taller than many of the teachers. A boy named Sandler thought it a good idea to taunt her. Calling her an ogre and the production of exaggerated booming noises when she walked by provided amusement without end for him. This lasted all of one week. Without any warning, she charged him like a rhinoceros on the blacktop. David remembered how his eyes bugged out, and the speed with which Sandler took off at a sprint. In his panic he chose poorly and ran off school grounds. That meant Rachel was free to follow, no teachers to act as bodyguards. Neither of the two were in school for a week. Sandler for reasons unknown, Rachel because she got suspended. A tale which had inspired wonder, awe, and a touch of fear amongst the other ten-year-olds. Suspension was a punishment for older kids, the ones who were caught smoking or cussed out teachers. What could Rachel have done? None of the other fifth graders ever found out exactly what happened. When Rachel came back, she acted ignorant of the incident, smiling when somebody tried to ask about it. All she’d say was, “Sometimes punks get what’s coming to them.” As for Sandler, he spent the rest of the year glancing around doorways before his entrance or exit from any room. He also jumped and yelped whenever he got tapped on the shoulder, a tic the meaner students took swift advantage of. His family moved away the next year.

Now she was heading over to David with clear intent. The fresh appointed coach turned to her with care. He’d not interacted with her much and was unaware of any potential beef she might have with him. Yet it paid to be on guard around her. Casual seemed the right approach. “What’s up?”

“I heard you’re doing double practices. I want in.”

David frowned. “In?”

She looked down at him, hands on hips. “Everyone knows about the crap that head red cunt pulled with lacrosse. If you’re doing this, its cause you’re trying to punch back. I want in.”

David regarded her, teeth on edge. She often spoke in crudities, more so than the average teenager. It struck him as forced, in the same way Alexander’s act had. He tried to ignore it and said, “Why are you so interested anyway?”

Rachel wolf smiled at him. “No trying to deny it. I like that. You know I do lacrosse too, right?” David nodded. The school didn’t have a girls’ team, but there were private leagues in the area, Rachel a member for a bit longer than him in one of them. “Well, those assholes didn’t start with the Knights. They did my team first.”

David winced on reflex. He saw what happened to the Knights and couldn’t imagine how much worse a bunch of girls would have fared against the Demonic Freaks. Then he realized this was performed in view of Rachel, and how she might interpret the reaction as an insult worthy of vengeance. He looked at her and backed up an inch. It proved unnecessary, as although she displayed anger, it didn’t seem directed at him.

“Yeah, it was pitiful. Turns out they have a hard time believing guys being the stronger ones here isn’t a joke.” Her expression was worth a bushel of lemons. “Saw no problem nailing us too. Gave a friend bruised ribs, the shits.”

David acknowledged her grievances with a nod, but then spread his hands. “Sure, I get that. But I’m not in charge of who plays, that’s Rinivella.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “You think one of those is gonna say no girls allowed?” 

He didn’t respond. In truth, he was unsure about the prospect. Sure, she was an absolute beast, one glance was enough to see that. Few of the guys threatened her in height, and none beat Rachel in sheer desire for a win. But David knew his teammates and was certain they would follow his instructions, including Marco. He wasn’t so sure about this acolyte of aggression.

She stepped in closer. “Look, I’ve noticed Ax hasn’t been around much lately, annoying little prick. Say you’re subbing me in for him, easy.”

David’s face turned to stone, and he stood up straighter. “His name is Alexander.”

With a wave of her hand Rachel flicked away the correction. “Whatever. Point is, you’re down a guy. She’ll have no reason to refuse.”

David shook his head. “Well, I got a reason. I don’t want you if this is how you ask.”

With narrowed eyes, Rachel said, “What is your problem? Who put sand up your vag?”

“You did. His name is Alexander.”

Puzzlement now marked her mien along with anger. “Since when? Dude drowns himself in the garbage, that’s why he’s Ax.”

“Not anymore. Said so himself. I call people by their names and expect others to do the same. Got a problem with that, Ogre?”

She threw back her shoulders and drew lips back far enough to show incisors, but David stood firm. Worst came to worst, it was her against the entire team. Of greater importance, David held the key to what she wanted. He waited, staring her down. She deflated first. Rachel tried to play it off with a wide yawn a few seconds later, but David knew he’d won.

“Fine. Little dork’s name is Alexander. Happy?”

“Not quite. If you want to play with us, I’m the coach. That means you play how I ask you to play, do the drills and everything else as I tell you to. Otherwise, I’m busy.” David turned his body to face the field. He noticed a few of his team falter, keen interest in the conversation between him and Rachel the obvious cause of their distraction. David shouted, “Hey, did I tell you to stop? Keep at it!” They slid back into rhythm, small motions of their heads in between movements a betrayal of continued curiosity.

A big, disgusted sigh rolled in from the side and behind. “Okay. You’re the coach. Anything else? Want me to lick your boots, call you Daddy?”

David turned around and said, “Shake on it.” He held out his hand. It was firmed up, in expectation of the kind of grip he felt was incoming. As predicted, she made sure to use a tight squeeze. David didn’t flinch, which seemed to satisfy her. Contract sealed, he said, “Got your gear?”

That produced a smile with a touch of smugness. “Yes.”

“Get dressed and come back. I’m about to have them switch to something else, you can wait until then.” Rachel nodded, and that was enough. David knew she’d adhere to his terms, though perhaps with a bit of boundary pushing. He’d be sure to push back each time. No problem there.

The other players didn’t have a problem with it either. In fact, a few of them seemed downright happy to have the Ogre on their side. That was good, it would make her integration into the team easier. Although David couldn’t admit it when she said it, it turned out to be true that Rinivella hardly objected to subbing in a girl. Especially one who was the closest thing they had to a pet brax to practice with. The days flew by for David, who found himself a busy boy. Between extra practice, research to come up with more strategies, and engaging in the bare minimum to take care of Melissa, homework and sleep started to get lost in the shuffle. He didn’t care. Let his grades slip from B minuses and C pluses to C minus all around. It didn’t matter, nothing but the plan mattered. His beautiful, glorious plan. 

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Synopsis: Humans are the only omnivorous species in a galaxy of apex-predator carnivores, and our greatest strength is in our numbers. When an alien slave empire discovers how badly we outnumber most intelligent species, they invade Earth, shattering a fragile period of peace and threatening a war that would mean the death of worlds.

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Memory Archive Entry #2

User: Marten Herme, president of the Eurasian Union

Species: Human

Date (human standard): June 24, 2099

Over my few decades of service in the Eurasian government, I had imagined threats to my homeland coming from every enemy under the sun. The democratic socialists of the People's Republic of Luna. The fascists of the American, Chinese and Indian Empires. Even the countries of the African and South American Blocs, if they ever put aside their differences and united as we Europeans had, would pose enough of a combined threat to justify a few war games here and there.

An alien invasion from another star, though? Fuck no. I didn't even know where to begin with that one.

"Play the message again," I told General Robespierre as we sat at our situation table along with the rest of the Eurasian military's best officers. He nodded and opened his laptop to press a few buttons. I looked up, past him and his chair, to the massive screen on the far wall of the situation room.

A horned, menacing, reptilian visage appeared on the screen before us. "People of Earth," she--at least she sounded like a woman--began, looking down at the camera. I think that was intentional. "I am Karija vel Kaldani, subjugator prime of the Draken Matriarchy. Your noblest hour has come."

Karija's scales were dark red, and her eyes were yellow with black, rhombus-shaped irises. Her appearance was alien enough to have no real Earth equivalent, but if I had to pick, I would equate her more closely to a dragon than any real-world lizard. One of the terrible ones, from the old stories. The kind that brought nothing but fire and death.

"Your world has been deemed ripe for harvesting," the draken woman continued in a suave, honeyed voice. Her horns were curved like a goat's, and the room she was in looked opulent to the extreme. "Your cultural and national traditions will be subsumed into our own. Your people will be redirected away from their own petty pursuits and into the greatest endeavor of their lives: serving the Draken Matriarchy. If you prove useful, your species will live on, and your culture will survive insofar as it serves our ends. Any resistance you make will only serve to heighten your discomfort during this period of transition." The transmission ended there.

"Opinions?" I asked my subordinates. Military officers only, since this was clearly a military matter. I mean, maybe the draken were actually a peaceful species and this was all a big cultural misunderstanding, but 'your world has been deemed ripe for harvesting' was hardly the most polite way to make introductions. We had to be prepared for war.

General Richthofen put his hands on the table, fidgeting nervously. "They're definitely going to invade us. Defense strategies?"

