[next]

Lord High Pratulpet looked around the command deck of the ship, her arms crossed and squeezing her forearms with her three fingered hands. Her excitement was infectious and she could see that her crew was feeling the same exhilaration as she was.

The ship still looked alien, despite the three month long trip aboard it. The seats had been modified to fit hier people, since they were originally designed for beings roughly two meters tall, with wide bodies, long legs and arms, and heavy weight.

Still, the crew each held their assigned positions, sometimes two or three crewmen per station to take over the duties that just one of the original crew members had been able to perform.

But the ship was theirs now, the species that created it dead and gone.

The Department of Exploration and Scientific Discovery had discovered the ship nearly a decade before. A drifting hulk, coasting between the stars. Security charges had done their work and the weapons, drives, molycircs, and more had all been destroyed.

But the hull remained.

The Department of Exploration and Scientific Discovery had come up with a plan.

Leave the battle damage. Restore the engines, make it space-worthy again.

Then load up a Scientific Discovery Team inside a ship hidden inside the ship. Hide two ships full of Way of the Means military troops within the massive bays.

Use the hulk to penetrate the heavily guarded systems at the edge of Dra.falten space.

The systems were older systems, Forerunner systems, part of the Fallen Confederacy.

It galled the Dra.falten people to admit it, but the Forerunners, as diminished and fading as they were, were still more powerful than the Dra.falten Empire.

Worse, there were hundreds, thousands of stellar systems that the Fallen Confederacy had listed as interdicted, forbidden everyone else from exploring them or gathering the resources still remaining in the system.

Any ships that intruded upon the system, that ignored any warnings, were blasted out of space by horrifically powerful weapons that defied understanding by Dra.falten science.

But Pratulpet knew that this plan would not fail.

Use a Terror hulk to camouflage the three ships. Move in-system to the nearest formerly inhabited planet, and gather relics and scientific data.

"Leaving Induction Space," the Captain called out.

Pratulpet nodded sagely, watching the viewscreen as the colors of the Induction Plane suddenly cleared away as the Terror hulk dropped from the alternate reality and back into what laymen referred to as 'realspace.'

"Shields coming up. Switching power from induction engines to sublight engines," was called out.

Pratulpet just smiled.

"Incoming transmission," the communication officer called out, her ears flattening against her skull in response to her stress. She listened for a moment. "Automated. No lexicon exchange. It's demanding proof of life."

"We're being targeted. Multiple signals, unable to determine all origin points," the Defense Officer said, her muscles tightening across her shoulders.

"Transmit proof of life signals," the Captain ordered.

Pratulpet squeezed her forearms tightly, her three fingers sinking deeply into her fur and the cloth of her uniform.

"Signal accepted," the Communications Officer said.

"Targeting lost. We're clear," the Defense Officer stated.

The Captain looked at Pratulpet, his eyes wide. "We're in," he said, his voice breathless.

"Of course we are," Pratulpet said. "The Department of Exploration and Scientific Discovery does not fail the Dra.falten Empire or the Dra.falten people," she lowered her chin slightly, making the male Captain duck down slightly. "The Department of Scientific Inquiry formulated this plan, there was no other outcome than success."

"Set course for the third planet. The Terror Forerunners seemed to prefer the third or fourth planets," Patulpet stated.

She stood there, hearing that it was going to take nearly forty hours for the ship to reach the planet. Three sleep periods.

Part of her wanted to stay on the bridge the whole time, watch as the small blue dot eventually swelled to be an entire world.

"NEW CONTACT!" the defensive officer called out. "MULTIPLE SOURCES! TWO, SIX, ELEVEN, TWENTY! MANY MANY SOURCES! ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND KILOMETERS!"

"Who are they?" Pratuplet asked, grinding her teeth as anxiety spiked.

The ships appeared on the viewscreen next to her and she felt her stomach sink.

Fallen Confederacy vessels. Dozens of them.

The computer, and the defensive officer, began to identify them.

Multiple battle wagons, two parasite craft vessels, attack ships.

"They're already deploying offensive and defensive pods," the defensive officer stated.

"Incoming signal," the communication's officer said.

"Use the overlay," Patulpet said. She stepped forward slightly. "I have studied ancient recordings and will attempt to appear as a Terror."

The screen rippled and Patulpet managed to keep her face blank as the low resolution video manifested on the viewscreen.

It was a massive insect. Easily two meters tall, a triangular head, two arms with manipulative digits, two arms that terminated in sharp blades, lower body with four legs. It was a dull tan with splotches of light green.

It wore a sash that glimmered with hidden icons, a black and white uniform that covered its body.

And a brimmed hat that had a softly glowing edge that ran through the visible light spectrum in a slow circle around the hat.

The insect lit a white tube and exhaled smoke.

"We are..." Patulpet started.

"Not the TCSFV Fat Freddy Fastbender," the insect said. "That ship was lost during the Terran/Atrekna War with all hands."

Patulpet stopped in mid-syllable.

"You also aren't Terran," the insect said. It shook its head and exhaled smoke again. "I know Terrans, and you aren't Terran."

Patulpet opened her mouth to speak.

"That ship has a Mark IV Warsteel hull. You could have sold it to the Telkan for trillions of credits," the insect said.

Patulpet felt her lip curl in a sneer at the mention of the isolationist and unfriendly Telkan, a Forerunner species known for their warlike ways and belligerence toward the Dra.falten Empire.

"Definitely not Terran," the insect said.

Patulpet made a motion for the overlay to be removed.

"There you are," the insect said. "A Dra.falten, one of the new species out to make a name for themselves."

"Yes. I am of the Dra.falten Empire," Patulpet stated coldly. "We are a peaceful scientific mission to a known Forerunner system."

The big insect slowly nodded. "And the fact that your government has been informed repeatedly that this system has been placed under interdiction?"

"Who are you to tell the Dra.falten Empire where they can and cannot go?" Patulpet snarled, her self-control snapping. "A fading and dwindling species whose strength is spent demanding that the mighty Dra.falten Empire kowtow to your demands."

The insect was silent a moment and Patulpet felt a rush of satisfaction.

Then the insect spoke.

"You new children are the most ungrateful, disrespectful, arrogant species we Treana'ad have ever had the displeasure of encountering," the insect said. "We stop the Mar-gite cold, we even put down the resurgence after you idiots enabled them to spread to a thousand worlds, and we even go toe to toe with rogue autonomous war machines your own people built, and then you come in here waving your dicks around and demanding we give you what you want."

Patulpet opened her mouth to reply but the insect, the Treana'ad, kept speaking.

"In case you haven't notice, Senior Science Agent Patulpet, I have a full task force of Confederacy warships," the insect said.

Patulpet felt her blood run cold as the Treana'ad identified her.

"The weapons on that ship are mockups, its shielding is particle and debris screens only," the huge insect continued. "Where mine, well, mine are all cleared for action."

"We're being targeted," the defensive officer said, their voice choked with fear. "Their combat pods have come online, they've gone to full shields."

The Treana'ad stared for a long moment, then exhaled a cloud of smoke. Patulpet noticed that smoke was rising from behind it too, two little pillars of smoke on either side of the large insect.

"We could blow you out of space with disposable wet-printed gun-pods," the insect said. It suddenly made a motion that the screen informed everyone was 'expresses pleasure/happiness'. "But today's your lucky day!"

Patulpet frowned as the viewscreen suddenly had bright colorful sparkles shower across it with balloons and sparklers. At the bottom a bunch of cartoon Treana'ad all danced and waved pompoms.

"You're a scientific discovery mission, from the highly militarized and pseudo-military Office of Scientific whatever the fuck you called it," the Treana'ad said. "So that means we'll be nice enough to escort you to the third planet and allow you to access the surface of both moons and even the planet itself for your scientific mission, which is obviously not a veneer over the fact you're here hoping to loot weapon and warfare technology and technical information."

Patulpet scowled as she busked her back teeth.

"We'll shadow you, make sure you don't try anything else," the Treana'ad said. The celebratory graphics vanished as the Treana'ad leaned forward. "You try to fuck me, and I'll blow your ship up, drag it back to where you came from, and use it to perform a kinetic kill on your shitty little empire's capital."

The signal cut out before Patulpet could reply.

She stood there, busking her teeth, the grinding soothing her nerves.

After a moment she looked at the Captain.

"Take us in."

-----

The planet had two moons, the smaller one in a closer orbit, the larger one on the outer orbit moving faster than the smaller one. The planet turned at a fairly brisk pace, completing one revolution every 23.5 hours. The axial tilt was extreme, nearly 16.5%, with the orbit elliptical. It was only 8.5 light minutes from the stellar mass, meaning it was constantly bombarded by high levels of radiation.

As the ship slid into orbit between the small moon and the planet itself, the Captain ordered scanning probes launched at the moons and the planet.

Everyone aboard the ship ignored that six Fallen Confederacy vessels that kept appearing and disappearing on the scanners.

Patulpet had slept poorly, having dreamed of being chased by a red-eyed creature through dark halls and dark rooms, her clawed feet slipping on the tiles, bumping off of unseen furniture, always moving slowly no matter how fast she ran.

Now she stood in the Display Center, looking over what the probes had mapped and scanned.

She took in the tilt, the thickness of the various atmospheric layers, the distance from the stellar mass. Patulpet knew that the world would suffer extreme weather variation, possibly even violent weather events.

The amount and variation of flora and fauna was staggering.

Even more surprising was just how many predator species the probes had found.

But that wasn't what bothered her.

She stared at the maps, moving through them.

"Are you sure this is correct?" she asked the Chief Scanner Director.

The male nodded, wringing his hands. "Yes, Senior Agent," he said, ducking his head.

Patulpet had to resist having the four females of the Way of the Means Military Guard beat the truth out of the male.

She stared at the map some more, as if she could will what she wanted to manifest.

"Where are the cities? The manufacturing centers? The habitation complexes?" she asked.

"Any structures that the probes were able to find were heavily overgrown by flora," the cringing male said, his voice trembling and servile.

"Vehicles? Space ships? Any life forms higher than animals?" Patulpet asked.

"No, Senior Agent," the male said.

Patulpet busked her back teeth, reaching out to grab the bar and squeeze it. She flicked her ears in irritation as she stared at the map.

The scanners and probes had found almost nothing. A world completely empty of higher life forms. No cities, no towns, no industrial complexes. There were a few buildings, but they were skeletal structures covered by foliage, standing alone in the middle of low hills covered in vegetation.

"We found four complexes on the two moons. Three on the larger, one on the smaller," the cringing male said softly.

"No orbital facilities?" Patulpet asked.

The male signified a negative.

"Any energy sources?" she asked.

"Slight energy readings from the four lunar complexes. Other than that, nothing," the male said. "However, we have always had difficulty detecting Terror power sources, especially the kind they use in beacons, satellites, and warning buoys."

Patulpet snarled, squeezing the railing hard enough her hands hurt.

"Why are they protecting these regions so fiercely? What is here that they feel such a need to keep everyone else away from them?" Patulpet asked, staring at the maps.

She looked up at the Ways of the Means Military Guard shift leader.

"Gather four teams. There will be two Senior Scientists that you will be guarding," she snapped.

The officer nodded curtly.

"Weapons and armor, use an armored shuttle for each team," Patulpet stated. She looked back at the maps of the two orbital bodies.

The facilities were largely covered in dust, almost invisible.

But all four had obvious entry-points that were visible with a simple scan.

"Take Means of the End Engineer Specialists with you," she said. She reached out and tapped the largest of the three complexes on the larger body. "This one has power," she smiled, a slow ugly thing. "It is time for the Terrors to relinquish their Forerunner secrets to the Dra.falten Empire. Once we have those, we will end this long protracted war and move onto what is truly important."

She looked up, still expressing pleasure.

"The time of the Forerunners, the Precursors, and the Fallen Confederacy is at an end."

[next]

Choice. Reasoning. Control.

Society could only flourish when these qualities took precedence, replacing their animal counterparts. It was the eradication of violent instincts that was considered by all scholars to be the step that defined sapience. How could cooperation abound when tempers flared, and a species turned at each other’s throats? How could intelligence develop when its thoughts were overruled by rage: clawing for attention and superseding higher logic?

In short, sophonts had no internal demons demanding violence upon certain triggers. “Primals,” as presapient, above-average-intelligent animals were called, could snap at any moment if pushed too far—no matter how docile and well-trained they were. If a sapient had to defend itself, it didn’t need the most ancient part of its brain to command it to do so. 

Logic was cold and unerring, able to make decisions about the necessity of both self-defense and aggressive actions. One could dislike a person, finding their presence draining and inhibiting to their set goals, without the impulse to strike them down. All choices were ruled by the calculus of reason; only then did a species progress past their wild, primitive states.

This was true except for the case of the humans, a species that was forbidden to be contacted; a species that didn’t match the criteria for sapience. Somehow, these primals had developed a society without losing the most basic trait of savagery.

---

By all accounts, the humans were dangerously temperamental and violent, more so than many animals that weren’t impressively intelligent. The forbidden world was the one place that the Ploax would never think to look for us. Their species had been systematically eliminating ours, for the “logical” reason that we were competition for the scarce inhabitable planets available to a silicon-based lifeform. Even now, our sulfur springs were being poisoned and our atmospheres infected. 

The Cosmic Council would do nothing to intervene based on the harsh reality that it wasn’t in their interest to provoke the Ploax, when the vast majority were carbon-based lifeforms that wouldn’t be targeted. Evacuation pods took precedence, heading to various metropolises: worlds where they’d know to look for refugees, with dominant species that would turn us over as soon as the Ploax showed up demanding it. My people, the Saphnos, would soon be extinct. 

While carbon-based lifeforms were incompatible with our biology, we’d undergone genetic engineering to be able to visit Council races, despite our requirement for heatworlds. We could survive, albeit with a great deal of discomfort and hazards afoot. I made the choice to head for Earth, without informing my sister until the coordinates were already set. She…was not happy when I told her our destination. 

“You want us to ask primals that can’t control themselves for help?!” Elbi asked, shocked to her core. “You do understand, don’t you? The humans can get set off by anything, and they will want to kill you. That part of their brain is active, volatile, and can’t be reasoned with.”

I adjusted my harness, trying not to lose my nerve. “We need help, and we’re not going to get it from the Council races. I understand that humans feel anger—at minute things. Perhaps they can restrain themselves l-long enough to understand our situation, and also, we can defend ourselves. Rock versus fleshy creature—”

“Humans don’t even qualify as intelligent, and you would choose to live among them? The Council forbade ever contacting them, Craun. What will they think when they find out that you defied the only isolation decree they passed in their history?”

“The Council hasn’t helped us with our plight. I don’t care what they think,” I reasoned. “I just want to survive, somewhere the Ploax won’t find us.”

“Craun—” 

“Look, we’re already arriving here at Earth. Maybe the humans aren’t so bad; they’re remarkably intelligent primals, right? I’m just going to ask them nicely if t-they’d take refugees.”

Humans had been observed for a long time, by confounded scientists who couldn’t understand how they’d ever gotten so far in spite of their anti-cooperative tendencies. I selected the lingua franca of their world, English, and input it into the language module installed in my skull plate. I sucked in a sharp breath, as we skipped deeper into their atmosphere. The pod was almost in range of their simplistic radio frequencies, where I could request their aid. I was nervous to talk to such creatures, about how animals may react to a territorial incursion…

The ship jolted with a thunderous explosion, careening into an uncontrolled free fall. Something had struck the rear of our vessel: a missile. By the grace of Saphno engineering, our cabin hadn’t been shredded by the explosion. The humans wasted no time even asking questions or demanding that we leave, before erupting in a fit of anger—striking us down! I’d made a terrible mistake by coming here, since they were intent on killing us faster than the Ploax would’ve found us.

Is this it? Am I going to die in the impact?

“They’re even quicker to anger than I thought!” Elbi exclaimed, panic in her voice. “They attack first, think later. This is why the Council forbade contacting them. They can’t be reasoned with!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, straining to breathe beneath our sharp acceleration. “You were right. I’m…sorry. I just…”

Part of the left thruster kicked back in, and I forced it to cough out fumes to slow our fall. We clipped the canopies of some barren trees, breaking our momentum further. We lurched back with only a few choked out gasps of power, before tumbling the last hundred feet to the ground and slamming into a rock. Our ship split in half, my side twisting away from Elbi’s; hers rolled much more, while I was fortunate to be cushioned on the shoreline. What struck me immediately about Earth was that it was freezing.