"We have the plan for an attack from Luna. Can we adapt that in time?" I looked at Admiral Yevgeny, our astral warfare specialist.

"No, Mr. President," he responded in a thick Northeastern accent. "Our plan for an attack from Luna relies on stopping the invasion in orbit. They don't have the numbers needed to land troops en masse on Eurasian soil. All predictions indicate they'll either-"

"Use mass drivers to destroy our military, then negotiate once we've been humbled from orbit, or offer negotiations first and then bombard us if we don't surrender," I interrupted him. "I read your briefings. They're great. You are a once-in-a-generation mind, Admiral Yevgeny, and I need you to meet this once-in-a-generation crisis. How do we do it?"

"Defend the orbit? We don't," Yevgeny scoffed. "That fleet has, bare minimum, five thousand ships. Each of them bigger than our Eurasian Space Force's three largest vessels combined. I promise you, if they have the ability to send that much matter on a journey between the stars--and arrive at the destination intact, no less--there is nothing we can do. At best, we can go to ground, like the Vietnamese or Bolivians."

I took that last part and stood on it. "Go to ground," I repeated. "We'll do that. Scatter the army. Abandon all bases that aren't hardened against orbital bombardment."

"And the citizenry?" asked another of my officers.

"That is the civilian government's problem," said I. "My problem. Not yours. You people focus on the military defense, and I and my ministers will handle protecting civilian lives and minimizing panic." I looked at my watch. "I have a meeting about that in forty or so minutes."

"Sir, we have thirty hours before the draken ships arrive," Yevgeny reported to me, fiddling with his phone until the big screen in the room showed a tactical map of their battle fleet. "Astrography reports they're splitting into two main forces, one for Earth and another for Luna. A single ship is heading to take the Mars colonies."

"Well, that's good," I told him. "Fewer enemies for you guys to fight. The other powers can keep some of them occupied for a while."

Admiral Yevgeny leaned forward in his chair. "I don't think you're understanding, sir." He pointed at the image of the draken fleet on the screen. "Those guys there? They don't give a damn about Earth or Luna or Eurasia or America or any of that. All five human nations have colonies on Mars, but those draken only sent one ship. What does that say?"

I said nothing, expecting Admiral Yevgeny to fill me in. He promptly did so. The guy liked talking.

"Come on, people!" Yevgeny snapped, his temper flaring at our perceived ineptitude. I could sympathize. "To them, it's human, or non-human. That's it. If they are gonna subjugate us all as one species, why should we not fight them as one?"

The room grew hushed as we considered what this guy was saying. Luna was isolationist to the extreme. They had a network of orbital mass drivers over there specifically made to bombard any Earth superpowers that decided to get uppity with them. And, believe it or not, they were the reasonable ones. They had a democracy, and civil rights, and other such things. I didn't even want to think about the red fascism of the Chinese and Indians, least of all whatever insanity the former United States of America was getting up to. After the Nuclear Exchange of '66 and the purges of democracy-loving politicians of any stripe in '67 and '68, there was kind of no hope left for them.

"Luna won't be hard to agree with," said I. "They're amicable toward us when they don't feel threatened by our might. It's the other three powers that are the problem. I'll see if I can work something out."

"You're kidding me!" General Strohheim exclaimed, slapping the table. "We are literally the only major power on Planet Earth to have a sensible, functioning, first-world democracy in place."

"What about Luna?" Admiral Yevgeny said like an idiot. Kind of surprising, given how smart he usually was. "Oh. Yeah. They're on the moon. My bad."

"Admiral Yevgeny made a good point," I defended my subordinate. "When the conquistadors came to Central America, they were outnumbered a million to one by the Aztec Empire. If the Aztecs had stayed united, they would've crushed Cortez. Instead, the majority of the Spanish Empire's fighters were Aztec subjects who rebelled against the regime." I thought for a moment while I tried to find ways to properly phrase my point.

"Colonialism thrives on disunity." That was about as good a phrasing as any. "Literally every colonial movement throughout history, from the Americans to the British to the Spanish, has exploited the internal divisions of the peoples they conquered," I said forcefully, begging these people to see my idea. "You think these draken won't do that to us?"

I pointed at the draken battle fleet approaching Earth, their plasma tails making them look like meteors on my screen, and understood for the first time how it felt when the ancient Aztecs saw clouds hugging the sea. "If they get their way, Eurasians will leap headlong into the chains of the oppressor just as long as they're helping shackle the Americans as well. This cannot be how we end."

"I understand, sir," said General Richthofen. "If you give us the order to fight alongside those maniacs, I won't like it, but I see the wisdom. Enemy of my enemy." General Strohheim nodded as well, and Admiral Yevgeny was already on board. Hell, he came up with it.

Seeing no other course of action, I stood up and left the room, ordering my officers to work in my absence and come up with strategies for Eurasia's defense with or without the help of any allies. I left them to their duties and made for my own office, ordering my secretary to postpone any appointments I had planned for the next couple of hours. The fate of the entire human race was on the line.

"The American Supreme Leader will be with you in ten minutes," said my secretary, Johannes, standing in the office door. He was a really great man, and a really great woman before that. A really great person, really, and I was really glad to have him on my side.

"Thank you, Johannes." I held up a hand and made a few motions with it, trying to gather my thoughts. I loved this guy. Like a brother, or a son, or something of that nature. I didn't want him to die here if the draken nuked the presidential building. "Listen, if you want to turn in your position, go be with your family... go and do that. I won't judge you."

The fair features of Johannes' face twisted in shock. I think he was appalled. "Mr. President, I would never abandon Eurasia in a time like this. The fact is, I've always admired you, sir. Since day one. And if there's anything I can do to help you defend Eurasia, then, damn it, those draken will have to shoot me at my desk to stop me."

Well, that was a noble enough idea. The fact of the matter was, the draken would probably do that if they ever got the chance, but I wasn't about to let a little thing like 'realism' get in the way of Johannes' ideals. We had too many realists in the world already.

"Well, the idea here is to make sure the draken don't get the chance to shoot you at your desk," I helpfully clarified. "Thank you for your support. Now, sit yourself down and strap in. We're in for a doozy."

Johannes did as he was told and I began mentally preparing myself for a talk with Supreme Leader Kingman. The guy represented all the evil I hated most in man. The Lunese government was reasonable. Better than ours in some ways, like workers' rights. The Chinese and Indians were pragmatists who could be negotiated with to mutual benefit without much issue. They would probably agree to an alliance in this dark hour. The American Empire, though? Supreme Leader Kingman? He was a trouble on the best of days. And this was not the best of days.

I took a few deep breaths to steady my nerves and began looking around the oval-shaped office I was in. The design was a relic of pre-empire America, back when they actually believed in things like 'democracy' and 'civil rights'. The fact that the world's most infamous dictator now sat in exactly such a place made my blood boil.

The office of the Eurasian President was not gilded and decorated, as were those in America and India, nor was it filled with propaganda or histories of the state like those of the leaders of China and Luna. My workspace was spartan, and that was to remind me of one simple fact: No president was ever meant to be a king. Sure, a lot of my predecessors had needed the reminder, but I tried my best to be unlike the corrupt or selfish rulers who had led Eurasia before my time. My country--my species, now--deserved only the best.

I sat and waited in my humble office, myself a humble man, until my call with Supreme Leader Kingman began and I had to devote myself to the very un-humble task of saving the world. "Mr. Kingman," I began, because no Eurasian president in history had deigned to glorify that maniac with his preferred moniker. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

George Kingman was a disgusting parody of a world leader. His office was filled with obscene luxuries, and he himself was obese with success. He had been the one to seize power in 2067, and crushed his opponents with a series of ever-more-draconian laws, playing left against right and poor against rich while increasing his own power all the while. It was still studied in political schools today.

"There's an alien invasion on the horizon," said Kingman, gesticulating with his fingers. "This is a matter of direst consequence to the American Empire. I can spare a few moments to speak with you. What are you here to discuss?"

Well, here it was. Time for me to bite the bullet.

"I was actually thinking of proposing a joint military alliance with you," said I, keeping a neutral face despite all the negative emotions coursing through my body. There was a reason most Eurasian politicians loved to play poker, and gambling wasn't it. "As well as all of the other human nations of the worlds. Can we agree?"

The American supreme leader stroked his chin in contemplation. "You know, I actually received a proposal from the draken," he said in a sly, sinister voice.

My heart sank. Of course the fucking slavers would pick him to be their favorite quisling. Probably promised him a fat helping of slaves to rule over after all of Earth was conquered. "They proposed that I ally myself with them, and equip my armies with draken technology to roll over my enemies in a righteous wave of freedom." Kingman chuckled to himself. "Wouldn't that be a sight?"

"Mr. Kingman, you can't possibly believe the draken will spare you from slavery," I began, mind boggled at how even this tyrant could be so foolish. "They're coming here to subjugate us. All of us. Surely you can-"

Kingman laughed, a sour, hoarse thing that sounded like a dog moaning in agony. "You think I don't know that?" he chuckled, before suddenly growing stern. "I would never sully my conscience by allying myself with a rat from outer space." A surge of relief flooded me at his words. If it was possible to get emotional whiplash, I would've been a chronic victim by now.

Supreme Leader Kingman chuckled to himself for a few more moments while I waited for him to say something more. "I'll have my army ready to meet the draken when they make landfall," he said. "If you hold down Eurasia for long enough, maybe we'll be able to come help you out once we've massacred all the invaders on our end."

I didn't actually think that was a realistic battle plan, but I guess that was for the generals to figure out. "So... the alliance is on?" I asked the man who had once been my most hated enemy. "Our two powers will stand together as one?"

Kingman's answer was to pull out a chalice made from a human skull and tap on it a few times. I shivered. God only knew why he had that. "You'll have your alliance, Mr. President. It's what George here would've wanted." I had to remind myself that this guy was as human as I was, and that the real enemy was up there. "I'll send my generals orders to liaise with yours while you and I work on convincing the other nations to join up. Agreed?"

"Agreed," I agreed, ending the call a moment later. There we had it. A military alliance with the American Empire. The American Empire. Just a day ago, I'd have dismissed anything less than nuclear brinksmanship as an utter impossibility to behold. Some kind of 'peace in our time' bullshit that Neville Chamberlain's ghost would whisper in politicians' ears. And yet, here it was.

"Hell yeah!" I gave a whoop to myself, startling Johannes, and clapped my hands together in sheer glee. "I did it! Fuck you, Kajira, Jakira, Kajra vel... whoever you are!" The name of the draken overlord coming to enslave my planet escaped me at the moment, but the words she had said rung truer than ever. Win or lose, die or live, chains or freedom, we as humans would meet this threat together. As one species. That draken may have been an evil, slaving, colonizing tyrant, but she was right about one thing.

This was humanity's noblest hour.

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Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon)

This is the continuation of the Bug Hunt and will address the Bug War mentioned in the Planet Dirt series. It follows Jack Thompson and Lady Zula Gi Pendragon, and their friends through the war

Book 1 / Amazon version / Patreon

First / Previous

The moment the transport landed on Gungnir, the ship took off and jumped into dead space. The royal family was immediately escorted to a medical bay for examination. All the children and the queen were infected with bug eggs with attached nano devices. Once the eggs were removed, the children and the queen were placed in a leisure room under guard.

The operation had so far been successful, and the nearby human and Federation fleets had been informed about the attack. Two fleets had immediately been redirected to aid the invasion. Grahads had also requested his old fleet to join them, as he could need the firepower they packed.

Garhad, Merchy, and Jack sat in the meeting room opposite the king and his oldest son.  The room was dimmed slightly to be more comfortable for the Gyrrans. The King watched them as the introductions were done and then introduced himself as King Sorgan the Second and Prince Nerem.

“I think you understand the seriousness of the situation and the consequences of what has transpired today.” Grahad started.

“I know that my kingdom is going to be destroyed, either by your forces or the Caren Domain. They said any treachery would be the result of worlds being destroyed.” The king replied. “So I sit here, knowing this is the last days of the Gyrran kingdom. As you say, it is the consequences for siding with them that we will fall.”

“No, if you distance yourself from them and us. Then we will tell you how to deal with the bugs. It will give you a fighting chance. And we will deal with the Caren’s battleships.” Grahad replied.

“Are you serious?” The prince said, and the king put his hand on his son to calm and quiet him.

“Father? They think that will be enough? They have infiltrated the whole court and nobility. It’s not just the bugs we have to deal with. It’s the traitorous fanatics who joined forces with the snakes.”

The king tapped his son's hand, and the prince reacted as if he had been slapped over the face and bowed his head.

“My apologies for my outburst. It was beneath my status." He said with a bowed head.

Grahad just smiled, then looked at Jack. “He is better trained than you.”

“Well, I’m a mere soldier, not a noble,” he said, then turned to the king. “Look, let's drop all the etiquette and speak freely. This here.” Jack said, gesturing at the room and them. “This is just us giving you an offer. And if you accept, the diplomats will come, while my men and I will go after the Caren and make so much trouble they will forget about you.”

“And you can guarantee that?” The king said, looking directly at Jack; it felt like he saw Jack as the man holding the power in the room.

“If you give us all the intel you have on the Domain and its location, then yes. We can harass their station, attack all the Caren stations in your colonies, and cryobomb their hives. We can give you medicine tailored for Gyrron physiology that will kill an infection of bug eggs. The only problem now is time. The longer you hesitate, the more time the Domain has to find out what actually happened here and react.”

“How do you know they don’t know already?” the king replied.

“The first thing we did was to knock out the dreadnoughts and attack fleeing ships. One of our team took down the FTL com system as well. No signals have left the planet on an FTL system. You have at most a few more hours before they are aware of the situation here.” Merchy replied. The king looked at the three, then his son and back at them. Grahad put a small glass canister on the table at that moment.

“This dead egg was in your youngest child. We have removed all of the eggs. That’s what we are offering. A way out. It will be costly, but I will be honest with you. My high command’s first solution for your attack on Orne was to send a black hole bomb, the humans wanted to try this.” He said.

The king looked at the canister, leaned over, and picked it up. He sighed and let go of his son's hand.

“So my choice is between death by federation, death by the Dominion, or follow the human who just invaded my home and kidnapped me?”

“Yes,” Merchy said. Jack wanted to speak but felt it was better to shut up.

“I say we give the human a chance, Father.  Yes! he did invade our home, but he killed the snake in our house and saved us from the warbugs. And he guaranteed our safety.” The Prince said. Jack realized the prince probably hated the Caren just as much as he did.

“I don’t think he has the authority to make such guarantees.” The king replied, and Grahad smiled.

“Oh, I respect his wishes in this matter. If you want to be returned to the planet, we will do so. Although we cannot guarantee your safety on the planet side or if the Caren finds you.”

The king looked at him and chuckled. “I can see you’re well-versed in Nalos royal military diplomacy.”

“Yes, I am, so again, Human, Nalos, or gods help you, the federation diplomacy on our side, and if you feel you do not want to negotiate, then you have to take your chances with the Caren.” Grahad replied, then added, “Alone.”

“I have a feeling they will not believe that you just talked to us and didn’t sell them out,” Merchy added. “Just a friendly warning.”

The king looked at the small glass canister. “You said this was in my youngest.”

“Yes. But he is safe now. The removal was painless and simple.” Grahad said. Then the king looked at Jack.

“I have one demand if I’m going to agree to this.”

“A demand? Let me hear, and we will tell you if we can fulfill it.” Grahad replied.

“No, not from you. From him.” The King said, as he pointed at Jack. Grahad looked at Jack and back at the king.

“And what is that request?” Jack replied, a little confused; he knew he was here as a favor.

“There is a Caren officer I want dead and a station destroyed. His name is Sharu Husha. The leader of the Caren domains control committee of the Gyrran kingdom.”

“Was that the Intelligence officer who was by your side most of the days?” Jack asked.

“No, that was his second in command. Sharu is on Pladused; they have a military installation there. That’s the station I want destroyed. It’s a scar to the kingdom. Kill him, destroy that base, and we will join. You may even use a blackhole bomb to remove the planet.”

“Pladused has a civilian population,” Jack said as he realized the others seemed to have no problem with the destruction of the planet.

“Yes, a sacrifice we are willing to make. But if you think you can save the planet, then do so.” The king replied.

Jack sighed and thought for a second. “Okay, Pladused is one day away. If you give me all intel, I might be able to do something. Though would it not be better to capture him and then blow up the base?”

“I want him dead!” the king said, his voice slightly raised. “It was him who decided to implant these eggs in my family for control.”

“Then let us capture him, and when we are done, give him to you to do as you please,” Grahad suggested.

“I can live with that.” The king said.

“This is breaking so many rules,” Jack muttered to himself, and Merchy grinned at him.

“We are not in Geneva now, my friend. We are at war.” She said as she nudged him.

Jack just looked at her, then back at the king. “Well, such a base would be a high-priority target, as would this man.” Ignoring Merchy for a moment.

“Will you give me your word you will hunt him down?” The King asked him directly.

“Yes, I give you my word I will hunt him down until I capture, kill, or have confirmation he is dead,” Jack replied.