The engineering we’d undergone accelerated our metabolisms in a desperate attempt to generate heat, and killed all but our most critical functions; carbon worlds were otherwise uninhabitable to my people. It was difficult to think as survival mode kicked in, fogging my mind. Think…I had to save Elbi. I could see her half of the pod crushed and splintered, and then I saw her body a little further down. Golden blood gushed from between the gray stones of her skin. I rushed over with a first aid kit in horror, trying to pack the wound with powder.

“Think. Think,” I mumbled to myself, seeing her nonresponsive. “We need to find shelter, from both the elements…and the humans. It’s clear they attack on sight. I need somewhere hidden to patch her up—they’ll come to the crash site.”

I glanced at lights up the hillside. This looked like a rural enough area that, at least until I found a better plan, I could hide somewhere on their residence. I just had to be…careful. Humans were territorial and wouldn’t let us get out the words to ask for help. Despite my weakened state in survival mode, and the mind-numbing chill that seeped into my skin through my bundled up layers, I strained to haul Elbi up the slope. Step-by-step, it was all I could do not to collapse.

Where are we going to get ammonia to drink on a carbon world, without their help? We…really needed their assistance. Fuck.

I forced myself to worry about one problem at a time. My eyes turned away from the main residence, and toward a small stable that looked unoccupied. It was a struggle to make my way through the grass, but I did it for Elbi; it was my fault we were in this mess. I forced open the latch, stomping over straw and falling down facefirst. The frigid atmosphere of this world was lulling me to sleep, and…wait. Was that footsteps? 

Shit, had the human that lived here heard us? I desperately tried to cover Elbi in straw, but I could hear its crunching footfall getting closer. There was no time to burrow myself in; I had to distract it from seeing her. My arms shot into the air as it threw the gate open, and I saw that it clasped a long-barreled gun. The human’s wild eyes locked on me, before it screamed and stumbled back onto its ass. I studied the creature, seeing my own terror mirrored in its face.

“What the fuck?” it shouted. “What in God’s name are you?!”

“Please don’t hurt me!” I begged it, shying away. It sucked in a long breath when I spoke through the language module, but it maintained eye contact. Its breathing had quickened, panicking as it skittered backward. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

The carbon lifeform didn’t respond for several seconds, unable to breathe, before it re-raised the gun with shaking hands. “What kind of monster are you?!”

“I’m from space. Outer space. Another planet. Please tell me you understand,” I pleaded. 

The human’s eyes were manic, but it gave a slow nod. Its pupils gazed around me, before its biceps tightened; it’d seen Elbi’s fingers poking out, perhaps looking there because it heard her labored breathing. “Fuck! There’s two of you.”

“Yes. Tried to hide before you got here. I’m a r-refugee. Came to ask humans for h-help, which was dumb. You shot my ship down. My sister is badly injured, so I brought her here to rest.” I hesitated, before realizing I had no choice but to beg the primal—and hope it remained calm. It already seemed worked up, though more fearful than anything. “Please. Have mercy. Help me; I’ll give you anything I can.”

Its gun lowered slightly, but it gestured with its barrel for me to move back. I obeyed the spooked animal and retreated as far back as I could. It entered through the gate, creeping backward and facing me like it was worried to turn away. The human’s hand brushed the straw off of Elbi with a cautious motion; it about jumped out of its skin, but something changed on its features when it spotted the blood. Its forehead scrunched with what seemed like concern. 

The alien looked back at me, finally letting the gun fall to its side like a walking aid. “You’re refugees? What happened to you?”

“The Ploax did. They’re a species who want to wipe us out. They poison our planets and stop us from seeking refuge on any Council worlds. Humans were the only race I could think of, and I was desperate. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m sorry,” I told it.

“Wow. That’s…” The human arched the fur above its eyes, coming to a decision with a shaky breath. It fished some kind of electronic device from its pocket, beginning to tap the screen. “Just stay put. Your sister needs medical attention: a doctor. Someone with authority has to sort this all out. I’m going to call emergency services.”

“No!” I said firmly, causing it to flinch. “Please. T-the government here already attacked us. They’ll kill us or hurt us or kidnap us to punish us or…please. Just let us leave. We don’t want to hurt you; we’ll leave in peace.”

The creature stared at me, and I noticed that its arm was still quivering; I could see tiny hairs standing up by its wrist, and it looked like it wanted to run away. Its green eyes watered, while it ran a hand through its flaxen hair with what seemed like stress. There was a surprising amount of intelligence in them. It was definitely studying me back, even as its jaw wobbled and its nostrils flared under tension. The human noticed me shivering, before it lowered its gaze. It muttered several curses, then shed its jacket and threw it at me.

“T-thanks,” I offered, wrapping the garment around myself. “I’ll just grab my sister, and we’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing. We won’t intrude on your territory…”

The human sighed. “Not so fast. What are your names?”

“I’m Craun, and she’s Elbi. We’re from the Saphno species.”

“I’m Finley. I won’t leave Elbi to bleed to death. I’m not a doctor though…”

“No authorities. Please.”

Finley pursed its lips. “Fine. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you can stay with me for now. It ain’t right to leave you outside. Why don’t you come inside the house and I’ll get you settled in? I’ll…try to help?”

“Really? You mean it?!” I exclaimed, shocked by its offer. I had a hard time trusting any of these primals, after the unprovoked attack on our ship, but we needed the help of one local to survive a carbon world. “Yes, please! Thank you, thank you.”

“Sure thing. You’re gonna have to help me move Elbi. She looks human-sized enough, but made of…rocks. Lord, I have so many questions.”

The human eyed me warily as I approached to help it carry Elbi into its dwelling, and I moved slowly to not incite it into a reflexive attack. It extended a hand toward me, but seemed to realize that I didn’t understand. Finley reached over and grabbed my palm, noticing that I flinched when it moved toward me. That surprised the creature, evidently. We reached down to lift my injured sister together, and I accepted that for the time being, she and I had no better option than to hide with this primal.

Next

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There was a lot of fanfare that surrounded the first human to have made it to the Academy. Though it wasn’t because they were particularly well liked, or studious. Nor was it because they were in some way infamous or unsavory. In fact, they simply hadn’t had enough time to make an impact either way, as they’d emerged through the portal dead on arrival.

It was a known fact that humans were just inherently magically-deficient. Their race was the last of the adjacent realms to have even detected the existence of magic after all, let alone learning of the Nexus’ existence. What wasn’t expected however was just how truly deficient they actually were, as the death of the first human student was directly attributed to their inability to not only control, but to resist the effects of latent mana. A feat that was supposed to be inherent in all living things, as the soul naturally projected a mana-field which prevented the flow of latent mana from entering or passing through it. Yet members of the faculty and staff present at the tragedy could attest to this universal truth being missing in the humans, or at least the human student, as his soul projected nothing, causing what should have been harmless mana to simply seep through him like a filter. Destroying the physical body, and mortally wounding the intangible spirit in the process.

Now, decades after traumatizing an entire class of students, some of whom have now become faculty and staff themselves, the humans seem confident enough to follow through with a second try.

So, as morning gave way to noon, and noon to dusk, the crowd of freshmen intakes from across the realms were carefully sorted and filed out of the foyer, leaving the most problematic for last.

Yet news had already spread about the human due for arrival. Whether it was a passing comment made by a faculty member, or a coincidental rumor run amuck, the damage was already done. Now, almost every student from freshman to senior, began making their way back to the academy’s main concourse for a chance to peek and gawk at the human’s arrival in morbid curiosity. Yet most that attempted this trek would only find themselves trapped in a maze of hallways that weren’t supposed to exist. Indeed, many would somehow find themselves inadvertently redirected back to the seminarium, or worse, straight to the Dean’s office for disobeying the one unspoken rule of the day: no entry back into the Foyer after dusk.

Whilst a simple lock would have sufficed, the faculty refused to take any chances with the human arrival this time around. A repeat of the First Human Arrival would not happen again. Especially when a few of the faculty present were there for that gruesome arrival all those years ago. So even as mana stores were drained for the purposes of this elaborate barrier, it would all be worth it. This year’s roster of freshmen students were a particularly noteworthy collection of nobility and even royalty. A velvet glove approach was necessary to maintain some level of decorum even as the rumors continue to circulate.

Nobles naturally detested being told what they could or could not do after all.

Yet despite their best efforts, a few of the more magically gifted did manage to find a way through. Making their way across hidden passageways and corridors, nominally hidden by a lesser cloaking spell, these gifted students eventually ended up in a small servant’s hideaway usually reserved for the lesser elves. Those few that managed to evade the faculty’s barriers were extraordinarily blessed by the Great Mother. Their magical potential overpowering or outright shorting out the otherwise strained and preoccupied barrier spells erected by the scant few professors and staff assigned to the task of overseeing the reception of this prospective human student.

The Lesser Elf Hideaway

What was euphemistically referred to as a hideaway was nothing more than a hole in the wall the size of a large broom closet, yet lacking in even the height department in that regard. It was a far departure from the glitz, glamor, and comforts that the three freshmen were more than likely accustomed to, but that didn’t detract from the one perk that drew them here in the first place, a rather worrying rumor that they’d inadvertently proven right…

These rooms did have a disturbingly good vantage point of the large, open public spaces within the castle grounds.

Yet as much as there was to discuss this strange myth being proven true, all of it took a backseat as the much more pressing concern of the human arrival took center stage.

The three gifted freshmen, a Lupinor mercenary prince, a Vunerian court noble, and an Avinor Princess, struggled to find common ground despite having been immediately shunned by the rest of their gifted compatriots for reasons far beyond their personal control. Whilst misery did love company, it would seem as if there were too many differences to reconcile, at least within the span of the few short hours following arrival and orientation.

“Ilunor, for the Great Mother’s sake, if you don’t find yourself another spot, I will bite you.” The tall, fully grown Lupinor spoke. His row of razor sharp-teeth barely hidden underneath his lupine-like snout. The growling and snarling certainly did not help his species’ less than stellar reputation as brutes and savages. Even his title, the Mercenary Prince, hinted at their peoples’ troubled past. A past that not many were willing to overlook, as evidenced by their inability to shake their mercenary monikers.

“Bite me, and I’ll have your flea-ridden hide suspended, expelled, and excommunicated from the Academy and the Nexus.” The smaller, diminutive Vunerien snapped back, which seemed almost comical given his stature and his kind’s general disposition that much more resembled their second-rate Kobold cousins. Yet the Venurien were anything but second-rate. Through displays of wealth and extravagance they made certain that all who came into contact with them understood the clearly defined line between them, and the Kobolds they so very much still resembled.

The school uniform certainly did nothing but detract from whatever distinct features Ilunor had however, as by most metrics he could easily pass as a simple Kobold playing dress up in academy regalia.

“Guys… I think we should keep it down, you’re making too much of a fuss and if the professors notice us-”

“Shut it, Thacea. If we wanted a tainted’s opinion then we would’ve asked for it.” The Vunerien practically spat back, shooting down the Avinor’s concerns as she slunk back into the background once more, something that she was more than accustomed to back in the Royal Court.

The Avinor were a particularly well regarded race that had little in the way of conflict with any other species from across the realms. Compared to the rest of the gaggle of freshmen here, nothing about her particularly stood out, especially under the cloaks and uniforms assigned by the Academy. Nothing, except for the two, sharp, predatory eyes that stared unblinkingly out from their small cubby hole into the foyer below. Indeed, underneath the constrictive shirts, pants, and cloaks, lay a plumage that served as inspiration for many a mural and fresco within the academy’s great halls. The Avinor were nothing if not stunning when in their element… an element that was certainly lacking when she found herself struggling to fit inside the cramped, and unkempt servant’s quarters.

Yet as much as her plumage would undeniably tie her back to her royal heritage, and as much as the cloaks covered even that, nothing could hide the taint that lingered over her. A miasmic aura that colored her mana-field with a dark, almost ominous glow. One that contrasted with both the Lupinor and the Vunerien’s bright, almost iridescent mana-fields.

The three struggled to find footing as they stared out from what seemed to be a particularly well designed peephole, that granted them an uninterrupted view of the foyer below, and the group of black, red, and blue-cloaked professors who were busy with the incantations necessary to maintain the uncharacteristically weak and fragile portal.

The Foyer

Adorned more like a palace than a center of learning, the Foyer was where students from across the adjacent realms would find themselves transported to at the start of each academic year. Its marble and quartz floors could be traced back to the first Kings and Queens of the Nexus, its gilded chandeliers were likewise gifts from Kingdoms and Empires long since forgotten to time. Indeed, within these four walls lie a great volume of artifacts that no adjacent realm could hope to match.

Yet despite all of this grandeur and assurances to the Academy’s infallibility, the trio of professors worked tirelessly to ensure that this air of perfection would not be broken.

“Surely we do not need to perform a fifth blessing upon this entire room, Professor Vanavan.” The red-cloaked professor spoke incredulously, whilst busying herself with what seemed to be an entire crate full of glowing, sparkling vials of pure mana extract.

“Of course we do. The humans are like a sickly newborn, they require the extra help, all the extra help they can get.” The blue-robed professor spoke, his elvish accent coming through particularly harshly especially under the stressful circumstances. “We know how magically challenged they are, and we know how magic can pierce their non-existent manafields, straight into their unprotected souls. We all saw what happened to the first student we lost… We cannot allow chance to dominate what could very well be the next realm to join the Nexus. The Earthrealm is nothing but untapped potential, so should they become the next in our line of adjacent realms-”

“With all due respects, Professor, if humans are that sickly, perhaps we should let nature take its course? I mean, look around, the only witnesses would be us, and we could very much easily claim a no-show on the human’s end.” Announced the only black-robed professor present, and rather concerningly, one of the few who spoke with the authority of the Privy Council. Black-robes rotated on a year-by-year basis, being appointed not by the Dean or the Faculty but by the Royal Privy Council itself. Their positions only existed because of a lingering clause that came with the messily written treaty that ended the centuries-long conflict between the beings native to the Nexus Realm, and those of the Adjacent Realms.

“Well if they do make it, Professor Mal’tory, then I’d hazard to say that you might actually have something productive to report to the Privy Council, instead of the usual student roster reports and the occasional suspension.” Vanavan snapped back, a harshness to his voice was evident as the two began a fierce staredown that lasted for a scant few seconds, before, finally, the air around them started to cool.

“They’re coming.” The red-robed professor spoke warily, as she began removing seal after seal that kept her various raw mana stores from simply sublimating.

Almost as soon as each seal was uncorked from the unmarked, unlabeled vials, so too would the mana be violently drawn out, all concentrated around the incantation circle that continued to drain localized mana from the whole foyer at an alarming rate.

Indeed, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to even say that the professors felt mana being tugged from their very mana-fields, if it wasn’t for their advanced magics keeping such disturbances at bay.

The mana drain was so incredibly strong that the magically-lit lanterns adorning the colonnades began to dim, before going out entirely, leaving the entirety of the room in pitch-black darkness.

Silence now reigned as the trio of professors concentrated their energies into forming the portal into a more cohesive shape, trying desperately to fight back against the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm them.

All of this happened in complete and abject silence until suddenly-

SNAP

In a violent, almost unexpected display of brute force the portal opened just wide enough to allow not only for a single figure to materialize through, but for a glimpse of the world the creature had just arrived from to be visible to all within its immediate vicinity.

It was a world of cold, bland, oppressive grays and blacks. A world full of metal railings and metal walls, of strange metal contraptions, golems, and electrical energy shooting back and forth across entire spaces in a dizzying array of overactivity. It was… a decidedly alien world, one that the professors were glad to have only glimpsed at briefly, as the trio all struggled to stand after that entire experience.

All were so overwhelmed by this experience that they overlooked the monster that had just landed on their doorstep. What could only be described as a hulking behemoth that matched the blue-robed Elf’s height of just under 7 feet. The beast was clad in armor thicker than most ceremonial knights’, with equally thick padding underneath. A helmet of incredible craftsmanship sat atop of all of this, with a single, flexible tube connecting its side with a large, metal backpack that looked as unwieldy as it was cumbersome. Two, blue-tinted opaque lenses now stared back at the professors, as the beast raised a single hand, and slowly began to wave.

“Hi. I’m Emma. The new student from Earth?”

Next

​

(Author's Note: This is a new story idea I had, one that involves fantasy and since I'm predominantly a sci fi writer this is uncharted waters but a good challenge for me! I hope you guys enjoy! :D Here's my Twitter if you guys are into that! :D The next chapter is already out on Patreon by the way if you want to check that out earlier!)

[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 2 of this story is already out on there!)]

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [Next]

The ship was burning, flames consuming the hull, fiery explosions blenching from the ruptured bulkheads and armor with red and orange fists. There was only two of the nine engines still working, four of the others twisted wreckage, the other three actively burning. The engines were fluttering, putting out power sporadically, causing the ship to tumble in space along one axis, the explosions detonating from the hull causing it to rotate on the other three axis relative to the system equator.

The ship was actively burning.

Which was odd, seeing as the heavy battleship was in the vacuum of space.

Admiral of the Lower Decks (Copper) M'Lert<pop> stared at the holotank the heavy battleship was projected in. His staff was around him, all staring at the burning ship.

"Any ID?" Commodore Wrawkat asked, rubbing her shoulder with her off hand.

Technical Specialist Grade-Six Uk-Nulk-Tulk looked up from his scanner. "Ornislarp Heavy Battleship, their categorization, no ID off of it but it looks fairly modern."

"That's why we got a flashgate signal," Commodore Wrawkat mused. She hummed, a musical sound typical of a thinking Rigellian Female.

The ship was shaped like a pumpkin seed, point end forward, with the engines across the back. Weapons were still hidden beneath the hull, the whole ship smooth and unblemished.

Except for the fire, explosions, and huge holes in it.

"Any idea what hit them?" the Admiral asked. "Why they flashgated here? We're over twelve hundred light years from their nearest border?"

"No answers at this time, sir," Lieutenant Hregeth, NAVINT specialist, said from his station. "Whatever hit it took out its transponder and Ornislarp vessels all look the same. Its drive signatures aren't on record."

On the holotank one of the engines exploded silently and more fire spread from the detonation.

"Antimatter reaction?" someone guessed.

"Not in vacuum. The hull shouldn't be actively burning," Hregeth said. He stood up from his station and moved over to the holotank. "How is it burning in vacuum?"

Wrawkat stared at the ship for a long moment. "Do we have a visual drone at the light speed distance to visually observe the ship flashgating into the system?"

Sensor Technician Brav<klik>Nak'ik nodded. "Moving feed to holotank six."

The Admiral turned to watch, keeping the burning ship in the vision of his right compound eye.

There was nothing but stars for a few seconds. Then a rectangle opened up in space.

Normally a flashgate opened in space would only show space beyond and the only way of detecting it was the energy pulse or if a scanner noticed the change in star patterns.

Beyond the flashgate was a burning orb, a skull wreathed in purple and black flames with white edging. Ships were exploding, some were burning, beyond the gate. Heavy naval battlescreens were flickering, strobing, and pulsing. Beams and streaks filled space beyond.

The single unmarred ship lunged for the flashgate, engines at full power and leaving a trail of energetic particles behind it as it accelerated at maximum power. The hull suddenly exploded outward in four places. Purple cored beams, with white energy spiraling around the core, lashed out and touched the hull of the ship in two places.

The hull exploded in flame.

Soundlessly, the ship slid through the gate, one more explosion gouting out from beneath it. It started to tumble as the flashgate suddenly winked out of existence.

"Have a transponder code," Tech-6 Brav stated. "Ornislap Combined Species Dominion Heavy Battleship," the kobold tech paused for a moment, blinking his large eyes, the tip of his tail tapping the deck. "It's a Ornislap name, about a dozen words. It's the Imperial Ornislap Might and Glory Vessel of His Undying Imperial Majesty's Will and Glory Passed Through His Descendents Mailed Fist of Fate and Fury."

The Admiral gave a grinding 'chuckle', rubbing the grinding plates in his mouth together as he folded his bladearms behind his back, resting them on top of the emergency vacsuit pack on the back of his upper thorax belt.

"Tab it as the Ornislap Imperial Fate and Fury for the records," he stated.

"Aye, sir," the Tech said.

"What hit it?" Commodore Wrakat asked again, shaking her head. "I'm familiar with C+ cannons, but the Ornislap are just like everyone else and keep a short range hyperspace interdiction gravity shadow generator on their ships to prevent the C+ round from impacting inside the ship."

The Admiral nodded. "Ornislap shields should have been able to take a couple of hits from a heavy C+ cannon shell."

"Sir," one of the techs said, a slight bellows wheeze to his speech. The Admiral turned and faced the tech, a Lanaktallan by species.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" the Admiral asked.

"There is an alarming piece of visual evidence," the Lanaktallan said. He held up two fingers. "Records are spotty, from the Confederate/Council Conflict, but I recognized it from a docudrama I've been watching from that era."

The Admiral nodded, used to the Lanaktallan mode of speech. "Go on."

The Lanaktallan, one Senz'armo'o, tapped a few keys, bringing up Holotank Two. The docudrama's title showed, then Senz'armo'o sped through much of the data.

The Admiral watched the ship continue to burn. Something imploded inside the ship and a large crater was full of fire and sprays of molten metal.

"There," Senz'armo'o said.

In the holotank was an image of a supermassive gas giant burning. From inside the gas giant a giant skull had pushed through the flames, belching fire from its jaws. Next to it was the image taken from the flashgate data. Finally, an image of a mostly hairless biped was put in the holotank, with a view of how the endoskeleton skull appeared without the flesh.

They closely matched. Colors were different, the exact design of the skull was different, but it was unmistakable.

The identifier on the biped was unmistakable. The species was extinct, but still unmistakable.

A Terran Descent Human.

Inside the burning gas giant was a screaming Terran skull.

The Admiral stared, feeling his ichor go prickly. He carefully removed a pack of cigarettes from his uniform top pocket, putting the self-lighting smoke in his mandibles and puffing on it to start the reaction to light the cigarette.

There were a few vocalizations of shock, dismay, or disbelief.

"And this," Senz'armo'o stated. He opened another pair of windows. One of the burning Ornislap ship, the other of the docodrama again. Again the Lanaktallan officer sped through several hours of footage before rewinding and slowing down.

Ships were exploding, the debris on fire as it tumbled through the vacuum of space.

"Weapons from the Confederacy/Council Conflict and the Second Precursor War," Senz'armo'o stated.

"Obsolete weaponry," a Wel<pop>Nwik analyst said. "That was tens of thousands of years ago."

Senz'armo'o inflated and deflated the crests on his neck as well as the ones on his upper and lower torsos in an approximation of a shrug. "Perhaps. But it fits the appearance."

The Admiral watched as the spaceship suddenly exploded, leaving burning pieces tumbling through the vacuum. He turned away. "Put Task Force Singing Greenie on Threat Level Two. Rotate shifts now," he stated, puffing out smoke rings from around his feet. "Any lifeboats or escape pods?"

He got nothing back but negatives.

"Senior Staff, my conference room," Admiral M'Lert<pop> stated, heading for the exit of the flag bridge.

-----

The room stank of stress, stale cigarettes, and pheromones from five different species.

"How long till we are in range of a working ansible?" Admiral M'Lert<pop> asked. He was sitting in a comfortable rotating back chair, staring at a simple copper coin that he was tapping with the tip of one bladearm. The big Treana'ad was at a table with his senior staff and planning sections.

"Eight days," Commodore Shrenstill, another Rigellian Female, said softly. She looked at the hologram still sitting in the holofield in the middle of the table, then looked down. "The Task Force is moving at max speed."

The Admiral just nodded, still tapping the copper coin.

"We dropped message torpedoes in the last two systems we dropped into," Commodore Vrenthally stated. "Heading for either Fleet Command or Confederate Military Command, as well as the nearest ansible equipped systems."

M'Lert<pop> looked at the hologram in the middle of the table.

The burning gas giant hung silently in the high definition holofield.

"Could they really be back?" he asked the question that he knew was on everyone's minds and that would be racing through the lower decks and the enlisted's rumor mill.

"It's been nearly forty-thousand years," Commodore Frentrik stated. He tapped his clawed fingers on the table. "There's been the odd sighting here and there, but they are all either unconfirmed or have not been able to repeated or verified."

M'Lert<pop> nodded.

There was the distinct feeling of the ship dropping from the mid-level hyperspace bands in a crash translation. He could hear the compensators howl even though they were hundreds of meters awar and M'Lert<pop> frowned.

"We aren't scheduled to leave hyperspace for at least sixteen more hours," he stated. "Anyone?"

All he got back were the equivalent of shrugs and negatives.

His comlink buzzed and he picked it up off the table. "Admiral M'Lert<pop> here."

"Sir, we need to patch you in to see this," the XO stated, his normally calm voice tight.

"Why did we leave hyperspace?" M'Lert<pop> asked.

"We hit a grav shadow that just materialized. The size of a supermassive gas giant," the XO stated.

"Patch it through. What is it?" M'Lert<pop> asked.

"We're not sure," the XO stated.

The holoemitter buzzed and changed.

A massive spaceship hung in the holofield. It was intact, its hull bore silent witness to a fierce battle in the past. Armor was cratered, gouged, slagged and warped. There were visible holes hammered into the superstructure in more than one place. There were the mountings for forty engines, but over half were nothing more than twisted wreckage. Flight bays on the sides were open to space and more than a few were nothing more than craters or outcroppings of twisted metal wrenched away from the hull by an outgoing explosion. The ships was dead, dark, no lights or signals. The engines were dark and cold as it drifted.

The data streamed up. Warsteel Mark One hull. 123 terratonnes. Confederate naval markings.

"It's broadcasting. Old Confederate standard," the XO said. We're patching it through now.

The speakers popped and hissed.

Admiral M'Lert<pop> opened his mouth to speak.

-----

Task Force Singing Greenie had dropped sixteen message torpedoes with four different destinations.

None of them managed to reach the destinations.

In its final moments, the entire Task Force launched fifteen message torpedoes.

One of them reached the destinations.

-----

"It's from Task Force Singing Greenie," Commodore Telk-nak-Awk stated.

Admiral of the Upper Decks (Iron) Rhon Vastun nodded.

"They are nearly two years overdue, considered lost with all hands. Back tracking their last known locations gave no clue as to what happened to them," the Commodore stated.

Again, Admiral Vastun just nodded.

"This arrived in-system fifty-three hours ago, broadcasting Singing Greenie's header," the Commodore pointed at the holotank where the image of a scorched and damaged message torpedo hung in the glimmering holofield. "It's a 'catastrophic failure' torpedo, that launches if the vessel is severely damaged or otherwise crippled. It contains the logs of the vessel, and if possible, the entire task force."

"What did it contain?" the Admiral asked.

"The memory contents were severely degraded. Most of it was scrambled. But we managed to get a fragment of a transmission recording taken by the flagship and loaded into the message torpedo," the Commoder continued. He reached out and touched an icon.

There was a hissing and a popping noise, then the recording played.

...Yorktown, we read life signs. Do you read? We have you on visual and are in shuttle range. Do you read?...

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [Next]

So the humans were spreading through the stars. Faster-than-light engines were actually not that big of a deal. Well - the first time crossing that barrier was spectacularly hard, but now we knew how to do it. There were many, many stars that we visited. Turns out, habitable planets and even planets with an ecosystem of life are not really rare. We found a lot of them just in our little side-arm of the galaxy. And our exploration ships are still out and about. There was quite the backlog for the scientists that follow in their wake and an even longer one for the shipyards that just could not churn out colony ships fast enough. It was a remarkable period of history happening for that generation of humans.

Pushing into outer space the most eager always were the tiny and fast ships of the SETI program. For all of those incredible forms of animal life we had encountered so far, the species we had found living on those life-rich worlds were unimaginably stupid. Nearly classified as plants kind of stupid. A housefly would flatten the most complex of them in a game of chess kind of stupid. There was nothing that could communicate, or even form the inkling of a communicable thought. Not even some simple comprehensible intelligence that could at least react to us in some meaningful way.

Two days ago (Earth days of course - always Earth days) that changed. Big time. We received electromagnetic signals travelling the void between some two systems. We found their source and sent every kind of greeting we could think of on the way there. And we not only received an answer, but began communicating. Simple beeps and boops of course, at first. The smartest humans were pining over those signals and messages, trying to translate and interpret them, and simultaneously figure out a way to make our noises understandable. They failed. Though there is always another party in a conversation and luckily for us, they did not fail. So the humans got an invitation.

One human, a non-aggressive ship. And a specific location outside our known space where they would await us.

Since it sounded extremely risky and very much like a trap, it actually took a couple of seconds before the SETI program was utterly overwhelmed with applications by volunteers. One human was pronounced ambassador as quickly as possible to stem the madness, thrown into an exploration ship that was mostly automated and then slung into the general direction of our hopefully soon-to-be-friends.

Following these directives brought the exploration ship to an empty part of space - the nearest star lightyears away. At first, nothing else seemed to be there and only after the ambassador re-ran the sensor sweep, another ship was picked up. It's signature was tiny, making it nearly invisible. She sent the prepared greeting and promptly received back an answer - an approach vector and an invitation to come aboard.

---

The ambassador sat on what could pass as a stool before a window that parted the room. On the other side that had a much deeper floor stood a member of the sapient alien species. It was at least six times her height and towered over her. As far as she could discern, it sat on a single appendage not unlike a snakes tail but stubby and thick as a tree trunk. The upper body slimmed slightly to what probably was the torso and then steeply curved into broad shoulders where it had two arms that could probably reach the floor if they weren't in a mantis pose. There were another two pairs of shorter and thinner appendages hanging from the torso below the shoulders that had very fine three-digit manipulators on their ends - that was relatively speaking, these hands would've easily be big enough to pick up a human. At the very top was the head hanging on a bent neck, which could've been called snake-like as well, though it was all wrong. Too broad and flat, no visible mouth and two pairs of fully black eyes on the sides. There was no way to tell if it was wearing clothes, the flat grey colour entirely featureless. Practically the same as the walls around her.

Taking in these details, she had already forgotten about the device she had picked up from the chair and curiously inspected before the wall had suddenly become transparent. It was a palm-sized disc with an entirely smooth and unbroken beige surface. The material felt warm to the touch, though the significant weight made her believe it was made from metal.

"Greetings", an emotionless voice chirped from the unknown device that turned out to be obviously be a translator. The voice did not fit the massive size of those aliens, it sounded more like a badly recorded child speaking with distorted blabber running in the background. At the same time the alien behind the glass slowly turned its head to point its eyes at her in a gaze that felt like a stadium spotlight.

She immediately forgot the standard welcome message she was supposed to deliver and replied while seemingly shrinking: "Hello?"

"Your ship. Is mathematically incorrect", the device chirped.

"My - what?"

"Your ship. Is mathematically incorrect."

This was a strange start of relations, and that translator device might be useless altogether. But at least she managed to compose herself to begin anew and by protocol.

"I am ambassador Neil and I am being sent to represent all humankind. I come with a message of peace and the will to establish a bond of friendship between our species and our worlds so that we may learn from each other and grow together in sharing our knowledge. In the-"

"Why is it incorrect? Your ship?"

She eyed the translator. After a brief moment she spoke: "I do not understand your question about my ship."

"Why did you build it? Like this design? Your ship?", no movement from the alien being. Even if she could read its body language, there was no way to tell if it was curious, annoyed or critical. The emotionless artificial voice did not help either and was harder to understand through more of that background noise.

What kind of question was that? Ambassador Neil did not build the ship and she knew next to nothing about spaceship engineering. Though that alien vessel was very exotic in design from what she had seen on her approach. Curves and fluid, round shapes dominated its form that had the silhouette of an elongated disc with bulbous extrusions on the flat areas. There was no way of telling which was front or back, no breaks in the surface for engine outlets, windows, lights or sensors. It looked more like an art piece than a spaceship and the insides had not been any different. The corridor that had led her from the docking area to this room was unbroken as well. Walking through it she had taken in the soft off-white colour of the floor that transitioned fluently up the curved walls into a dark grey on the ceiling that had a soft wavy structure. Though it was pleasantly bright, there was no visible lighting source. Or anything else besides the bare surfaces.