“Good, then it's decided. Send in your diplomats, and we can get this finalized.”  The king replied.

Three hours later, Jack and his crew sat in his office going over all the intel they had received.

“It could be a trap,” Michael said.

“Yeah, but if it's true, then it's going to be a gold mine,” Jack said as he nursed his cup of coffee. “Besides, they were willing to let us blow up the whole planet just to get that man.”

“The whole planet? I thought the Federation was less bloodthirsty than us.” Michael said.

“Not during war; they have a saying. ‘In war, the winner dictates the rules.’” Jack answered absentmindedly as he sipped his cup again as he looked over the reports.

Yun was looking over new schematics of the Caren ships they had managed to get, as well as reports from the different battle fronts from both sides, courtesy of the Gyrran. Using the ship's AI to check for several different theories she had and comparing the reports, checking for inconsistencies. Finding nothing. For now, the intel from the Gyrran seemed to be true.  

“I’m so sure we are missing something,”  Yun said as she sipped her coffee. Michael looked over at her search and tilted his head.

“They don’t have a self-destruct?” He said and the room went quiet, and they looked at him.

“What?” Yun said, then she checked it and cursed loudly.

“You're right. The Caren don’t have a self-destruct function on their ships. Their last defense is to release the bugs.”

“We can gas the bugs; hell, airlock them too,” Paulo added.

“That is good news. It means capturing Caren ship became less dangerous.” Jack said as he sipped his coffee.

“Not so fast. I’m looking at a protocol here.” Yun said as she read. “In case of loss of ship control due to pirates, loose bugs, and/or treason the ship should be aimed at the nearest star and light speed activated.”

“No self-destruct function needed when you have stars,” Aziz replied.

“It's easier to disrupt a lightspeed engine than find and disable a few well-placed nukes,”  Jack replied.

“It’s something we can work with,” Yun said. "Okay, that means we need a team for the engine room. One for bugs and one for the officers. How big is this thing?”

“The planet is standard size, tropical poles and desert equators. The installation is a city. About 480 km2, built in five levels from ground down.”  A hologram appeared, and they looked at it.

“How many hives and the bastard?” Michael asked.

“The intel suggests five different types of Hives and a large cloning factory.  The bastard location is unknown, but he is the head of the facility.”

“So we confirm his presence and drop a tungsten missile from orbit?”  Aziz suggested.

“I wish, too much intel there to let it all blow up.” Jack said as he scratched his head, trying to think of a solution to crack this nut, then finished his cup.

“It's got to be a trap,” Michael repeated, and Jack sighed.

“Yeah, my thought too. So we spring it.” Jack said as he stood up, then walked over and got himself a refill.

“Oh. You want to do a Trojan?” Michael asked.

“No, A Fushan trick. They won’t expect it.”

“The Galadesin? Will that work?” Michael said, and Jack nodded

“Yes. After all, if the new intel is correct, then they won't be able to resist.”

“You won't get the Admiral to accept,” Michael said.

“Leave that to me, you guys prep for impregnating that one.” He pointed at the hologram. “And be ready for it being a trap.” Then he walked towards the door.

“And where are you going?”  Aziz asked.

“I’m going to the Admiral to ask him to risk his ship and the rest of his fleet.”

First | Previous

**Chapter 18 - Epilogue & Editor's note **

The Kheled space station was older than most known star nations.

No one knew exactly who had built it anymore. Its oldest modules dated from a time when the Council's current members hadn't even used tools yet. For millennia it had been expanded, rebuilt, and repaired. New docking rings had grown onto ancient structures, modern hulls drawn over long-forgotten alloys, yet its heart remained unchanged. Traders, diplomats, pilgrims, scientists, and explorers from hundreds of worlds had passed through its halls.

Today the station awaited another guest.

Two figures stood in silence behind one of the great viewing domes. One belonged to the Sydkiy — tall and improbably slender, its silvery skin threaded with fine, bluish, pulsing veins that shimmered in the nearby sunlight like captured lightning. It had a habit, when it thought no one was paying attention, of turning one hand slowly in the light just to watch its own veins catch fire and fade, a small vanity it would have denied if asked. The other was a Meatoner: broad, squat, low to the ground, its heavy body resting on six powerful limbs, with heavy lids that lowered slowly over watchful eyes. When it concentrated, its weight shifted almost imperceptibly from limb to limb, a slow rolling motion its own people considered the physical equivalent of pacing.

Between them, a slender ship glided silently toward the docking ring. Its hull was functional, almost unadorned. No ornate lines, no organically grown shapes, but pragmatic construction, as if every single strut had first been required to prove its necessity.

"So they've come," said the Meatoner.

The Sydkiy nodded slowly. "The first official delegation of the humans."

For a while, both were silent. The ship slowed and vanished slowly into the dock.

"It took longer than I expected."

"Months," the Sydkiy answered. "Countless conversations. Preliminary negotiations. Trust-building measures. Every sentence checked multiple times. Every piece of information weighed against another."

"Understandable."

"Yes."

The Meatoner tilted its head. "And yet they strike me as... unusual."

"In what way?"

"They're never of one mind."

The Sydkiy laughed quietly. "That seems to be their most remarkable trait."

"Every conversation with them ends with them going off to argue among themselves first."

"They call that democracy."

"A fascinating procedure."

"Or a dreadfully slow one."

"I tried to understand whose voice counts in the end," said the Meatoner. "I believe it's no one's — and that seems to be the actual point."

"You cannot be serious."

"I'm afraid I am."

Both watched the dock in silence.

"And yet," the Meatoner said finally, "they are, in a peculiar way... in need of protection."

The other nodded. "Their skin leaks water when they're distressed, and apparently also when they're happy. The two expressions are, I'm told, nearly indistinguishable to an outsider."

"They sleep for a third of every day, entirely unconscious, in a state their own physicians still can't fully explain."

"They cannot regulate their own body heat without wrapping themselves in the skins of other animals or the woven fibers of plants."

"And their young remain helpless for years. Not weeks. Years."

"Rather astonishing that they've survived this long, actually."

The Sydkiy slowly crossed its arms. "Perhaps precisely because of that."

Another pause settled between them.

"The Council has reviewed every historical record concerning their solar system," the Meatoner said at last. "More than thirty thousand years of complete isolation. Establishing contact had to proceed with extreme caution. The Phytos in particular were skeptical."

"I can understand that."

"They worried the humans might react to the rest of the galaxy the way they once reacted to one another."

The Sydkiy nodded slowly. "A legitimate concern."

"And now?"

It looked back at the dock, where the airlock of the human ship was just opening.

"Now we'll find out."

The Meatoner let its antennae circle thoughtfully. "They possess remarkable technologies. Some of their solutions would probably never have emerged outside their solar system."

"Necessity breeds invention."

"They've learned to survive for tens of thousands of years in a tiny, closed-off star system."

"That alone is an extraordinary achievement."

The first humans appeared in the airlock. Small figures. Vulnerable. Curious.

The Sydkiy smiled. "Perhaps," it said quietly, "we have more to teach them than they believe."

The Meatoner shook its head. "Perhaps." It watched as the delegation set foot on galactic ground for the first time. "But I suspect," it said, "that we will learn at least as much from them."

At the front of the small human delegation, one of them stopped walking. She tilted her head back to look up at the station's ancient, layered ceiling, thousands of years of construction stacked over her like sediment, and reached out to rest her palm flat against ten-thousand-year-old metal, as if to check that it was real.

---

Editor's Note

Thanks so much for reading, everyone. I had an absurd amount of fun writing this, and if it managed to steal a few enjoyable minutes off you somewhere in your day, mission accomplished. That's genuinely the whole business plan.

Funny thing about writing this: the universe kept getting bigger the longer I poked at it, like some kind of narrative gremlin I forgot to feed after midnight. I've now got a small hoard of follow-up story ideas rattling around in my skull, and no real idea how many of them I'll survive writing. We'll see how ambitious future-me is feeling.

One thought kept nagging at me the whole time, though: how the hell did all these species ever manage to find each other and not immediately start a war? We can't even agree with each other on this one measly planet. Half our current politicians act like kindergartners flinging sand at each other with their little shovels, except with worse aim and higher stakes. So how's an entire galaxy full of different species, biologies, and opinions supposed to pull it off? I hope I at least managed to show that it wasn't easy, that nobody actually likes each other very much, and that the whole thing is held together with the political equivalent of duct tape and vibes.

Which brings me to something I owe you, and myself, honestly, because now I'm curious too. I need to explain how the Council actually came to exist. Why it's there, what came before it, and presumably how many wars it took before someone said "okay, fine, neutral space station it is." That's going to be the subject of my next story.