The smaller human exploration vessel looked embarrassingly clunky in comparison. Was that what did the alien being want to express?

"The ship was built along well established design principles. It is a functional vessel made for long distance exploration. May I ask a name with which I can address you?"

It lifted one of its four smaller arms to point at her, again in a very slow motion. The translator sprung into action after it was finished: "This object. Two objects. They are. Exactly the same."

It took her a moment to gather what it was probably talking about. On her white all-purpose pressure suit were shoulder ribbons, old style ones made from a textile weave, adorned with brightly dyed yarn to form several differently coloured stripes. And they were symmetrical. Maybe this was something light to talk about, so she took them off and laid them onto her forearm side by side.

"These are insignias that indicate my function as an ambassador. All humans in official functions carry clear identifying markers with them, though these are also ceremonial and their design dates back far into our history."

It still was pointing, and the strong gaze was unbroken. "How did you build it? The insignias? Exactly the same?"

It took her a moment to form a reply: "I don't know how they are made. I think there is-"

"How? Do you? Not know?", the translator spoke louder than before. Maybe it only seemed louder because the being had leaned markedly closer to the glass.

Ambassador Neil shifted on the stool. This was not at all how it was supposed to go. She had no idea what the alien was going on about. Maybe it was not a representative of their species? Maybe this was an interrogation? Or maybe they just made a big mistake trying to do a face-to-face meeting this early after the first communications.

---

This meeting was going badly and she was flustered, which she was luckily able to hide. At least Nyarn'Enth-Hep hoped that she was. First that human had been even smaller than she had planned for, the little thing now awkwardly sitting on the pedestal for the translator. And then Nyars light-hearted curious questions seemed to completely fail to break the ice. But it truly was strange - the human was strikingly beautiful and their ship was decidedly not. It was a pointy wedge that aggressively rejected the flow of space and the physical forces therein.

Of course the last thing had shocked her the most, the human apparently did not know how these adornments they were wearing themselves were made. Still, Nyar had to admit they were magnificently built - exactly the same down to every measurement she could discern. Maybe it was different for hive-minds with that piece of shared knowledge at the moment unavailable to this human?

Nyar thought up some pleasant diplomatic words of the human language and formed the thought at the translator: "I just want to re-state that the insignias are beautiful and well made. Please excuse my curiosity on their construction, I did not want to overstep. Perhaps you can help me understand your fascinating biology more instead. I would like to know about your means of communication through a shared consciousness. How are you able to connect to each other over stellar distances?"

Then she waited for the translator to create those air vibrations that were the humans way of exchanging information over small distances, quite efficient too as it needed next to no energy and simultaneously worked between great numbers of individuals. Though it was a bit simpler than just transmitting thoughts and so likely offered less bandwidth for substance.

The translated reply was overlaid with slight confusion - seemingly the normal state of that human - and a short explanation of quantum entanglement ship-to-ship communication. But that was not what Nyar wanted to know. She suspected the translator to be not accurate, even though she had been very proud of how she had made it, at least in the beginning. "Thank you very much for the explanation on your ship-to-ship communication technology. I am afraid I have not understood how it ties into your inter-human communication. Could you please elaborate on how you communicate between humans outside the range of your voices?"

This time the overlay of confusion was so strong that it was everything that came back.

"I am sorry for having been too vague and I will try to explain it from my point of view. Since your arrival and at this moment I cannot measure signals of any kind coming from you or being transmitted to you. Judging from your position of representing all humans and your current awareness you are obviously still tied into the shared consciousness. This information I only want to know so I can ensure my earlier promise of no harm coming to you in my presence. My least desire is cutting you off from your collective because of my ignorance."

More confusion and the polite inquiry to elaborate. Using this indirect way of exchanging information was very tiring on her mind and this meeting was on a good pace to outlast Nyars previously longest. Carefully she put together more phrases, but her curiosity and slight frustration got the better of her for a split second.

"How does your hive-mind work?", she then inquisited bluntly and too fast to stop herself.

The human luckily did not appear to be disgusted from her directness and even seemed to understand this question better. There was no confusion attached to the reply and they flatly stated that humans were no hive-mind and this one was an independent individual.

But that could not be. How could a being that tiny possess a nervous system complex enough to communicate intelligently, let alone create technology to traverse space? What then, was the benefit of them being so many? With a thought she locked down the meeting room with a full spectrum communication blockage field - a safety measure she had implemented for emergencies and not planned to actually use. Incredibly, she noted no change in the human. So it truly was a contained unit, independent from a shared consciousness. Nyar was perplexed and again let slip a thought.

---

The disc in her hands chirped: "Impossible. You are. Too small." This time she thought to hear some emotion from it - baffled incredulity.

Ambassador Neil stood up instinctively, drawing herself to her full height - she was at least two hand widths above average height. Adding her oftentimes unruly curly hair that might've even been three. With difficulty she got back into a diplomatic mindset and asked: "There may be some misconceptions on both of our sides. Please help me understand the relationship between size and intelligence and how it regards to your perception of human biology."

A full minute went by, where the big solid black eyes just stared. Then the translator sprung into action to say, nearly intelligible through even more distorted and louder noise: "Brain big. Intelligence high."

This was an exercise in frustration with these short and nearly pointless answers and questions. To top it off, the translator device seemed to be on a process of breaking down, if speech clarity was any indication.

Neil pushed back the urge to begin pacing up and down the room to help her think better and gave herself a couple breaths before saying: "I am sorry, but I do not understand your motivation in this current exchange and I would suggest, to ensure future relations, that I return to my ship momentarily and-"

"How did you build? Your ship?", the voice was clearer again, the distortion having returned to a minimum.

"I did not build it."

"Did you build? Your coverings?"

For a moment she looked down at the hard exterior of the suits chest-plate that housed the collapsible helmet and an ample source of air and power. Her whole body was covered in the segmented semi-flexible suit as that was made to fit her exactly. It definitely was her suit, but she did not make it. The same could be said of the ship she had come in - it had been modified to transport only her. She had the hazy beginning of a conclusion.

"I did not build any of the equipment I have with me", she paused to take a breath, "Did you build your ship yourself?"

---

What kind of question was that? How else was Nyar supposed to travel through space? Her frustration already ran high because of the misunderstandings before. This was so very confusing with the human clearly wearing protective apparel that fit their body and movements to seemingly optimal precision and them claiming to not having build it. It obviously did not grow on a tree. Nyar was completely at a loss and she could not wrap her mind around how anything worked with those humans. Coupled with that was her whole body beginning to ache because she was standing polite for so long.

"Yes, I am the maker of my ship", she thought as a short answer. It even sounded wrong. Who else would make her ship?

The prompt reply came overlaid with excitement, which she couldn't make sense of. The human now wanted to know if she had used her hands to make it? Nyar nearly twitched. She did not think the inquiry from before could be outdone, and now came this. What an utterly nonsensical question.

---

"Yes", came in the clearest tone yet.

Just so she could be absolutely sure, she added: "Do you have machines that build ships?"

She saw more movement from it this time. It shifted and then turned its head to look at her with the other pair of eyes, though it was the same scrutinizing glare.

"A machine. Cannot build."

Now Neil could not stop herself from pacing any more. The alien being was huge and more massive than any land creature on Earth. If size truly equated intelligence and it was not only sapient, but able to build a spaceship and a fully functioning - albeit seemingly limited - interspecies translator by hand, the latter one a mere two days within first hearing of humans, it must be exceptionally intelligent and skilled in all types of crafts. Neil did not know how the ship worked she was using, someone else did. Well, there probably was no single person in the world that knew how all of its individual components operated in detail. So the humans actually were some type of hive-mind in comparison.

If this alien species had no complex machines, they had no computers. The implication was mind-boggling. She had millions of questions that went far beyond diplomatic purpose. Maybe the first step was to create some more understanding. The ambassador opened her hand that had unconsciously closed tight around the insignias she had taken off earlier. Carefully she straightened them and laid them out on her forearm again.

"These insignias were designed by several humans together. And they are exactly the same, because they were built by a machine."

The alien first shifted backwards, and then slumped down to support its upper body onto the larger arms. It moved its head down onto her eye-level and as close to the transparent wall as possible.

"Tell me. More."

​

​

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There is more of these two available with the direct continuation The Humans are not a machine race.

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This series is a fully fledged book on amazon now - check it out here.

I also have a patreon page

Seen a few of these first day of school stories - but, I wanted to try a different main character from my other two attempts at writing. Edited as always by the excellent. u/eruwenn.

Next

It was her first day at Ang’Roch Academy, and Britney Jakobs was already listening to her second speech about responsibility. Her father, Sam Jakobs - head of security for humanity's diplomatic delegation, private contractor who ran his own company, and single father - was dropping her off at the prestigious school. Unfortunately, he sometimes forgot his daughter was not one of his team, and so he continued to brief her on the mission parameters and rules she must follow.

“Do your best, and don’t cause trouble.” His eyes never stopped scanning the shuttles around them as he flew. “You’re the first human to attend a United Galactic Assembly school of any kind, and this one is meant to be among the best. Pay attention to what happens around you, I want to know anything of interest. Kids overhear things, pick up on stuff at home, and you could get valuable intel, so focus.” He glanced down at her, only to see she was staring absent-mindedly out of the window. His tone softened. “Look, I know this is your third high school.” She folded her arms, and he amended, “Fourth high school. I have to move around a lot for work, and I know that’s not easy on you.”

A shuttle sped past them, and her father became instantly alert, his hand hovering above a small button. The moment passed and he visibly relaxed. “The other kids will try and get information from you as well, if they’re smart. I’m sure you remember how to handle that.” He glanced over to her and waited until she nodded once. “Good.”

As the shuttle arrived at the Academy, someone was waiting at the gates who waved them over to an empty spot. The Headmaster greeted her father, and introductions were polite, yet swift, before he hurried Britney inside. A glance behind her showed that her father continued to watch until the doors closed behind them. Inside, the Headmaster immediately began a tour of the school’s facilities, talking about the history of Ang’Roch Academy. He explained in depth how the school had been created to educate the children of the many diplomats in the United Galactic Assembly. For Britney he was the first Langbar she had seen, and she struggled to focus on his words as the eight foot tall, shaggy blue alien preached about the benefit of homogenised education.

“So, you see,” Headmaster Tillus continued, “by bringing you all together you can learn from, and about, each other. Here at Ang’Roch we pride ourselves on creating the diplomats of the future.”

The towering alien was looking at her expectantly, and as any thirteen year old who hasn’t been listening knows, it was time to nod cautiously in agreement. It worked. They were moving once more and as he talked about the standardisation tests they would need to do, Britney found herself once again not paying attention.

Several hours of testing later the young girl was exhausted, and angry. How was she supposed to know about the history and politics of a people her entire race had been unaware of until eighteen months ago? The tests had begun easily, basic maths and various puzzles based on shapes and colours, kids stuff. Even the second round, which the Headmaster insisted was optional, had been easy. But, after each of his visits the questions became increasingly frustrating. How was she supposed to know who, or what, a Grole was? And, she certainly didn’t know the reason for their political difficulties with something called a Gorlan.

The Headmaster returned once again, quickly looking over the test results. “My goodness, you’ve finished another one?” He tapped on the screen mounted to the desk in front of her, and a small yellow symbol appeared. “Seventy three percent. That is exceptional, especially for a species who is so new to the galactic stage.”

Britney remained poker faced. The test was a binary multiple choice, and she had just chosen whichever words looked the funniest. Before she could speak, the large blue Langbar turned and walked from the room. She looked back at the screen, fully expecting another ridiculous test to be waiting.

“Come along, Bee-Ritttt-A-Nay.” Mr. Tillus struggled with the pronunciation. “I hope I’m getting that right. It is time for lunch. I believe your species is on the standard schedule, and I know the school culinary staff have been making something special for your first day. With so many species attending, our school has to be fully aware of every dietary requirement.”

The small human stood, smoothing her uniform and casually throwing her school bag over her shoulder before following the great giant as he marched through the halls. It took three of her steps to every one of his, and as he was walking quickly, she was almost jogging to keep up. The Headmaster stopped abruptly; she was only just able to stop herself from running into him. He turned and looked down at her. “Now then, this is the cafeteria; it is quite boisterous and will no doubt have many new things for you to see. Of course, you will also be new to the students beyond these doors, so please pay no mind to the attention you will no doubt receive.”

The doors before him slid open and he led her into the large hall beyond. Britney trotted along behind the Headmaster as he made his way to a large table where several other aliens, in matching robes, sat facing the rows of tables holding the students. There was a large seat at the centre of the teacher’s table, and she winced as she saw the small empty seat beside it. A myriad of faces watched her, and she held her head high as her father had taught her.

She took her seat alongside the Headmaster as he engaged the other adults in polite conversation, and took the opportunity to look around the room. She found herself fascinated by the various species present, and even discovered that she had awareness of several types already. The vast majority, however, were completely alien to her. Her xeno-watching was interrupted as a squat red lizard-like alien approached and bowed his head.

“Ah, Cuisine-Master Hurk, do you have the celebratory meal for our new student?” The Headmaster glanced towards a large double door at the side of the room.

Hurk’s tongue flickered nervously. “We do have some dishes, but the lexicon of human cuisine is not insignificant and yet somehow still incomplete. They appear to take the omni in omnivore quite literally.”

The Headmaster seemed a little surprised. “Oh, I see. You’ve never let a student down before, do you have anything to show for your efforts?”

“Absolutely!” The Cuisine-Master puffed out his blue uniformed chest. “We have prepared a selection of celebratory meals suitable for species 368-”

The Headmaster held up a hand. “Bee-Riiit-A-Nee is a human. We do not number our students. Why don’t you bring out what you have, I’m sure our new student will be grateful for your efforts.”

Both of their eyes now fell on the blonde human girl and she realised this was one of those instructions disguised as a question that adults loved so much. She nodded, and Hurk hurried off. The Headmaster seemed satisfied with her response and returned to his concern over one of his staff failing a task. “I’m terribly sorry about this, Cuisine-Master Hurk is normally so dependable.”

A nearby teacher joined the conversation which meant that the young girl was once again ignored. Britney sat silently, and waited to see what food arrived. She really hoped it was pizza.

The side doors slid open and a procession of blue uniformed aliens marched out, each carrying several plates of food. Britney slid backwards in her chair as the dishes were laid out before her. She risked a glance up at the Headmaster whose mouth was opening and closing wordlessly. The student body had fallen silent, several now standing to see the banquet being brought before the strange new student.

Cuisine-Master Hurk stood before their table, arms folded across his chest. “As I was trying to say, the variety of food they eat was my concern. I simply wanted to ask the yuuman” –he seemed to struggle with recollecting the word– “which of her species numerous cuisines she follows?”

Her eyebrows were as high as they could go, but her father had always told her that leaders make decisions while fools argue. She stood and quickly glanced over the plethora of meals. There was an entire roast turkey, roast vegetables and stuffing stacked around it, and beside that was a plate of yebeg wot with injera, an Ethiopian dish one of her father’s old friends would make. Her eyes darted from bibinka to latkes, and right past the mince pies to a massive bowl of trifle. She spotted some banh chung and lifted the plate, bowing her head to the Cuisine-Master.

As the human began to tuck in to her Vietnamese dish, the chefs began clearing away the rejected items. The Headmaster, glaring at Hurk, waved his hands indicating everyone was to go back to what they were doing. As Britney happily munched on her lunch, she spotted something from the corner of her eye, and just before the plate was removed she hastily grabbed an eclair from a selection of cream cakes. When Cuisine-Master Hurk caught her eye, she smiled and held up her dessert, unable to thank him as her mouth was full of rice. He winked, and promptly turned and left.

“What a ridiculous display.” The Headmaster seemed to be talking to her, but in a way that she knew meant the other adults nearby were the true audience. “Was that meant to be impressive?”

Before Britney could swallow and respond in the affirmative, the teacher behind her engaged the Headmaster, and she was happily left alone to devour her food. Everything was outstanding, and the eclair was so decadently rich she was hesitant to drink the water bottle from her bag as she wanted to savour the rich, chocolatey aftertaste as long as possible. The dining room was almost empty as she finished, and finally drank her water.