And now, the part where I publicly embarrass myself. I made a genuinely dumb mistake. In my first story, the Photosynths eventually got shortened to 'Photos.' By the time I started this one, that had somehow turned into 'Phytos' in my head, and it just stuck. A reader caught it. Correctly and mercilessly.

My official hastily made-up in-universe explanation is: maybe after thirty thousand years, the Phytos just decided they preferred a different name for themselves, and frankly, who am I to argue with an ancient plant-people's branding choices. "Phytos" does sort of work on its own merits. Some subconscious part of my brain apparently agreed and rebranded an entire species without consulting the rest of me first. Very on-brand for a committee, honestly, which feels thematically appropriate given the subject matter.

Thanks again for reading, for putting up with my typos and my species doing unauthorized rebrands mid-series. See you in the next one.

First | Previous

A hero and his companions dived into the chasm, to reach the hell where the Arch-Demon is. 
“Well, aren’t you going with us, Randolf?” the hero’s attendant asked the knight beside him. 
“I’m sure that we’ll need your help there.” 
“I don’t think so,” the knight in shining armor answered. 
“To destroy the Arch-Demon himself is a hero’s job, not mine.” 
He tucked his chin tightly and said, “Defending is what I’m good at.” 
As soon as he finished his words, he jumped and mounted his stallion. 
“May luck be with you, mate,” he said. 
“I wish you good luck, my friend,” the attendant said, and jumped into the pitch-dark crack. 

Later, the knight managed to arrive at the fortress, which was surrounded by the triple-layered stone walls. The human defenders were besieged by the Arch-Demon’s army. 
The knight had broken through the enemy siege, and had reached right in front of the main gate. He lost his lance, shield and crest on the helmet. His armor had many scratches and dents, and his stallion was exhausted. 
“Open the gate, the knight has returned!” he cried. “I serve the Queen!”
“Who dares to call himself my knight? State your name!” a sharp, high voice demanded. She was the queen of this country. 
“I’m Randolf the Ram, your Majesty!” 
“No, you are not! He must be with the Hero.” the queen shouted, “If you declare yourself my best knight, take off your helmet and show me your face!” 
To take off the helmet in front of enemies meant a fatal risk, but the knight raised his hands to the chin strap without any hesitation. He showed his face to his queen. 

The queen drew back her chin and tightened her lips. 

After a long few seconds, “Open the gate!” she cried out. 
“And, give him whatever he wants.” Every man on the wall could hear the catch in her voice. 
The knight said, “Just give me a new horse and my lance! Then, I shall sweep away the enemies for the Queen!” 
The defenders raised their voice, “For the Queen!” 
Riding a new stallion with a long lance in hand, “Save the Queen!” the knight roared. And the warriors rushed out from the main gate, following the knight. 
He made a charge at the countless enemies, to protect his Queen. 

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 169: Water Serpent

Viktor descended toward the courtyard below.

He had been momentarily caught off guard when he saw Ekon and the masked men inside the ruins of what had once been his home, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out what was going on.

The bald man, just like the other pyromancers in Daelin, was being hunted by Khalid’s men, so naturally, he needed a place to hide. And he had chosen to seek refuge here, the one place most would hesitate to tread. A sensible decision, indeed. Unfortunately, even this castle couldn’t shield him forever. In the end, his pursuers had found him regardless.

Which meant, of course, that the robed and masked figures below were the very ones responsible for the recent vanishings. Also, Dimitria had once mentioned the hooded men clad in black, operatives who answered directly to Zubayr, entrusted with some important task that even she was not privy to. These were them, then.

When Viktor saw Ekon go down, he had considered several options he could take.

The simplest choice was to do nothing. He would remain where he was, and allow events to unfold without interference. The masked men would drag their victim back to wherever they had set up their base of operations. And he would follow, to find out where that stronghold was.

But he had dismissed that idea.

There were other ways to extract that information. Capturing one of them alive for questioning, for example, was a viable alternative. On the other hand, the opportunity to strike so many at once, while their attention was on someone else, did not come often. These guys were also his enemies, so there was little reason to hold back.

Thus, he launched his surprise attack.

He created an “Iceheart Orb,” and threw it down. The sphere hit the towering wall of water with a muted, almost anticlimactic impact, yet from that single point, ice erupted outward in branching veins, spreading rapidly across the shimmering surface in a web of creeping frost. Then, he shattered it. The frozen section exploded in a storm of shrapnel, tearing through the clustered men, shredding cloth and flesh in equal measure.

Then came the question: what was he going to do next?

Of course, he could just remain hidden in the sky. There was a moon tonight, yes, unlike when he attacked the outpost, but at sufficient altitude his dark veil would still conceal him well enough. From up here, he would be safe and out of reach, while being able to rain down death and destruction upon his enemies at his leisure.

There was a problem with that approach, however. He doubted these masked men would be obedient targets, standing still in the open to be murdered by an unseen enemy. Once they understood the nature of the threat, they would disperse or retreat. And hunting them down one by one would be an extremely tedious endeavor.

No, he needed them to stay put, gathered in this courtyard. And in order to do that, he needed bait. Himself, of course. By giving them a chance to fight back, by allowing them to believe victory was possible, he would lead them into doing exactly what he wanted. Come to think of it, running a dungeon worked on pretty much the same principle.

That was why he came down, allowing himself to be seen.

And the response was immediate.

A dozen crackling spheres of lightning tore through the sky, all of them hungry for his silhouette. He triggered his wind gems as he twisted midair, weaving through the incoming barrage.

Careful now. Being the bait was fine, actually getting hit was not. If even one of these blue-white globes managed to touch him, he would be sent crashing down, helpless on the ground like that Ekon over there.

He glided above the courtyard in widening arcs, evading the projectiles that now followed him with increasing intensity. What exactly were these things, though? They were not magic obviously, since there were no mages capable of manipulating lightning. So, Reliquaries? But didn’t that mean every single one of these guys had Reliquaries in their possession, and all of those Reliquaries functioned the exact same way? How the hell did that work? Or perhaps, it was a Reliquary that could create additional magical artifacts, similar to the Mourning Woman that produced the fire and wind gems he was using right now.

Well, he could continue his analysis later; now he had to deal with these attacks first. He could keep it up for the time being, but there were too many. It was just a matter of time before someone scored a lucky hit. He needed something to shield himself.

No, that was not enough.

He needed something that could both defend and strike back. Something that could act on its own, without requiring his constant attention. And he already had exactly that at his disposal. After all, he now possessed three Sigils of Animating, acquired through his analysis of Lahmia’s phoenix of sand, which meant he could recreate the magical construct. Of course, it didn’t have to be a bird, and it didn’t have to be made of sand either.

He activated “Water Serpent.”

It was a Thauma crafted from four Sigils of Controlling, one Sigil of Fortifying, three Sigils of Animating, and six Sigils of Maintaining. He had modified the original recipe a bit, and the resulting creation would be less responsive and less resilient, but it would last longer. And, just like the original spell that inspired it, this Thauma didn’t have any Sigils of Making, which meant it was useless unless there was a large amount of water available nearby. That, however, was a requirement that had already been satisfied.

After his earlier strike with the “Iceheart Orb,” the masked men had collapsed their wall of water. After all, with Ekon already incapacitated, that barrier was no longer necessary, while it could even become a liability if subjected to further freezing attacks. Still, even though they had brought the structure down, they had not unmade the water itself, so it simply flowed away, dispersing outward along the broken stone and into the surrounding grounds. Now, as Viktor activated his Thauma, that same water was coming back.

It reversed its earlier retreat, streaming back toward the courtyard in converging currents that curved around debris and spilled over uneven ground, threading itself through the gaps between the masked men. From those scattered streams, it gathered into a single, swelling sphere, trembling with barely contained motion.

For a moment, it held. Then, it began to take shape.

The mass of water elongated, stretched, and twisted, its surface folding inward and outward in rippling layers. A head forced its way free, then a body followed, coiling upward in a slow spiral, as thick as a man is tall and long enough to wrap around the entire courtyard.

A great serpent, wrought entirely of water, had been born.

And it’ll die after twelve minutes, Viktor thought. Well yes, that was how long he could sustain a construct of this magnitude with his current level.

It was also not cheap; this snake had cost him twenty Focus to bring to life. And before that, five had gone into the “Dark Veil,” and another three into the “Iceheart Orb.” Which meant, he was down to thirty Focus left. Nearly half of his reserve was already gone. That was the problem with fighting when he was still low-level: he had to constantly monitor his resources, making sure he wouldn’t run dry when it mattered the most.

Things would be much easier if he had the blade of light with him, as its unparalleled attack power would have tilted the battle heavily in his favor. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t retrieve it. He could simply ask Celeste to bring him into the dungeon, grab the thing, then teleport back here.

But he had ruled that out.

That sword was meant to deal with Spiky Head, so he wanted to keep it a secret, saving it for that confrontation. After all, there was no guarantee he could kill everyone here. One of them might escape and tell the others about what happened in this place. So he had to make do with his gems and his Thauma. And his big-ass snake, of course. He was going to use it to the fullest, making every single second of its life count.

Viktor descended even further, his actual leg now only a pace above the broken stone of the courtyard. More balls of lightning screamed toward him in rapid succession, but this time he didn’t bother to dodge.

Yes, he didn’t have to do anything at all, as the serpent would handle them in his instead. It coiled around him in a layered spiral that formed a barrier blocking the barrage. The crackling spheres of white-blue energy struck the shimmering body, each impact fracturing through the water in jagged flashes of light. That wouldn’t harm the snake, of course, but he himself had to be careful. He must not make direct contact with the surrounding watery surface, unless he wanted to end up like Ekon.

The serpent continued to move.

It slithered through the courtyard, its body looping and undulating around debris and fractured pillars, while simultaneously ensuring that at least one section of its length remained coiled in a protective ring around its master.

Its tail suddenly lashed outward, catching three men in a single brutal sweep. Mass of water slammed into meat, and the three bodies were sent flying backward through the air before they crashed into a broken wall. The structure fractured on impact, chunks breaking loose and raining down. The men lay still under the rubble, not getting up anymore.

Meanwhile, the serpent’s head continued its relentless motion through the battlefield as it chased down the men who frantically ran away from it. One lagged behind, and the serpent caught up. Its maw yawned wide, then snapped shut around the masked man. It swallowed, dragging him down its watery throat.

Of course, this was not a real, living creature, so it was not like the guy was going to be digested or anything. Still, being trapped inside a prison of water was hardly good for anyone’s health. Through the serpent’s transparent body, Viktor, as well as everyone else present, could clearly see the man’s final, desperate struggle. Bubbles leaked from his mouth and nose as he kicked and thrashed. His eyes bulged as his body jerked and spasmed. Soon, he would stop moving, and the serpent would spit him out.

So far, so good, Viktor thought, watching with satisfaction from within the protective barrier maintained by his snake. Now, let’s see if these guys still have any tricks up their sleeves.

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

Book 2 of A Dungeon That Kills now available on Amazon Kindle.

Feel free to check it out!

Alright... I'm back to it.

And it appears that Reddit has, once again, changed the posting format.

Couple updates before getting to the meat of things.

First is I am writing a "Questing" story alongside this one. In case you didn't realize by the word in quotes, it is being posted on Questionable Questing. The story's title is "The Edges of Chaos" and it is a Sci-fantasy isekai story where the readers get to vote on the various directions and major decisions the story goes in. Have a look at it if you wish. I am greatly enjoying the lack of a character limit that site gives.

I started it primarily to knock the rust off and get me thinking outside the box on how to finish parts of this story... and it worked. Because.. to be completely honest, I had the first POV of this chapter done before I posted the last chapter earlier this year. I've just been stuck in writer's block hell on how to finish it.

Which brings us to here. I actually WILL have another post for friday. It is a side POV I've had written out for an extremely long time and h as been waiting in the wings for its moment to arrive.

So, without further ado, here are the links, and I hope you enjoy.

[Prologue] [First] [Previous]

_______________________________________________________________

-Hawke-

The news of Lily’s death had hit him hard. His people, his crew, his bridge crew, gone. So close to rescue and safety that it physically hurt. She had been able to see the damned compound walls. A young woman hoping to contribute something to and make her mark in the galaxy. A young woman under his protection, relying on him to be able to make the calls that would see her home safe again. See her able to reach her dreams.

Cut down far too early. Because he had failed her.

He knew he wasn’t directly responsible for her death… no decision he could possibly have made would have changed the outcome in any reasonable way without allowing for more to be exposed. For more to die. But he was still responsible. He was the Commander of the ship. He was responsible for them all.

They had been lucky beyond reproach. There really was no other way to describe it. To have had only a single crew member fall in the opening stages of a fucking planetary invasion. Faced with a horde of infantry transports dropping on their heads, in unfamiliar territory, with no back-up, nothing but their own wits and resources.

And they had only lost a single person.

But the numbers didn’t matter.

He sat in his quarters, and stared at her recruitment picture on the terminal, and the shot already poured on the desk in front of it.

It wasn’t the most efficient method of coping and processing… hell, probably wasn’t even the healthiest. But it was his. It was his process to get the second guessing, the self-recrimination, guilt and grief out of the way in a ritual that he could handle. It wasn’t the first time… and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

“Not with this damned invasion hanging over our heads, anyway.”

So, he took his scant few moments of privacy in his room, worked through what he needed to work through, picked up the shot, toasted the face of the girl on his screen, downed it, and tossed her name plate into a box with others from his past. He would need to write the notification letter to her family. But that will have to wait until they weren’t scrambling to get things done, to prevent more deaths. He turned and left his room, the Commander mask in place once more.

Damien was there, looking exhausted. He had been running his ass off getting medical set up with the new information and gathering further details. Currently he was leaning casually against the bulkhead just outside his door as he waited, knowing full well what was being done and why. And what needed to come next.

“Alright… report.” Hawke sighed.

“I’ve assigned crews to begin building HESCO walls around the town and within to separate it into defensible and manageable sections. Complete with choke points and watch stations covering likely assault points. The Chirleen are working with us to ensure that it gets done right. We also have a crew looking at how best to drag the wreck of the Windrunner to shore so we can start cannibalizing it for equipment and resources. The Ruulothi have agreed to the effort and are doing what they can to help facilitate it as well. They are more than happy to set things up to get another crack at the Qazirxel.”

“I can imagine. I have no doubt that they would refuse take the deaths of their crew and loss of their ship lying down. Do you have any information regarding their losses?” Hawke asked as they walked to the bridge.

Damien sighed, “Too damned many. They lost around half of their dedicated security team in the ground fighting. A fair number of their bridge crew and their entire engineering team. Hell. Right now the only member of their cargo team still functioning is one of the Junior Loaders. The Human kid, Conrad? He took one hell of a hit saving the others of their little band and Claire. I’ve seen people get chewed up, sometimes literally. But that? That was fucking brutal. Even with all of our advanced medical equipment it is going to take weeks to put him back together. He’s stable though. Claire knew her shit. She’s honestly the only reason he’s even still alive.”

“Thank the Gods for that. This is enough of a political shitstorm without him dying senselessly.” Hawke answered, keying them into the bridge. The door hissing as its hydraulics pulled it open. “Any word on those injured by the Qazirxel? I saw the reports coming in but wasn’t able to sit down with it.”

“Still processing. But we believe that we have an answer as to how their infantry weapons work. It is functionally a disruptor. It gathers and fires a cluster of protons, which explode and destabilize matter upon impact, sending wild protons out in random tracks. Inorganic compounds are far less affected by it. But organics…”

“Organics get fried by radiation and their component parts spliced apart at the atomic level.” Hawke finished with a grimace. “That is… horrific.”

“Agreed, but a small silver lining is it at least makes deaths clean… and is potentially promising for our future.”

“Promising? How so?”

Damien drew in a breath before he continued. “Several things. First, we can treat it if the person survives and gets to help in time. Radiation treatment has long been simplified and handled thanks to colonization effort and space travel necessitating it. We also have the tech to undo the splicing effect and restore their body to functionality if given enough time. It’s not easy, but it can be done if we recalibrate our trauma and diagnostic nano-tech to focus on the detecting and reattaching spliced tissue, similar to the way we handle re-attaching amputated body parts. The problem there is it has to be done separately from the radiation treatment, otherwise our efforts won’t matter when the flesh necrotizes again. On that note, we can also reduce or even eliminate the existing radiation damage dependent on the severity and where and how many times they were shot.

“Second is what it says for their Doctrine, Sir. A species that uses a weapon like that… is trying very hard to not damage infrastructure. I’ve a feeling, based on what we saw and what we have learned since that these Qazirxel are effectively parasitic, culturally speaking. They don’t destroy and rebuild in their image. They supplant, take over and assimilate the infrastructure that’s left. Maybe they have something in case there is no other option… we can’t say for sure. But I do find it curious that we haven’t been attacked since, bombed from orbit or assaulted by the landers themselves with their heavier weaponry for the audacity of standing against them. The only thing we saw them use even remotely close to that sort of thing was their lander weapons against troops and vehicles in the open. There were no strafing runs, no bombings, no overt destruction in their assault.”