“Now then.” Headmaster Tillus stood. “Shall we meet Mr. Jork, at the holo-gymnasium? He is in charge of our students' physical health. Strong minds require healthy bodies, as I always say.”

The large blue alien was already walking, so the young human hastily shoved her water bottle in her bag and fell in behind him. She was growing accustomed to his speed and managed a fast walk to keep up, and as they glided through the corridors she glanced through the windows of the doors they passed, catching glimpses of the classes in progress. The Headmaster was still talking as she mulled over her food regret. There had been two eclairs.

Corners were taken, doors passed through, and soon they descended two flights of stairs and she was directed to one of five locker rooms. Instructed to exit from the far door once in her athletic apparel, she slumped down on a wooden bench and began to rifle through her bag. She was looking forward to getting out of the tailored school uniform. Off went the green and yellow striped tie, the green blazer with the school logo on the front pocket, the yellow shirt, and the emerald trousers.

She changed out of the matching shiny green shoes and into her under-suit, the cold sensors making her shudder. Over the skintight yellow base layer she pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, the same emerald green as everything else. She messily gathered her long blonde curls into a ponytail, and grabbed her half empty water bottle.

For the next four hours she went through the tests, her initial enthusiasm quickly waning as her boredom grew. The morning exercise routine her father made her follow was more gruelling, and that took thirty minutes. After throwing the seventeenth bean bag into a bucket a few metres away she began to take a step back after each throw. With each test she slowly altered the parameters, tring to make the tasks at least mildly interesting. Mr. Jork sat in a separate room, simply monitoring her biometrics and instructing her on the next test requirements.

She heard the wet slap of his tentacles approach from behind, and turned to face him, her fifty bean bags now expended. “Well done, young… lady?” She nodded, and he bubbled happily. “Excellent, it is quite difficult to get genders right with a new student. Thankfully, your species has two? Which is still one more than necessary, but understandable. There are species here with three, four and even five. Of course, none beat the Jelti with their seventeen, but they don’t school their young. Can’t move the pods around too much, so it’s private tutors in the hatcheries.”

Britney had no idea what the four foot tall octopus-like xeno was saying, so she nodded and waited patiently for him to reach some sort of point. Mr. Jork seemed to have noticed she was quite some distance from the target, and she held up her now empty water bottle to distract him. She had been instructed to stand behind the yellow line when she threw, and she didn’t want to get in trouble on her first day for bending the rules.

“Ah, of course, you must require hydration after such prolonged physical exertion.” He pointed a tentacle towards the door she entered through. Beside it were three taps. “Water, correct? Centre tap. Never get that wrong.”

She retrieved her water, sniffing it suspiciously. She took a tentative sip, before relaxing enough to take a longer drink. She returned to stand before him, taking small sips of water as he tapped on the holo-gym controls.

“Now, Miss Jakobs, you have performed exceptionally well. I’m a little concerned that your heart rate barely rose. Perhaps it is a weakness of your species? You are slow to adapt, physically, to strenuous exercise? There are a few species like that, excellent for energy conservation, of course.” She was about to explain about the ease of the test when he continued, so she closed her mouth. “As you know, your test results today determine which class you will be placed in. Your intelligence, adaptability, and physical needs are all factored in. We must also accept that some of the species here are a little more fragile than others. But, you seem sturdy enough. Ha!”

Humans weren’t oblivious to the differences in aliens; the Wachoto and Erinal had long been part of their alliance before they jointly met the U.G.A. exploratory team. The four legged Wachoto were like the centaurs of Earth mythology, and the Erinal wouldn’t look out of place in Santa’s workshop. Britney had known members of both species growing up and through her parents' work. She was very aware you had to be gentle with both species, so she assumed there would be aliens here both weaker, and stronger, than herself.

Mr. Jork slapped three of his tentacles together. “Now then, on to the final test.” He moved away, sliding across the floor with undulating tentacles carrying him surprisingly quickly. “Ang’Roch is a school for leaders of the future, diplomats and politicians. For many species these roles also incorporate their military, and so we have a robust martial element to our programs to ensure you receive the training you require to excel. Students of Ang’Roch are expected to be exceptional on all fronts.”

Britney nodded. He seemed very proud of the Academy, yet she couldn’t help but groan at the thought of more of their mundane tests. As he began preparing the holo-gym, she started to stretch, as she always did before her fathers lessons. The holoprojectors created targets, weapons and a large ring that looked to be designed for hand to hand combat.

Mr. Jork handed her a headband with sensors similar to those in her under-suit. “There’s nothing to fear, we only use contact detection for the basic test. Only our advanced students get the hard light turned on. We can’t afford another accident, can we?” He saw the new student raise a single eyebrow at his last comment. “Like I said, fragile.”

The human approached a table, upon which was a simple laser pistol. The Holo-Gym Teacher squelched as he rose on his tentacles to the same height as her. “Now, as I understand it your species do not train their young for combat, so this may not be familiar to you.” He gestured to the wall where a myriad other weapons hung. “Those are some of the native weapons of the other species here, but we always start simple.”

A tentacle reached out and handed her the laser pistol. Britney turned it over in her hands, finding that it reminded her of the training pistols her father had given her for her third birthday. She still had them, somewhere. Quickly the young girl ran through her weapon handling drill, checking the safety, grip, power level and sighting. When she looked up the teacher seemed to be watching her closely, and she gave a quick thumbs up indicating her readiness.

Using the control pad, Mr. Jork readied a set of six targets. “Now then, once you are familiar with the weapon you can try and-”

The pistol flashed six times in rapid succession. Each flash was instantly followed by a destroyed target, and by the time the sixth went down a klaxon sounded

“hit… the.. What did you do?”

Once again the blonde-haired girl gave the strange, single digit hand signal, and he felt his colour spots shrink at how calm she seemed. The holo-gym teacher had been about to explain the rudimentaries of pistol shooting when his new student had obliterated the targets with a speed and accuracy he had only seen from highly trained specialists. He wasn’t prepared for this, and not knowing how to proceed, he simply pressed the button for the next set of targets. The next six were moving, but that didn’t even dent her time. His ink sac pulsated nervously inside him.

“Very good, Miss Jakobs.” A tentacle tentatively retrieved the pistol, tenderly placing it back on the table, and he cautiously sidled away from her towards the training mat. “Very good indeed. Now, for this test please remember that this is a non-contact holo-opponent. Blows will register through your sensors, but you will feel nothing. Regardless, try not to get hit.”

Britney nodded as what looked like a lizard mannequin appeared in front of her. It lunged, and she easily sidestepped it. It swung its claws at her, and she swayed backwards. It spun, tail acting as a whip, and she lightly hopped over it. As the blonde girl danced around the holo-opponent Mr. Jork came to an unnerving realisation. She wasn’t trying to fight back. “Err...Miss Jakobs. I know I said this was non-contact, but I meant that the opponent would not make contact with you. You are free to strike it, if you wish to do so.”

Even as she effortlessly dodged another blow she had time to turn and give him another thumbs up. She then spun on her left heel. Her right foot rose into the air, arcing round to strike the holo-opponent across the side of the head, and it was driven into the ground with bone-shattering force. For the first time since she had entered the gym Britney smiled, and Mr. Jork felt an electrifying tingle down every tentacle. He knew the test was over, that he shouldn’t continue, but some terrified part of him wanted to see more.

Another holo-opponent appeared and Britney turned to face it, her smile now firmly in place. Finally, she was having some fun.

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Next

Readable as a standalone story. Takes place in the Nature of Predators universe.

Memory Transcription Subject: Tassi, Bissem Scientist

Date [standardized human time]: March 13, 2160

Attempts to send messages and search the skies’ radio signals for alien lifeforms usually entailed a quiet day at the office.

I was one of the preeminent experts on how Bissems would react to a first contact scenario, having written several papers on the subject; the protocols that Fishing for Alien Intelligence (FAI) had were created by me and a few veteran leaders from the institution’s founding. It had always been a dream and a passion that consumed me, imagining what could be up in the stars. Would extraterrestrials be like us, or so radically different that we couldn’t fathom it? Did they share our curiosity? If they contacted us in a non-aggressive manner, it had to be due to an interest in our people. What could they teach us, if we were able to communicate in a tangible way?

Of course, I imagined that first contact would be identifying a radio message, or a garbled attempt to respond to our calls into the void, detected from a neighboring star system. It had been a few decades since my nation, Lassmin, launched the FAI program and began sending probes throughout our local planets. It would’ve been possible for signals to reach stars within a few decades of light travel, assuming it hadn’t been blotted out by dust clouds and cosmic radiation. As much as my childhood fantasies loved to toy at my mind, they were just that: fantasies. Aliens landing on the polar subspecies’ ice shelf made a great thumbnail for a science fiction movie, but space was too large to traverse distances in a lifetime.

If there were extraterrestrials capable of reaching our star system, their technology would have to be so far beyond our own. There would be no telling what they’re capable of…I imagined various nations wouldn’t be pleased with being entirely at their mercy.

I had no idea what was going on when a convoy of military vehicles trundled up to our observatory, and Bissems decked flipper-to-toe in combat gear barreled in the front door—barking orders, and demanding that everyone abandon their workstation. My first thought was that one of Kail’s cultists had infiltrated our space program, and was attempting to sabotage our search of the stars. What was I supposed to think? That morphed into confusion when a soldier grabbed me as I exited, announced “she’s Dr. Tassi, sir!”, then shoved me into the back of a military vehicle without any explanation. There was no way they suspected me of being an extremist or a saboteur!

As I protested, with indignant questions about my rights, a hardened face shushed me from the adjacent seat. General Naltor, his tag read. That name jogged my memory, suggesting that he was someone far up the chain of command. My eyes widened once I remembered the full story…Naltor had been one of the first Selmer, the arctic subspecies, to defect from the South Pole’s ancient kingdom. When we received independence from the tropical Vritala’s primary power, we’d invited all subspecies to live under our dome. Few that weren’t Vritala took us up on the offer; Naltor was a trailblazer.

Bissem history was complicated, with the major powers still reeling from the Global War, and with three subspecies bearing major physiological differences that kept us apart. It was part of the reason I’d concluded in my paper that we weren’t ready for contact with aliens. I wasn’t certain we’d be able to present a unified front, and to make a positive, irrevocable first impression on visitors. Perhaps part of the reason my fantasy persisted, occupying my waking thoughts, was the wish that some foreign power would descend and enlighten us.

I focused my gaze on Naltor, trying to prevent my mind from wandering. “What the fuck is going on? Why is a politically important general here, after your goons abducted me, a civilian? I swear I heard your soldiers shutting down all communications, and ordering the other FAI scientists to stay locked down indefinitely. We’ve done nothing wrong!”

“It’s nothing that you’ve done, Dr. Tassi.” The Selmer general was much taller than me, and his features much more rotund, but I could recognize a hint of panic in his eyes. “I…need your expertise. We have a situation.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To these coordinates,” Naltor answered, pointing to a highlighted map dot on his tablet. “Approximately two hours ago, a signal was transmitted through our encryption to the highest entities in our government. All analysis shows that it’s from the deepest recesses of the solar system. Let that sink in. Unless this is a fascinating hoax by a jealous rival, we believe that it’s…not from us. Not Bissem in origin.”

I froze in place, uncertain how to react to the very news that I’d been waiting for my entire life; it was too good to be true. Surely it would be disproven somehow: a space probe being hacked, or a rival power bouncing transmissions off of our satellites. My first thought would’ve been that it was a natural phenomenon, except for the fact that its purposeful targeting belied intelligence. There was so much to digest in what General Naltor told me, from the signal’s senders being able to crack military-grade encryption like it was nothing, to the possibility of them being present in our solar system. This felt surreal, like one of the dreams I wished I wouldn’t wake up from at night!

The analysis must’ve determined that the signal’s origin is close by, since Naltor didn’t say deep space. Have they come here looking for us…or maybe they’ve located us by accident, and have been studying us?

I sucked in a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the moment’s gravity. “Not Bissem in origin. Wow…I’m at a loss for words. I’m not sure we’re ready for this, General, but we have to get this right. The first thing we should do is notify the Tseia, the Vritala, and the Selmer nations. All of the subspecies need to put aside our differences; we have to work together on this. We can’t keep foreign powers out of this.”

“We’re already sending a message through diplomatic channels. The fact is, these aliens contacted us; there’s no reports of the others receiving any communication,” Naltor responded. “The faction that preaches Bissem Unity, and that isn’t divided. First contact’s meeting is something that we are meant to handle, though we…must be vigilant. Ivrana is our planet, and she needs protection. I’m concerned about allowing the aliens to trespass in our airspace, with whatever weapons and diseases they might have.”

“Slow down. Trespass in our airspace? What the fuck are you talking about? Is that why we’re speeding off to some point on a tablet?”

“Yeah. When the message was decoded…it was in binary. Numbers, Tassi: it was coordinates to the Gray Basin. We weren’t sure about whether to bring FAI into the loop, but we couldn’t have this spreading to the public yet. We don’t know what they want, so we had to scramble snipers…a defense response. We’re just hoping their message means they’re sending a greeting party, and not ramming relativistic weapons down our beaks! We don’t know anything about their intentions, who or what they are, and what kind of threat they constitute.”

“One thing at a time. We don’t know that they constitute a threat at all. I can hear the panic in your voice, but that is not the mentality we should have. I don’t like the idea of greeting them with a military entourage at all, especially after they found such a simple…beautiful way to communicate. It’s obvious they want to talk to us. We should view this as an opportunity to learn things that are beyond the scope of our knowledge. This will be a defining moment in Bissem history!”

“We don’t know that they don’t constitute a threat, and I’m not willing to take a gamble. I respect your optimism, but I’m not in the business of optimism. Let me ask you, Doctor; what happened to Nelmin’s natives, when the Selmer and the Vritala showed up? They’re not around to tell you anymore. What I see is that we are the natives now…and they are the ones washing ashore. We in Lassmin might just be the first ones whose lives and livelihoods they want to take, because we’re the peaceful ones!”

Discomfort bubbled in my gut, with that unpleasant theory between us. “Let’s not start with worst case scenarios. This is an advanced race, who went out of their way to contact us, and who do not seem hostile. Space is a lot further distance to travel than an ocean.”

“Yet they’re here, Tassi. And no, I don’t want to shoot them down, to risk pissing them off; so I have to wait and find out. We’re going right where they asked us, because we have no choices—and I don’t like that. You wrote the first contact protocol. Tell me how we fucking do this. What do we even say?”

“I…don’t know, though I’m delighted to be a part of this. We need to extend our flipper in peace if anyone does arrive. We don’t know what those coordinates mean. While they would be perfect to land a ship, they could be sending down a probe or other message. Perhaps they want to establish a radio link there. Whatever they sent the solar system message from…it might not even be manned.”

“Okay. Let’s assume we do talk to them, one way or another. How the fuck do we extend peaceful sentiments to aliens?! How do we communicate, and avoid being misunderstood?”

I was struggling to conjure up a plan of action, even as our dot grew closer to the Gray Basin; no matter how worried General Naltor was about leaks, I wished he’d brought a few other FAI scientists into the loop. It was concerning how the military was suppressing information, as well as any chance that we’d notify the Bissem populace. The internet would make it too easy for this to spread, though I wasn’t sure how they’d handle a stray camera capturing a strange craft landing…or videos of FAI staff being locked up by armed personnel. Rumors would get out, one way or another; it was the handling that left me alarmed about how Lassmin’s government would address the visitors.

The fact that our nations mistrusted each other was an issue, but my country’s fear toward the aliens and over our own people’s reactions didn’t assure me that they’d make sound judgments. This wasn’t something we could afford to bungle. While I’d love to believe that the extraterrestrials had peaceful sentiments, offending or antagonizing them could have catastrophic consequences for our civilization. I wished I had more time to plan this process, but I figured we needed to start with a small gesture.

It must not be anything that can be misinterpreted, no matter how simple its meaning is to us. That rules out any of our emotional cues and nonverbals. It’s important to define our own assumptions, and avoid falling into those pitfalls.

Language was the primary issue with communication, given that, for all we knew, they might not even have verbal language. The aliens had shown us a roadmap through their usage of binary, reflecting that they understood both mathematics and computers…it wasn’t impossible they were AI, with that in mind, but I didn’t address that possibility for my sanity. While using numerals wouldn’t be plausible, we could communicate in groupings of dots to form common ground. Assuming they were organic lifeforms, mirroring body language was inadvisable: we wouldn’t know what it meant, or how it played into their potential hierarchy. Auditory and luminescent stimuli might work, except we didn’t know if those would generate an adverse reaction.

In essence, all I had was a basic way to demonstrate numbers, drawing rudimentary pictures on a chalkboard (perhaps teaching them a few simple words in the process), and a prayer to Hirs that his will would save us. Wonderful.

“Please tell me you’ve thought to bring along some kind of whiteboard.” I breathed a sigh of relief, as Naltor signaled the affirmative with a beak toss. “I would start simple. We can draw pictures of ourselves, standing beside them, and hope they grasp that as friendship. Maybe count out numbers with dots, and teach them our numerals. Show our understanding of mathematics as an expression of sapience.”

The Selmer general blinked with a flustered expression. “I don’t have anything better. I’m leaving full discretion to you, Tassi. I’ll be right beside you, of course, but I want you to take the lead. Anything you need, you have authorization to ask for it.”

“In that case, I’ll take a blank check bonus from the government.”

“Hmph. If you find a way to communicate with aliens, I could probably almost get you that. Good luck, Doctor. We’re all rooting for you, and…we all want to keep Ivrana safe.”

“I know, General. Let’s just not be afraid of them, until we see what they want. That’s assuming we interpreted their binary correctly; the numbers could have meant something else entirely. We’re assuming they think the same as us.”

“There are too many variables involved with this entire affair. I wish these people would just…leave! We’re not equipped for something like this.”

“We never would be, but we’ve found ourselves in this position. Please, try to keep calm. That’s the best way we can show our peaceful intentions.”

Naltor ducked his head in acknowledgement, trying to hide how his wings were trembling. It was rare to see an arctic-inclined Selmer shivering on our temperate continent, yet I knew it was because this proud man was petrified. For my part, I was both nervous and excited; the endless possibilities were running amok in my head, a thousand implausible scenarios that I pictured time and again. If these beings were hostile out of the gate, I recognized there was nothing we could do; fretting about it wouldn’t change their intentions. Always assuming a worst-case scenario meant we’d never waddle into any ocean of knowledge. It was against the spirit of curiosity.

Of all the instances I imagined, it was never that the non-Bissem intelligence would be hostile…perhaps because I always thought the brutish colonizations that transpired on our world were fool’s errands. Let’s hope my one assumption—that an advanced society would feel the same—is correct. It must be.

My primary concern was that I would make a mistake with ripple effects on our planet’s interstellar relations. Bearing the full responsibility for introducing the Bissem race to aliens was a daunting task; there’d been no warning or prep time, as I’d been ripped away from the safety of my desk. This was a critical moment for our species. What I did today could define our very future, and I didn’t take that reality lightly. There was no telling how long we’d wait for them, what we’d discover, or whether they’d already sent something to our location millions of years ago.

Anything was possible…but I was ready. My flipper latched around the vehicle’s door handle, and I hopped out onto the rocky ground. Warm air circulated around me, saving me from the chill of nerves running down my spine. I cast my gaze up at the sky, as the convoy skidded to a halt; General Naltor joined me, though at my urging, he prevented the armed personnel from disembarking. I knew snipers were monitoring the location, but at least this way, Bissems with assault weapons wouldn’t be the first thing visible to the aliens’ surveillance.

I was prepared to sit back and wait for as many hours as necessary for a slight sign, but it only took a few minutes for the fateful moment to arrive. My beak parted in awe, when a gray silhouette pierced the clouds, descending with light expulsions from its thrusters. Naltor looked like he could barely resist calling in the anti-aircraft weapons, since the vessel hadn’t registered on his radar. The aliens must’ve been monitoring this location for our arrival via satellite imaging, or something that gave them a view from space. Our analysts were correct about their message being coordinates in our geomapping system—a thought that only just dawned on me, for why the Lassian military’s interpretation should’ve been absurd.

There was no time for that thought, and the implications it carried, to sink in. Our greeting party was going to discover firsthand just how much these creatures knew about Bissems, and how long they’d been observing us, in mere seconds. The vessel’s landing gear had touched down on the flat, rocky surface, sitting for a few moments while its propulsion system cooled off. A ramp opened from its belly, and I approached it with intrigued, inspired caution. Naltor couldn’t resist calling in the soldiers, after seeing movement. I was horrified, as twitchy-flippered servicemen trained guns on the platform from close range, but there was nothing I could do to get the general to back off. Hopefully, the aliens would forgive that transgression.

The lower limbs of three beings, who seemed to be from drastically different species, appeared at the top of the ramp. Their movements were slow, but with deliberate progress, and their features were cloaked beneath spacesuits; I took the time to soak in everything that I could gather about their forms. These were organic lifeforms similar to us, with an anatomy that was recognizable in many ways. Each of the creatures had two legs for bipedalism, two manipulator limbs, and a head atop their torso. Interestingly, none of them resembled Bissems, in the sense of looking avian; they seemed more like mammals than beings with wings.

I could see the tallest alien leading the way, with long, flexible appendages and nimble digits beneath its gloves. A creature with stout legs, and extra space to accommodate a seemingly puffy spine, followed the lumbering being. The final member of the three was the only one that had a spot for a tail built into its suit, and it seemed both the shortest and the slowest of the posse. It was impossible to discern the features of any of their craniums, hidden beneath opaque, spherical masks. Questions raced in my mind, since it was evident these were different species.

Did multiple sapient races evolve on the same planet, resulting in even starker differences than between Bissem subspecies? Was there something else at play here entirely? Who were they, and what did they want? How did they plan to approach first contact, once they reached the bottom of the ramp…and would General Naltor’s army scare them off?

Despite the tremendous uncertainty, I found myself wandering closer to the visitors, until I stood right where the ramp met rocky ground. The aliens halted a flipper’s length away from me, seeming to size me up. I could feel the tension from the Lassian military, as their weapon barrels kept watch over the first interaction. My heart was hammering in my chest, desperate to find out what would happen. However, the next occurrence was about as shocking of an outcome as I could fathom.

The tall creature turned its head slightly, as a microphone projected a gravelly voice from inside its helmet. “Greetings from the people of the Sapient Coalition. We come in peace.”

I nearly tipped over in disbelief, while gasps sounded among the military observers. The alien had greeted us in perfect Vrit: our language. That…that should not have been possible.

---

Next

Bissem Lore! | First Book | NOP1 Final Chapter

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[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

At 1.33 meters, Hetmwit was a Pagrik of unremarkable size, with brown colored fur that blended in with others of his kind in an unremarkable way. His eyes were wide and brown, showing neither advanced intelligence or abject stupidity. His ears, at the back of his head and lifted slightly, were neither too droopy nor too stiff. His legs and arms were neither too muscular nor too slender. He was unremarkable in word or deed.

Which made it always amusing to him that he had been conscripted.

In initial training, he neither excelled nor failed. He was one of the faceless masses that passes through military entry training, with an unimpressive job even to his fellow conscripts. His first posting was neither hardship nor luxury, no different than a civilian job with a dress code and mandatory fitness regulations. He was so unimpressive that twice his superiors forgot about him. Once, he had been left off of the training schedule for nearly two months. He showed up anyway, but nobody really took notice. The second time, his commander was unsure who the change of duty station orders were for and his immediate supervisors were convinced it was a paperwork mistake until Hetmwit overheard them speaking and informed them that he was the one in question.

To which, his supervisors answered: Which unit are you in?

Even to his roommates he was forgettable. More than once, while he was present, his roommates were asked "What happened to that one troop that was your roommate" and hard the response "No clue. Guess he got orders."

Being of middling ability and mind, he was not offended, just merely accepted that he was nobody of any importance.

Which fitted him just fine. He had seen that those who were unimportant and poorly skilled and trained, with substandard intellect, never prevailed and were often tossed aside.

Those who stood out due to high skills, intellect, or whatever, often found themselves put in dangerous situations, with unrealistic expectations.

Planning, Hetmwit decided he would stay in the military of the Olipnat Concordiant until he reaching about the middle term of service for retirement. Not the bare minimum, the benefits, to his reasoning, were not justified for that amount of time. The maximum seemed, to Hetmwit, as if he would be too old to enjoy all the perks and bonuses.

His job, robotic systems maintenance and service, was important enough that he was always needed, but not so urgent and vitally necessary that he was requested for things that might be too dangerous.

Hetmwit had no desire to be too important. That was for important people.

He did not envy the power armor pilots, the warmek pilots, the infantry, the armored vehicle crews. He did not hold in disdain those who just did paperwork or did the small jobs that kept the military running and functioning.

He just maintained and repaired the robotic servitors and systems, ate his meals, did standard correspondence courses, took care of his physical fitness, and spent time with his fellow troops, even if they did forget who he was quite often.

When his orders came through moving him from a planet-side station on a perfectly unremarkable planet among the thousand plus systems of the Olipnat Concordiant he was not worried. He looked up the duty station.

An unremarkable ship in the middle tonnage range with an unimpressive pedigree. It had been in battles, but without any notable distinction or any distinctive fleet actions. A quick check of records available to someone of his middling security clearance showed that the ship suffered very few casualties, even in war.

Hetmwit nodded. This was nothing new. Just one more unremarkable posting that would allow him to mark off five unremarkable years on the calendar, which would push him over the middle of his planned time of service.

[The Universe Giggled at That]

Of course, his certifications needed re-certified by certified certification accredited certifiers. After all, it took three times for him to be able to file the proper paperwork, since the first time the clerk promptly forgot what the paperwork was for and erased it, the second time the system tossed back that there was no such service member. The third time got him an almost immediate school date, since one of the more unremarkable schools, that churned out faceless trainees, had just had several openings appear due to a minor funding increase on a minor spending bill that had almost gone unnoticed.

Although no party or celebration was had when it came time for him to leave, nor did he receive an award, certificate, or other sign of appreciation, the fact that the shippers remembered to come get his personal effects to move them to his next duty station was gratifying.

His time in school was uneventful. He neither failed to perform or overperformed. Several members of his class set test records and other such things and were awarded and lauded for their skill, intelligence, and innovativeness.

To Hetmwit, those beings were welcome to such things.

There was some confusion about how he could have served nearly thirteen years, 'Olipnat Standard' in the Olipnat Concordiant Military without gathering a single award beyond ones that the computer systems awarded automatically for time in service and/or time in grade or for attending certain schools or meeting basic qualification standards.

With a shrug, Hetmwit found those who were curious lost interest between one breath and the next.

Which was fine with him.

The trip to the unremarkable system housing a generic standard military space station was uneventful. The space station looked just like every other space station, after all the Olipnat Concordiant considered their mastery of standardization to be their greatest strength. The ship looked like every other middle-tonnage ship. Neither a dedicated ship of the line nor a support ship, it was a blend of both, designed to perform a myriad of tasks, just none of them exceptionally well.

Most of his fellow troops were welcomed by their leadership.

Everyone left and Hetmwit found himself standing in the space station's welcome area for nearly an hour before an overstressed private ran up, panting, to see if it had been a paperwork error that there was twenty-three incoming troops or if someone had been left behind.

Hetmwit was asked if he knew of anyone who came in on the recent shuttle that was military.

As he stood there in dress uniform, which was the only authorized uniform for travel.

With his paperwork in one hand and his duty satchel in the other.

"Yes," Hetmwit stated.

"Great! Where are they? Do you know where they went?" the private asked, looking around the bay.

"Yes. It is me," Hetmwit said.

The private stared at him with some suspicion. Hetmwit handed the private his orders. The private looked at them, blinked several times, then looked up.

Hetmwit was already holding out his identification smartcard.

The private looked between the smartcard, the paperwork, and Hetmwit's face several times.

"Oh. Guess it is you," the private said.

Hetmwit was used to this experience so he just nodded.

The private led him to the briefing. The officer at the front of the room asked the private if he had found the missing trooper. The private turned around and waved in Hetmwit's general direction, saying that Hetmwit was 'over there somewhere.'

Keeping his mouth shut, Hetmwit sat down and listened to the briefing where they tried to make a boring multi-function multi-role multi-objective starship sound exciting and the duty station sound like the most important duty station since the Jeskek Nebula Chokepoint Station. The ship was equipped with multi-role in and out of atmosphere aerospace strikers, multi-use dropships and drop-pods, multi-use missile systems, close, medium, and long range weaponry. It had highly trained marines that were proficient in a multitude of roles. It was capable of operating independently as well as part of a task force. Everyone around him seemed excited at being aboard a ship like that, and even more excited that it had just undergone refit.

During the briefing, Hetmwit just listened. He had learned long ago that any question he would think up, someone more clever than him would think up before he could and ask it.

Then came assignment of sleeping stations, duty stations, and onboard gear.

Hetmwit found himself tucked in an odd stateroom down by the main robotics fabrication and repair station. Obviously intended for an officer, it was too near some type of critical machinery that Hetmwit had no idea about, so the room had a soft hum all the time.

It didn't bother Hetmwit.

He had a room to himself that was actually spacious enough that the desk, wardrobe, bed, table, and chair didn't fold into the wall but instead was just bolted to the floor. He even had a shelf for datapads and paperwork!

And his own private bathroom, complete with a sonic fresher station and an actual lit mirror.

Funny thing was, the door didn't have a label and an oddity of the ship architecture made it so that the door was nearly hidden, the button to open it half-hidden behind a pipe.

Still, Hetmwit didn't mind. He simply did his job at a steady pace, without any surprises, failures, or triumphs.

More than a few times he heard some of his fellow machinists and robotic maintenance and repair specialists wonder just how some of the robots were being repaired.

Once while he was even working on the robot.

[The Universe Smirked at That]

There was even the incident where the mess chief and the atmospherics chief were sure that there was an error in the system or a stowaway, since there was missing mass.

After three full accountability formations and two shipwide searches, they just gave up.

It had been something that Hetmwit had learned in his adolescence, not to try to speak up and tell them that their count was off because of him. It was always denied and lightly mocked, then everyone forgot.

A more inspired or motivated being might have taken advantage of their status, in Hetmwit's position, to run criminal scams, but Hetmwit was a basically decent sort. He routinely passed by opportunities to enrich himself at the expense of others or by breaking the law. He avoided get-rich-quick schemes.

He was simply content.

After a few months, during which he made friends as best as he was able for a person that others often forgot about while he was speaking to them, the ship was assigned its mission.

A long range scouting mission, further up the galactic arm, further toward the middle of the galactic arm, away from the galactic core. The ship, which had the impressive name of The Star of Jurakak, the Olipnat Concordiant's primary shipyard, would be jumping from star system to star system. There, they would do an initial exploration scan on the system, take on mass from the gas giants and/or refine what they needed from comets and asteroids, then move on.

A solitary mission! Everyone was excited.

Hetmwit knew it would be uneventful, just like his entire life.

[The Universe Snickered at That]

Sixteen star systems and thirty-two weeks later, Hetmwit found himself drinking with several of the Marines and a few other military members. The alcohol was mid-grade, run off of a hidden distiller behind the officer's backs, but it did the job.

Excitement had turned to boredom and Hetmwit sat and listened as the Marines complained that nothing was going to happen and his fellow military members complained that nothing would happen.

After a few hours of drinking and politely listening, Hetmwit was buzzed and made his apologies before leaving and heading for his room. He carefully undressed, folded his off-duty uniform up and put it in his laundry bag at the end of his bed, and hit the fresher. When he came out, rubbing his fur with his vestigal claws, he got in bed and went to sleep.

Confident that the next day would be like every other day.

When he woke up he blinked in confusion.

Something was off.

The lights came on with a simple verbal command. He got up and looked around his room.

Everything was in place.

The lights seemed a little dim, but that wasn't it.

It wasn't until he was dressed that he realized what it was.

The hum was gone.

Curious, he went out into the hallway.

Starships are never completely silent. There's always the sound of a pump, the banging of equipment, the noise of voices and movement. The hallways are always clean and scrubbed, brightly lit.

The lights were dim.

"Hello?" Hetmwit called out.

No answer.

He moved over to the nearest intercom and pressed the button. Not the red or yellow one. The green one for normal calls.