Hawke nods as he listens, “True… that has been bothering me, too. It is something to keep in mind and hope for… but make sure we aren’t lowering our standards expecting it to stay that way, alright?”

“You got it, Sir.”

They stood in the center of the bridge and Hawke stared at the flashing icon on the screen as he thought. The icon indicating that the final Crash Burst had been sent after their sensors read the enemy fleet encircling the planet, the connection to their satellite long since severed by the same ships. They were now blind, mute, deaf and completely cut off.

“Alright. Get back to overseeing the construction and rescue efforts… and Damien. Thank you.”

Damien allowed a small smile before turning to leave, “Always, Kaleb.”

________________________________________

-Ruufarrl-

He found himself once again in the med-bay with Conrad, simply watching as the process of his healing worked to complete itself.

As the days had gone by, he found himself returning here often. Not only to watch over his charge but because, as a medical ward, it was exceedingly quiet and peaceful compared to the wild activity of the outside world.

The humans had not stopped moving. Even with the time he had already spent amongst them, he had been surprised by their sheer industriousness and fortitude after the attack.

They only stopped working to sleep. Even eating was done on the move. The doctors and med staff stepped into private rooms briefly to consume something before moving on, the operators of their heavy machinery ate in the cabs of their vehicles, often while still operating them. He strongly suspected that the command staff even ate on the bridge, he’d even overheard some of the support staff talking about having bedrolls under their stations, so they didn’t have to run to respond to an emergency.

Their dedication showed serious results.

Walls of those strange modular barriers had gone up around and through the entirety of the town, creating chokepoints and kill fields against any outside attack, and limiting internal spread of any breaches. The outer walls being built into a rough star shape to encourage overlapping fields of fire. Sequences of trenches had then been dug around the entire town to limit direct access to the walls and disrupt ground based movement of infantry and vehicles. Enough bunkers had been dug and covered with protective layers of concrete and barriers to fit the town’s entire populace in case of another attack.

They’d set up an entire weapons range and converted the Ruulothi’s weapons using the design that Conrad had come up with, allowing everyone to train together to get used to the both the new weapon design, and one another’s weapons. An understanding of the whimsical logistics of battle that the Ruulothi greatly appreciated.

The humans had even somehow managed to pull in Chirleen volunteers to train.

What surprised him and the others of his crew the most was that the Humans had managed to pull the Windrunner to shore and begun cannibalizing it for useful parts, at the Ruulothi crew’s direction, of course.

The ship’s cannon was already mounted and watching over the coastline approaches, married to a console on this ship that was under the direct control of the remaining Ruulothi bridge crew.

The humans had even invited some of the Ruulothi crew onto their own bridge to help minimize the delays in communications and support. It was there that this weapons console was run.

They’d wanted to analyze the power matrix of the Windrunner to make things more compatible, but unfortunately, not even Captain Loorthal had the authority to do so. Not to a non-GalCom species.

That would be a political mess of far more extreme proportions than they were in even now.

The humans had understood, then simply asked for assistance in getting the Ruulothi equipment properly running in a way that didn’t require knowledge of trade secrets.

It had been difficult with the majority of the maintenance crew either dead or physically unable to assist, but it had been done.

He looked at Conrad again. The boy was still sealed inside the medical capsule. His skin was remained a pale, almost gray color. But he was assured that it was fine. The monitors showed that he was responding well to the treatment and his coloring was a side effect of what effectively amounted to a medical stasis while his body was rebuilt.

It would still be several weeks before he would be allowed to regain consciousness. Anything sooner threatened to destroy the repair process with unnecessary movement. Even then, it would take time for him to properly regain the full use of his arm.

The door to the unit hissed open, letting in the sounds of bustling people and boots on metal before closing again.

“Ah… Master Ruufarrl. It is good to see you again.”

He smiled and nodded to the young woman, “It is good to see you as well, Ms. Claire.”

In the days since the attack, the woman had taken charge of Conrad’s recovery. Ruufarrl knew it was likely tied to the events of the day. That she was grieving over her lost friend, and frustrated by her inability to save her. That by ensuring Conrad survived, she might in some way alleviate that grief.

That kind of grief was something he understood intimately, and he certainly didn’t begrudge her the effort.

Rather he appreciated the personal touch to Conrad’s recovery. He would much rather his charge not become just another number to take care of.

He watched as she checked the monitors and the levels of various medical supplies, noting the relevant information on a small tablet with Conrad’s medical files.

“He is recovering well.” She announced, bringing him in to the process, “I am seeing no complications or rejections of any of the processes.”

She paused a moment before continuing, “I… I’m not sure if it is appropriate to do so… but do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Claire’s voice was soft, concerned about overstepping when she looked at him as she finished her notes and set them down in the holder on the capsule.

“It certainly never hurts to ask. I will inform you if I cannot answer.”

She breathed a sigh of relief while wringing her hands together, “Thank you. This has been bothering me since the attack, and I didn’t know how to address it.”

The woman took a few moments to gather herself before continuing.

“Please don’t take this as a criticism, I’m just not really sure how to vocalize it. But… can I ask why most of your crew still seem to be… reserved? I guess is the right word? About interacting with us? I would have thought that surviving an attack like that and being forced to survive for an undetermined amount of time on an unknown world would… I don’t know… push us all past that sort of boundary?”

Ruufarrl chuffed as he sat back and took a deep breath in, his ears laying back and humming as he thought. The question was a deep one and touched on a lot of things that many were intentionally turning a blind eye to or were unaware that they had in the first place.

“That… will take some time to answer properly. Do you have a few minutes to discuss it?”

“I do. I’m not due for another rotation of checks for another fifteen minutes.”

“Very well then.” He paused and gathered himself as he organized his thoughts.

“It is a very good question. The answer, as all proper ones do, stems from a number of sources. Some cultural, some personal, others… artificially enforced.” He shook his head back and forth with the last bit.

“I will start with the large story and refine it down to the personal, hopefully this will help you to understand how things came to be. The GalCom as a whole has a stigma against new arrivals. They designed the application process to be as difficult as possible intentionally. This allows them time to research and find pressure points with which to ensure that any new members cannot join without owing them something. This allows the GalCom a measure of control and oversight over new members and allows them to protect themselves from and malfeasance and ill intent.

“The GalCom has a rough history, and those protective measures are there because they were needed. While it started as a method of self-defense, as with all things, it has become twisted over time. They know, without any doubt, that they will not be able to pull those kinds of acts with your race. As such, they have collectively decided to make your joining as difficult as possible, possibly even to prevent it. In doing so they have built a public image of your species that is strongly at odds with what we are being shown here. Those of our crew that did not know any better before coming here, are having a lot to process. I also have no doubt that they intentionally sabotaged the first meeting of our races to play our species personal triggers against one another.”

Claire’s shoulders slumped at the realization, “So they are waiting for us to make a mistake that justifies a harsh response… Shit. This whole situation is the perfect fuel to give them exactly what they want, isn’t it?”

Ruufarrl smiled wryly and nodded, “It certainly seems to be the case. Though I doubt your people will make it so easy for them to accomplish. From what I have seen by traveling among them with Conrad and here, you are remarkably adaptable and cunning. I am sure someone, somewhere in your government is well aware of what is happening and what is at stake. In fact… I am absolutely certain of it.”

He chuckled, remembering his meeting with Conrad’s Instructor.

“Now, as for us as a people. Again, the impressions from that first contact meeting soured many against you. Clans among our people are largely insular. What one believes is different from what another will believe. My Clan, the Nightmanes, is one that believes strongly that you were misrepresented, but others will take time to reconcile that impression with what they are seeing. They will come around, especially those that have already interacted with Conrad extensively. Then they will send that understanding back to their own clans, and it will spread.

“Provided we all survive, of course.” He shrugged.

“Then there is the belief that one shouldn’t interfere with someone who clearly knows what they are doing. Your crew here…” He chuckles, “There is very little for us to do to directly contribute at this point. We are not versed in civil engineering, battlefield engineering, or any of the other tasks your people are accomplishing. We run a ship, we fight, and we move cargo. Some of us tell the others how to do that. But that is all. For us, it is better to stay out of the way than it is to potentially interfere or make things worse.

“Finally there is our own cultural stigma. For us, when one is directly rescued, as it is in this case, it is expected that something will be asked of them in return. The Saved are effectively at the mercy of the Saviors until the favor has been repaid. They are… ambivalent and wary of what is going to be asked of them. Of what is going to be seen as proper recompense for their lives.”