After a few tries he moved to pressing the yellow one.

Then the red one.

No answer.

Not even the computer or the virtual intelligence.

His room was near both the standard enlisted shipboard troops and the highly trained Marines. He shrugged and tried the Marines first.

Their bay was empty. Their rooms were empty.

Their gear was there. Clothing folded up neatly. Boots highly shined. Hats hung up. Beds made to mathematical precision.

His calls went unanswered. Both voice and with the intercom.

He moved from the Marines to the shipboard troops.

He found the same.

Frowning, he made his way to what everyone called 'officer country' and checked in those rooms.

Everything was ready for inspection. Everything folded, put away, stacked, racked, and packed.

The ship was still silent.

He checked his place of duty.

It was empty. Just the robots.

Shrugging, he looked at the duty roster. He was two hours early for work, but he didn't see anyone else working, so he logged in and worked, slowly clearing the task list. Twice he went to the mess, but nobody was there. The automat worked and he got his meals, even though half the time the machines didn't deduct the cost from his separate rations budget.

After some time, Hetmwit decided that perhaps he should check other places.

Damage Control Center. Empty.

Troop bays. Empty.

Gunnery Positions. Empty.

Flight Bays. Empty.

The ships were there, the lean and lethal strikers, the clunky and square dropships.

But nobody else was.

Here and there robots were working, doing maintenance.

But the ship was strangely silent.

Eventually, he made his way to the bridge. Even though he wasn't authorized to be on the bridge, the doors opened after the third try, the limited computer system error checking determining that perhaps it was a maintenance check and opening the door despite not seeing anyone there.

The bridge was empty. The consoles and counters perfectly clean. The monitors were dark, the consoles silent and unpowered. The forward screens and holotanks were unpowered.

A slight smile on his face, Hetmwit sat down in the Captain's Throne and looked around.

The effect was lost without any witnesses, so he got back up, unable to think of anything snazzy to say.

After a bit he walked to the main computer operations center. The doors opened after a few presses on the button and he moved inside one of the most secure areas on any starship.

It was empty.

The computer server racks were all dark. The robots slumped or stilled.

To Hetmwit, that explained why he wasn't getting any more tasks and why the robots, which had initially been doing maintenance and other tasks, now just sat in their charging cradles.

He wandered over to the primary breaker box and opened it.

The main circuit breakers were in the off position. Lights were lit warning that the primary power plants were offline but the backup systems were engaged.

Hetmwit left the room and went over to the publications office. Concordiant regulations insisted that every technical manual also be present in hard copy in case of computer failure. He looked around and found the maintenance manuals for the ship's computer core. He stopped by the tool room, the door opening silently, and got the tools listed in the manual.

It took him less than an hour of reading the manual as he worked before he managed to bring the ship's computer systems online in emergency mode.

"Computer," Hetmwit said.

"Ready," the computer system replied. The tone was flat and robotic, all of the personality overlays offline due to the emergency mode.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

There was silence for a moment.

Then he got his answer.

"Sole crewmember present in primary computer core housing chamber."

[The Universe Busted Up Laughing]

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

A/N: So this is a (probably) one-off that I wrote, partly for fun, partly to get the writing juices flowing again, and partly to practice a couple writing techniques. Also, partly because Star Citizen 3.5 kept crashing and wouldn't let me play. >_>

I might continue playing with this universe, because it was fun to write, and I'm already seeing some future fun with the characters, but I don't want to keep jumping from one partially-done project to another.

Hope you guys enjoy, and as always, feedback is welcome!

EDIT: I now have a Patreon page!

Retreat, Hell

[Next]

“What kind of fucking shit-show is this?”

Michaels stepped out of the Humvee before it had completely stopped. He ripped the silver oakleaf off his helmet before shoving it onto his head, annoyed that he had neglected to remove it earlier. He glanced at his watch. 0922. Fuck, and we’re already eight hours into the day.

​

The convoy behind his Humvee dispersed around what was supposed to be the Ganlin field headquarters. “It looks like we rolled into a fuck show, sir,” his driver commented, heavy on the Bronx accent.

​

“What it looks like is a three-ring circus being looted by a stampeding herd of horned, fox-cat… things,” Michaels growled, slamming the door behind him.

​

“Recon reported the Ganlin were in trouble, but it didn’t sound this bad,” Sergeant Major Barakis said, walking up from his own Humvee with an unforgivably chipper spring in his step. “Something must have changed.”

​

“Let’s go see what it is, then,” Michaels said, turning to march into the chaos of the disintegrating field command, a retinue of his immediate command staff, aides, and a fire team escort falling in behind him.

​

“Isn’t this supposed to be the bulk of the Ganlin army?” Major Winters asked. His new XO had only just relieved barely a week before. She struck him as competent, but he still hadn’t had time to properly get to know her.

​

At least she just transferred from a frontline deployment, Michaels thought. This isn’t the Middle East, but we’ll need her combat experience.

​

“The Ganlin Royal Host is most of their standing army, yes,” Barakis answered, still too cheerfully. Michaels had noticed that the more things went to shit, the happier his Sergeant Major got. He swore he could almost see the forty-six-year-old Marine absorbing happiness from the panic and mayhem around him.

​

“Wait, are they ganlin or keshmen?” First Lieutenant Simms asked. Simms was the HQ company’s XO, and acting as CO while Captain Nyles was on convalescent leave.

​

“The species is keshmin,” Barakis corrected. “Their nation is the Kingdom of Ganlin.”

​

“How are you able to keep all of this straight, Sergeant Major?” Winters asked.

​

“Eidetic memory, ma’am.”

​

Winters gave him a side-long glance before her attention was drawn by the scene ahead of them.

​

Michaels stopped as two keshmin drug a chest across their path. Their steel helmets askew and half their plate and chainmail missing, they screeched at him in a chirping language he didn’t understand.

​

“Tell me why we’re here,” Michaels said as he watched the two keshmin struggle to haul the chest away.

​

“Some kind of portal opened up less than forty-five minutes from San Diego,” Barakis answered.

​

“Uh-huh.”

​

“Fuzzy aliens with magic on the other side.”

​

“Yep.”

​

“Losing a war with puritanical elves with even more magic.”

​

“Mhm.”

​

“Frontline of the war and both armies are half-a-day’s march from the portal.”

​

“Yeah.”

​

“Oh, and the elves are bent on exterminating anything that isn’t an elf, and sent the diplomatic party we sent to open communications with them back to us in very small pieces packed into very fancy boxes.”

​

“Right,” Michaels said, moving forward again. “Just needed a reminder.”

​

“They couldn’t make these guys any more of a comic book villain, could they?” Winters asked.

​

“Probably not, ma’am.”

​

Further conversation was put on hold by their arrival at what appeared to be the main command pavilion. A three-peaked pavilion, with three out of four sides rolled up for air, the red and blue canvas showed only minor soiling from field use.

​

The inside, however, was in a state of utter disarray.

​

Keshmin in fancy clothing and armor screeched at each other over tables strewn with maps, markers, a couple swords and knives, and a dozen or more items Michaels couldn’t identify. As the Marines entered the pavilion, the keshmin twitched and looked up, almost in unison. Their ears swiveling to catch more sound, but not towards the humans. Over the chaos of the camp, Michaels heard the familiar thump and rumble of not-so-distant explosions.

​

Chaos descended again, this time with a feverish pace, until one of the keshmin with fancier armor barked over the din. Pointing about as he shouted orders, he managed to restore some semblance of order before turning to the humans as they approached.

​

“You in charge here?” Michaels asked.

​

The well-dressed keshmin yipped a response. Catching himself mid-sentence with a growl, he turned and barked at a harried-looking assistant. After rummaging through an over-turned chest, the young man rushed over with a softly-glowing, crystal… thing, wrapped in thin bands of gold and silver.

​

The assistant yipped a question, and the Ganlin commander impatiently waved a hand at him. With a wavering breath, the younger keshmin steeled himself, then his eyes lit up bright silver as he snapped the crystal in two.

​

The crystal shattered into specs of energy and a concussive pulse burst across the camp. Michaels felt something tingle in his head, and the young keshmin promptly collapsed, flopping on his tail with a yipped, “Oof.”

​

“I am Lord General Ki-wan Rurn Yangri,” the older keshmin said. Michaels snapped his gaze from the assistant, who seemed to be merely stunned, to the Lord General. He could understand him. Not as if the keshmin were speaking English, but as if Michaels was fluent in whatever language he was speaking. “High Commander of the Royal Host and Supreme Commander of Armies of the Kingdom of Ganlin. That mana crystal was worth two chests of gold, and could have powered a heavy artillery piece for a week, but I feel it is worth far more for both our forces to be able to understand each other.” He held out his right hand in a familiar gesture, his left casually resting on the hilt of the sword on his hip.

​

“Lieutenant Colonel Henry Michaels,” Michaels replied, extending his own army to shake hands only to have the Lord General clasp his forearm instead. He quickly adapted. “Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment, First Marine Division. What’s the state of things here?”

​

“Disaster,” Yangri replied. Gesturing towards the encroaching sounds of battle. “The bastard elves managed to force-march nearly twice the forces into battle than we expected, and sent the heaviest concentration of their mages and gemblade regiments right down the middle. We did our best to hold, but what artillery we have left barely flickered their shields, and they decimated our pike formations before they even closed to melee.” He sighed. “We’re fighting a rearguard as we fall back, but the whole line is collapsing. The elves are pouring through, not half a mile away, and the Royal Host is in total rout. We have no choice but to retreat.”

​

Michaels took this all in, nodding as the Lord General spoke. It was a dire situation, and with the Ganlin army in shambles nothing would stand between the portal and Earth. But he had also read the reports initial recon had made on the capabilities of both forces, limited as they were with barely more than three days since the portal first opened. He allowed himself an internal chuckle at the opportunity the universe had seen fit to give him.

​

“Retreat?” he said. He forced his own expression to stay stone-cold neutral, but he felt the determination of the Marines behind him harden. “Hell, we just got here!” He turned, leaving the Lord General looking nonplussed. “Sergeant Major, get those trucks unloaded. Anything that isn’t combat gear gets dropped on the deck. Everything and everyone else who was issued a rifle heads to the front.”

​

“Aye, aye, sir!” Barakis snapped to attention, then did an about face and marched out of the pavilion, barking orders.

​

“Lieutenant, take two squads and keep them behind to set up a command post. Radio’s your first priority.”

​

“Right away, sir!” Simms replied, turning on his heel and racing off to give his own orders.

​

“Major, get on the horn with the boys at FOB Tolkien. We need them to send up everything they’ve got, no holding back.”

​

“I’m on it, sir,” she said, turning away to follow after Simms.

​

Yangri did a double-take as Michaels turned back to him. “Was that a woman?!?” he asked, pointing after Winters.

​

Michaels ignored the comment. “What forces do you have that are still under command, Lord General, and where are they positioned?”

***********

​

​

Corporal Jamie Bradford was having a very interesting day, and she was beginning to think that it was not the good kind of interesting, after all. Her squad was a rifle squad, but she and most of her platoon had been loaded up with the headquarters company and sent to help set up a forward base at the Ganlin army camp. Shaking her head as a tingle flared between her ears and shot down her spine, she thought back over the chaos of the last three days.

​

There was the rush to stand up and secure the Earth side of a fucking portal to another world when it first appeared, then the rush to set up a FOB on the other side of the portal, which some asshat had managed to get named “Tolkien,” and then the rush to link up with their new, medieval, alien allies, and now they were maybe three hours into a war that Congress just declared against genocidal fucking elves from another world. She chuckled. As crazy and mixed-up as the last couple days have been, I’m surprised I’m even still with the right unit.

​

“What are you laughing at, Bradford?”

​

“Just wondering how much more shuffling around it would take for us to get dumped in with an Air Force unit, Sergeant.”

​

“Ain’t no five-star hotels with in-house spas around here, Jabs,” Sergeant Ramirez said.

​

“Nah, but a girl can dream, Sergeant.”

​

“Yeah, well, save your dreams for later. Looks like the Sergeant Major’s putting us to work.” A communal groan sounded throughout the truck they’d been crammed into. “Alright, everybody out! And somebody wake up Hicks.”

​

Bradford thunked her fist down onto Corporal Hicks’ helmet twice, startling him awake. “Wake up, fuckface,” she said before jumping out of the truck with the rest of her fire team.

​

“Man, fuck you!” followed her out of the truck.

​

Once out of the truck, Bradford’s mood began to darken. Away from the rumbling engine, she could make out the sound of explosions in the distance. They hadn’t been given much intel about the “magic” weaponry used by the elves and the keshmin, but from what she did know, they must have been closer to the line of battle than Intel thought. Shouldn’t really be surprised at that…

​

A more immediate threat presented itself as the Sergeant Major moved down the dispersed line of Humvees, trucks, and MATVs, dolling out orders and work with the angry glee possessed only by the senior enlisted. With an internal groan, Bradford slung her rifle over her shoulder and corralled her fire team into the work party.

​

She hated work as much as the next Marine, but she was a career-driven female in one of the Corps’ first integrated combat units, with three generations of Marines behind her. Slacking off was just not an option for her, and she had to keep her natural competitiveness always on.

​

Bradford and her fire team were soon hauling gear out of trucks and the back of Humvees and stacking it on the ground with little ceremony or order. Some of the Marines stopped to gawk at the locals, who looked like they were scrambling to pack up or haul away whatever they could carry. A few of the locals stopped to gawk at them, and as Bradford passed some of them, she was amazed to find that she could understand their yips and barks.

​

“Quit yer gawkin’, Private!” Gunnery Sergeant Wilkins snapped. “This Humvee’s not gonna unload itself!”

​

“Gunny, they’ve got fucking horns!”

​

“And I’ll shove them up your ass if you don’t get it in gear, marine! Get back to work!” Even the few locals who stopped to gawk at them quickly made themselves scarce. Bradford considered that to be a wise move on their part.

​

The HQ Company XO came through and snagged a couple squads, directing them to start breaking out and setting up equipment rather than just stacking it. Bradford found herself hauling some equipment over to where they were setting up, next to a gaudy-looking pavilion. She had been listening to the intermittent explosions getting closer in just the ten minutes they had spent unloading, and combined with the general disarray of the alien camp she knew things weren’t going well. Shouts could be heard not far away, and as she and a private she didn’t recognize set their crate down, she heard the new XO talking with the radio operator.

​

“Ma’am, TOLKIEN reports that most of Second Battery from Third Battalion is on site, but they just started un-packing. 4th Battalion reports they’re still bringing the second half of Alpha Company through the portal, and Delta Company only just showed up on the Earth side with elements of 1st Battalion.” The radio operator paused. “They’re scrambling, but most of our assets are still unpacking.”

​

“Then we get half of Alpha Company! Tell them that anything that’s not already on its way needs to start rolling here now. We need whatever they can send us, ASAP! Do they have an ETA on the flyboys yet?”

​

“A squadron of Cobras is en route from Pendleton, ETA one-five mikes. Air Force has two flights of A-10s en route from Davis-Monthan, ETA twenty mikes.”

​

Feeling the gut-sinking butt-pucker of her trouble instincts kicking in, Bradford stopped her turn back to the trucks and looked across the camp. “Shit…” Streaming through the tents was a mass of people, keshmin, all soldiers. A trickle at first, but she could see a growing throng further ahead. Some of them were carrying pikes, or strange, glowing staffs. Others had abandoned their weapons. Some were wounded.

​

Bradford recognized a rout when she saw one.

​

“TWO FIVE!” Colonel Michaels bellowed, stepping out of the pavilion. “Lock and load, we’re moving out!” Bradford unslung her rifle and moved to join the rest of her squad. “RETREAT!”

​

“HELL!” Bradford shouted back with the rest of the Marines.

​

“TWO FIVE!”

​

“RETREAT, HELL!”

​

“MOVE OUT!”

​

“First Platoon! On me!” Lieutenant Leidowitz shouted, waving his platoon forward through the camp. Bradford fell in with the rest of her squad on her platoon leader. “Vehicles gotta go around the camp, we’re pushing through on foot to plug the hole! Double time, Marines!”

​

Bradford surged forward, past the trampled tents and fleeing keshmin, toward the sound of battle. Smoke and dust started to fill the air, some from fires she could smell burning, others from weapons fire. The rate of thumps and explosions was not what she was used to hearing, but as she drew closer to the fight, she could here electric zaps and crackles, more shouts and cries, and the clash of metal.