He held his hand up to stop her retort.

“Not, that I am actually expecting you to do so, beyond contribution to our shared survival. From what I understand of most of your people, and what I have learned about this particular organization as a whole. That sort of thinking doesn’t apply.

“Though, if I may impose. Perhaps you could tell your immediate supervisor about this? I believe he is your XO, correct? I believe that a direct addressing of these issues might be best. Ruulothi both respect and appreciate the direct approach over assumptions and guile. It may go a long way to improving and eliminating that distance you are feeling.”

Claire nodded in agreement, “I can absolutely do that. I have to meet with him this evening anyway.”

She breathed slowly and deeply as she processed everything he had told her. Eventually, she gave him a soft smile and a slight bow of her head.

“Thank you, Master Ruufarrl. I don’t know if I would have gotten as clear of an answer if I had attempted to ask anyone else. I know that the Captain and XO will appreciate the direct insight. And I know that none of us want to make you all feel unwelcome. We are all kind of just… playing it by ear as we go. Even though we have emergency protocols in place, nobody expected to have to deal with anything like this. Those protocols were… really more of a fever dream response to have something to go off of more than they were ironclad measures.”

Ruufarrl chuckled in amusement, “Indeed. The Winds blow as they may. Not always do they bring the scents of blooming flowers or prey. Sometimes you are the Hunter, others you realize you aren’t.”

Claire giggled at the idioms, “It is what you do when the deck is stacked against you that defines the legacy you leave behind. It isn’t how many times you fall, but rather how many times you stand that makes the difference.”

Ruufarrl grinned widely at her, “It is wisdom like that that makes me feel like our peoples will get along nicely once we get over the first impression issue.”

Claire smiled back at him, her back straightening as stress appeared to lift from her, “Thank you again, Master Ruufarrl. I will pass your words along. Hopefully, we can nip this in the bud and get us all on the right track for our futures.”

“Indeed, fare well, Claire.”

(anotación, está historia está inspirada en un universo que muchos aquí conocerán y mi propia experiencia en el, contiene spoilers del lore de NMS, aunque no se toca la trama principal. Espero lo disfruten)

Soy un viajero...

O eso creo, ese es el nombre por el que me han llamado desde que empecé a explorar este universo, nunca supe quien soy o de que mundo sali, nisiquiera a qué especie pertenezco.

Mi recuerdo más antiguo tiene a lo mucho khjzzz galáctico estándar, recuerdo la nada y entonces el dudoso deseo de... Despertar? No, la voluntad de existir aunque vacilante, y entonces abrí los ojos.

El cielo era amarillo con nubes de un verde radioactivo, entonces una voz sono en mi cabeza, #nisiacion de exotraje kzzzz... Activada.

Desperté con una capa protectora ante el peligro radioactivo que era este mundo, el traje era parte de mi ser, mi anatomía real, el color de mi piel si es que tengo, es algo que nunca he visto... pues siempre he llevado este exotraje y siempre he sentido atravez de el.

Cuando desperté había una nave cerca, estaba dañada, reaccionaba a mi, Pero no era mía y un casco inquietante mente familiar, junto a una extraña terminal me confirmó lo que pasó con su dueño original, el orbe rojo en la terminal hablo una voz que sonó dentro de mi cabeza.

-iteracion kjjhh... .... Estado: eliminado por accidente orbital... Nueva anomalía detectada iteración 001010016 nave transferida...

+Anomalía? Que era una anomalía? Soy yo una anomalía?

Ese fue otra de las formas por las que he sido llamado a lo largo de mi memoria, repare la nave guiado por la voz en mi exotraje y parti al espacio +soy un viajero? La palabra vino a mi mente sin realmente conocerla, Pero entendiendo su significado.

El universo, o más bien la galaxia era basta, conocí a tantas criaturas sintientes, tan variadas que incluso algunas de la misma especie eran radicalmente diferentes unas de otras.

Y entonces lo conocí a el, conocí al kjzzz, era como estar frente a un dios, su presencia abarcaba mis sentidos como si de algún modo yo fuera parte de el...

Hablo y yo escuché y aunque me es imposible recordar aquella conversación recuerdo una pregunta -¿Eres el primero o el último, viajero o anomalía, sueño o real?

Realmente no comprendí la pregunta o su objetivo Pero poco después el orbe se apagó y la terminal solo repetía un número de forma cíclica, 16.

En mis viajes detecte una brecha, algo que razgaba la realidad que estaba y no estaba ahí, y me comunicaron, llamaron a la estructura, la anomalía, un hogar, lejos del falso kzzzz y sus mentiras así como lejos de los khzzz.

Los seres que habitaban aquel lugar se hacían llamar a si mismos viajeros, y rechazaban el nombre de anomalías, eran seres de múltiples especies que nunca había visto y de otras que si conocía, hablaban de ellos y de mi, como si nos conociéramos de toda la vida y... había algo inquietante mente familiar en ellos, como sie viera en un espejo sin reconocer mi forma.

Seguí explorando, seguí viajando, nunca me pregunté porque, sentía el deseo de hacerlo, de ver todos los mundos que pudiera ver, de sentir la libertad que el universo me daba... Mucho tiempo paso aveces me asentaba por un tiempo en un planeta que me parecía especialmente agradable, Pero siempre volvía a viajar.

Con el tiempo aprendí de la historia de la galaxia, las guerras, los genocidios, como los kzzzz consiguieron ser libre de pensamiento y lucharon entre ellos por mantener su visión de que rumbo debía seguir cada mundo, como 3 seres de especies diferentes fueron atacadas por un ser tan ancestral como el kzzzz. La pelea de dos hermanos donde uno cayó por 74 días al tocar el suelo dividió a su especie en una guerra que terminó solo para empezar otra contra los khjzzz.

La galaxia ahora era estable, funcional, Pero algo estaba profundamente mal y se podía sentir en la misma realidad

Viaje tanto que olvide la idea de ser una anomalía, una iteración, fuera lo que significará y entonces en un mundo olvidado donde las piedras se torcian en geometrías imposibles encontré una estructura que no debería estar ahí, su mera presencia parecía una afrenta a la realidad.

Toque el artefacto y mis sentidos se desvanecieron, me sentí envuelto por un vacio infinitamente más vacío que el propio vacío, algo hablo.

°se que lo eres, se que eres más allá de este sueño, Pero no eres tu, tu no estas o no como tú, sino como otro sueño, otra iteración.

La entidad hablo atravez de mi, como si quisiera alcanzar a alguien más allá de mi, intente hablar con la entidad Pero mi propio ser parecia desvanecerse en ese vacío.

°16, lo haz khzzz 16 es aquello a lo que el kzzzzz más teme y la razón por la que kzzzzzzzz

La terminal se apagó y yo continue mi viaje, aunque busque respuestas que con el tiempo encontré al enfrenta al kzzz

Soy un viajero y una anomalía, el primero y el último y ninguno. Aquellos otros viajeros también son yo Pero no son yo, la membrana entre dimensiones es casi inexistente Pero aún está y solo la anomalía está fuera de todo ello.

Entendi la realidad y en su momento pude decidir su kzzzzzzz elegí seguir viajando, aprendí que el centro me lleva a otras galaxias otras realidades, iguales Pero diferentes...

Nunca podría explorarlas todas Pero ya había decidido quien soy, no soy una anomalía, no soy el... Tampoco soy el primero ni el último...

Me sumergi en múltiples sueños, en múltiples universos y mundos y decidí

Soy un viajero, porque al igual que aquel día decidí abrir los ojos y decidí existir, hoy elijo viajar y explorar, incluso cuando se que nunca podré verlo todo, elegí ser un viajero e ir por mi propio camino, sabiendo que siempre tendré un hogar entre otros que eligieron ser viajeros...

A todos aquellos que no saben que son, recuerden que eso es una desicion solo suya y que así como eligen vivir cada que abren los ojos, pueden elegir que son y quien son..

Yo soy un viajero.

Muchas gracias por leer mi historia, esto lo escribí como forma de celebrar el décimo aniversario de No Mans Sky un juego que francamente ha marcado mi forma de ver el mundo, quizás no pude estar ese día para romper el número de jugadores simultáneos con toda la comunidad.

Pero hoy elijo escribir está historia a modo de homenaje y a modo de compartir la reflexión que este bello universo me dió, recuerden que nadie puede decidir que son, pues eso es algo que hay que elegir de forma voluntaria cada segundo que se vive, me despido por ahora y los quiero mucho sub redit de HFY

Arriba la humanidad carajo!!!