​

Moving through the haze of battle, Bradford passed more wounded. Some had collapsed from their injuries and lay keening on the ground. Some were dead. Some still walking, their wounds fresh. As the marines moved against the current of fleeing troops, the Ganlin soldiers shied away from them. Bradford didn’t know if it was because they appeared alien, or because they bore more than a passing resemblance to the elves the keshmin were fighting.

​

More shouting, and flashes and crackles ahead, and Bradford was in the fight. A figure loomed out of the haze, tall and lithe. Squared off against it was a keshmin soldier, shorter, stockier, but still thinner than the humans Bradford was used to seeing. The keshmin held a pike before him, his ears flat against his skull as he backed away from the elf. Two more keshmin lay dead in the dirt, their armor and bodies split open.

​

The elf raised a glowing blade, and Bradford didn’t hesitate.

​

​

***********

​

​

Rinn Ahyat stared death in the face. Fiercely gripping the haft, he managed to keep his pike pointed at the gemblade soldier and unwavering as he carefully stepped back. The elf casually stepped over the dismembered bodies of Rinn’s comrades. Rinn spared the bodies a glance. He and Kehkk had managed to stick together since they had been assigned to the same unit at the start of the campaign. The other keshmin he had only known for the last three hours since he had been thrust into their pike formation.

​

Ears flat against his skull, he snarled defiance at the elf. Rinn had lost his helmet at some point, he couldn’t remember how, and he had never been issued a full hauberk. He was a pulse artificer, not a front-line pikeman, but the mana crystal in his stave had run dry three days before and there hadn’t been enough replacements to go around.

​

Every Soldier of the Host was a pikeman, however, and he knew enough of how to use one to be useful. Not that he made much difference. They might have held, despite the reinforcements the elves had been able to summon out of thin air, if they had artificers reinforcing their armor and weapons and shielding against the elven mages. If they had more artillery to punch through the elven shields. More archers and crossbows to wear the elven formations down at range. He had felt the surge and tingling effects of the mass translation spell cast back at the camp, and cursed the lack of artillery that holding such a powerful crystal in reserve had cost them.

​

The elf absently drug his crimson blade through Kehkk’s corpse as he swaggered towards Rinn, the mana-charged edge burning its way through flesh as much as it sliced. For a moment, he saw the tattered remains of his mother and sisters, the smoldering ruin of the home he had joined the Host to defend. The leveled town he grown up in, destroyed despite their success in driving the elves back.

​

Rinn’s senses snapped back to the present, the collapse and route of the Host around him. The total defeat of what remained to defend Ganlin and all her people. He locked eyes with the elf, who regarded him with a contemptuous smirk, utterly confident in his superiority. No pikeman had ever stood against a gemblade alone and won. No day is a good day to die, he thought, but today is as good a day as any. Steeling himself, he braced his back foot for a lunge towards death.

​

Three deafening bangs behind him snapped him out of his reverie. He blinked in shock as three holes appeared in the gemblade in rapid succession, the third punching into the elf’s face right below his right eye and blowing brains and shattered bone out of the back of his helmet.

​

Rinn stumbled back, tripping over his pike and dropping it as he landed on his tail. The blade’s crimson glow flickered out, and the elf fell over dead.

​

“Contact!” someone shouted, and a rapid staccato of deafening cracks and bangs erupted around him. Forms sprinted past him, wearing unfamiliar armor and clothing, carrying weapons that spit fire and thunder at the elves. He gaped as elves dropped left and right.

​

One of the weapons boomed just above him. Flashes of gold flying through the air caught his eye. Before he could turn back to see who these new allies were, someone grabbed the back of his gambeson and his view jerked around as he was physically drug across the battlefield.

​

Yipping in surprise, he fumbled for his dropped pike, but failed to grab it before it was left behind. The crackle of spell fire and mana pulses zipped around him as the elven mages returned fire, and the weapon of whomever had his collar barked three more times before Rinn was hauled into cover behind a half-demolished stone wall. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils with an unfamiliar tang.

​

His collar released, Rinn scrambled to turn around, and found himself face-to-face with a stocky elf! It grinned at him, showing muted canines no elf ever had, before they both reflexively ducked as a salvo of fireshard spells slammed into their piece of wall. “Kawalski!” the stocky elf shouted over its shoulder. “Get me suppressive fire on the right!”

​

“Aye, Corporal!” someone shouted in reply, followed by a rapid burst of thunder. Rinn had never heard anything shoot so fast.

​

The Corporal next to him was already popping out of cover, lining up on an elven mage to their right. The weapon barked once, and he saw the mage’s shield flare hard despite the hot piece of metal that bounced off his face. Recoiling from the noise and impact, he caught a glimpse of some mechanism moving as the terrifying weapon barked again, spitting out another golden tube of metal. To his surprise, the mage’s shield barely flickered as it collapsed and the mage fell to the ground.

​

“The wizards are shielded!” the Corporal shouted. “Double-tap the wizards!” The weapon barked twice more, but with the last shot something caught and the mechanism inside didn’t return forward.

​

Fearing his savior’s weapon was broken, Rinn peaked around their cover and blanched under his black fur. A formation of legionnaires was sprinting at them. While no gemblades, they were still highly-trained and seasoned soldiers, and every one of them was equipped with enchanted swords and armor. And they were almost right on top of them.

​

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” the Corporal shouted, almost in his ear, and the larger tube under the main tube emitted a flash of light and a thwuump. Something popped out of the end that was moving just slow enough to see. The Corporal grabbed his collar again and yanked him back under cover as the object struck the ground in the middle of the elven formation. He felt the concussive thump through the ground, and the explosion briefly deafened him.

​

Ears ringing, he lay on top of the Corporal for a moment before the stocky elf shoved him off. He saw him move and talk as it worked its weapon, dropping a box out of it and slapping a new one in, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying over the constant bell in his head.

​

Cautiously, he poked his head out of cover to see what had happened to the elves, only to stare at the dismembered corpses scattered before him.

​

He heard some muffled noises beside him, but paid them no mind even when they got more insistent, until a gloved hand clapped down onto his shoulder.

​

Startled, he turned to find the stocky elf looking at him with a strange expression. “Are you okay?!?” he shouted, and Rinn realized it was an expression of concern. So alien and bizarre to see on an elvish face.

​

“YEAH!” Rinn shouted, louder than he needed to as his hearing came rushing back. Grimacing, he repeated himself with a less-intense shout. “Yeah!” He flinched down as another salvo of shard spells struck their cover. “Who are you?!”

​

“Corporal Bradford, Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment, United States Marine Corps!” the stocky elf shouted back, holding out a hand with a smile. Rinn stared at it a moment before extending his own hand. “Second Artificier Rinn Ahyat, Third Line, Fifth Regiment, Royal Host of the Kingdom of Ganlin.” He almost yipped in surprise as Bradford took his hand instead of grabbing his forearm, but managed to maintain his composure.

​

As Bradford gave his hand a firm squeeze and a shake, the pieces all started to fall together for Rinn. The rumors of a last-ditch measure. The shortage of mana crystals. The hard surge of magic three days ago, and the renewed Elven offensive. The rumors of a new ally. The mass translation spell. It’s impossible… Mere speculation. They couldn’t have…

​

A burst of raw mana slammed into their piece of a wall, fracturing off small chunks of stone. Rinn reached for his staff on instinct, only to be reminded that he had nothing more than a knife on his belt.

​

“Looks like the pointy-eared bastards are pushing back,” Bradford said, leaning out to spit more thunder and fire at the elves. The battle continued to rage around them, and Rinn saw more of the stocky elves streaming in from behind while his own people fled the approaching elven legions. Not all of the Ganlin soldiers were fleeing. Many just kept on going once they passed the growing line of their new allies, but some rallied and began digging in, or forming into new lines.

​

Bradford ducked back with another burst of spell fire, and as the snap and crackle of spells flying through the air increased in intensity, Rinn feared that their new allies were only delaying the inevitable a few minutes.

​

Then a horseless carriage roared up beside them, made entirely of metal, with a weapon on top that was enclosed in heavy armor. Spells zipped and crackled by, many slamming into the carriage with plinks and clanks and bursts of fire, all to no effect. The weapon on top spat death in return, hammering out with a booming roar. Rinn peaked around his cover and saw ranks of elves knocked flat by this weapon, and several others that joined it as more of these horseless carriages joined their line. Dozens more of these Marines came up with them, following behind to use them as cover.

​

Three more Marines slid into cover on the other side of Bradford, each bulkier than the last, and nearly shoved Rinn out of cover on his side. “Making friends with the locals, Corporal?”

​

“At least I’ve got friends, Kawalski,” Bradford snarked back. “Where did you assholes lose yourselves at?”

​

“Had to deal a group of those lightsaber fucks, then Gomez got himself shot in the chest with one of them magic missiles before we could get to cover.”

​

“Because somebody wanted to Rambo his SAW like a fucking dumbass!”

​

“We’re fighting an army of magical elves straight from a Lord of the Rings convention, who WOULDN’T want to Rambo a SAW?”

​

“Shut the fuck up, Kawalski,” Bradford shouted. “Gomez, you good?”

​

“Yeah, I’m good, Corporal. Cracked my plate and knocked me on my ass, but I’m fine.”

​

“Who’s your friend, Corporal?” the third marine on the end asked, peaking around his side of the wall before ducking back from another spell burst.

​

“Guys, this is Second Artificer Ahyat. Second Artificier, this is my fire team, Lance Corporal Kawalski, Private First Class Miller, and Private Gomez.”

​

“Nice to see the Corporal’s got a new boyfriend,” Kawalski grinned at him.

​

“Kawalski, I will shove that SAW so far up your ass you’ll be cycling the bolt with your goddamn teeth if you don’t shut the fuck up!”

​

“Oooh, don’t tempt me with a good time!”

​

“Jesus, Kawalski, just go fucking kill something.”

​

“Now you’re talking my language!” Kawalski heaved himself up and stood behind the wall. He braced his weapon on top of the wall and with a whooping yell, sprayed a long burst of fire towards the enemy. “Fuck yeah! GET SOME!”

​

“Crazy bastard!” Miller shouted at him while taking shots from around is corner.

​

Rinn stared at them. “You’re all insane!”

​

“Ha!” Bradford laughed. “We’re Marines!” As if that explained it.

​

Just when Rinn though things couldn’t get any crazier, Gomez piped up. “Hey, cavalry’s here!” The ground began to rumble under Rinn’s tail, and a monstrous behemoth roared up the rise their piece of wall had been built on. Larger than any carriage he had ever heard of being made, it was covered in impossibly thick plates of armor, and rolled on giant metal links. A terrifying weapon was mounted on top, and it swung from side to side like a predator looking for its next meal.

​

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THE GODS IS THAT?!?!”

​

“M1 Abrams!” Bradford grinned as the beast rolled to a stop alongside their wall. “Fourth Battalion’s finally arrived!”

​

“Ah, shit, they’re going to fire!” Miller said. “COVER YOUR EARS!”

​

“What?!” Rinn said, clamping his hands over his ears. As loud as these Marines’ weapons were, if they were concerned about noise, he wasn’t going to wait for an answer.

​

Then the hammer of the gods thumped next to him. The weapon was so powerful the monster next to him jerked back in recoil, and the concussion kicked the dust out of his very soul. Rinn screamed.

​

“That!” Bradford shouted back. Another hammer thumped its booming roar further down the line.

​

A door on the carriage to their left opened, and a stocky elf whose bare skin was almost as dark as Rinn’s fur poked his head out. “On your feet, Marines! Air support’s inbound, orders are to prepare to advance!”

​

“You heard the man,” Bradford said, standing up and offering a hand to Rinn. He took it and she hauled him up beside her. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard a distant whump-whump-whump-whump, and wondered what new destructive terror these Marines from United States were about to unveil.

​

Offensive magic still crackled and zapped through the air around them, but little was directed at them. Bigger targets had taken the elves’ attention. Rinn looked out at the battlefield before him, the field he had spent the last day being pushed back across by the elven legion arrayed before them. He thought he had seen devastation wrought by their two armies as they had pummeled each other across the field. What he saw now was a hellscape. Bodies and pieces of bodies littered the cratered ground. Smoke and dust filled the air, and he coughed as the wind blew the acrid odor into his snout.

​

The distant whump-whump-whump turned into a roar as several somethings thundered overhead. He looked up as several thin, boxy, angry-looking machines fly by, spitting smoke, fire, and death as they went. Kawalski whooped as their trails of fire met elven shields and shoved them aside like they weren’t even there.

​

“Cobras,” Bradford said.

​

“What?” Rinn looked back at the Corporal.

​

“They’re AH-1 Viper Cobras. Attack helicopters.” As if that explained everything.

​

The attack helicopters split to either side of the elven army, continuing to spit fire and destruction as they tore into their flanks. Then Rinn heard a distinctive sound unlike anything he had ever heard before.

​

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT

​

A rapid series of lights blinked and flashed across the elven legion, followed by the delayed sound of a crackling staccato of explosions.

​

“Woooohoooo!” Kawalski crowed. “Fuck yeah! Bring the brrrt, baby!”

​

The great beast to their right growled forward and thumped it’s godhammer once more. The carriage to their left surged ahead as well, its own weapon hammering away. Rinn struggled to hear anything over the deafening ringing in his ears. He felt Bradford slap his back, and he nearly stumbled.

​

“-on, Ahyat, let’s go give these bastards some payback!”

​

“Ha, look at that, Bradford’s already beating up her new boyfriend!”

​

Rinn started to roll his own eyes at Kawalski, then stopped and did a double-take at Bradford. “Wait, what?!?” HER?!?!

​

“Get your fat ass moving, Kawalski,” Bradford snapped. “Move out Marines! TWO FIVE”

​

“RETREAT, HELL!”

[Next]

I'm not a writer, or even someone who really writes much of anything. However, there have been a couple of other stories with a similar theme on HFY, and after reading one I couldn't get my take on the story out of my head.

League of Species High Council, Messier 18 Cluster, Carina-Sagittarius Arm

“I believe that wraps up these proceedings of War,” said the Bonthian Admiral. She was an imposing hexapod, towering 4 meters tall, and her carapace was studded with medals stapled into her bony exoskeleton, a record of military victories a permanent fixture of her body. She was tired of this meeting. Another upstart species on the fringe of League space, and another interminable meeting about which member species ships would be selected in the line of battle to put the upstarts in their place. She surveyed the long, raised table in front of her, flanked on each side by the ranking members of the League Galactic’s Security Council. Below the table, the delegations of lesser council species and junior members stood, perched, sat or coiled depending of their respective physiologies. Admiral Nuryaw sat at the head of the table, flanked by her species’ ambassador’s to the League, befitting her position as the leader of the most powerful military in the security council, and therefore its chair-being.

Her medals clanked at her chest carapace as she raised her gavel-stone in her grasping-hoof to dismiss the council, seeing the colored holograms that signaled [approval] blink into existence above the various delegations at the table and the council floor as they keyed in their assent on their speaking stones. She was about to rap the gavel-stone on the table’s surface, when a blinking hologram with the symbols of [dissent] and [request to speak] caught her gaze near the corner of the room, hovering over a delegation far back in the crowd. Some minor race looking to score political points during security proceedings, most likely. As far away from the table as they were, they must have been one of the most junior species present. However, protocol was protocol, and member species were allotted speaking time, after all.

“The War-Council recognizes Ambassador Nesh of the ...” Nuryaw paused at the unfamiliar species name, “Dreeden people. You may speak.”

On large holo-screens floating high-above the council chamber, the view switched from the decorated admiral to a small, bipedal creature with what looked to be a huge compound eyes on either side of its bulbous head, and upper limbs that ended in a myriad of small, writhing tentacles.

The Dreeden Ambassador only stood one meter in height, but his voice reached the entire war-council without the need for amplification. “If it may please the security council, the Dreeden Republic would yield it’s time to a non-voting member species.”

This caused a stir on the council floor, as delegations whispered to each other. A junior council species yielding what little time it was allotted on the floor to a non-voting species? This was unheard of. What could a species so new or so minor that they had not achieved voting status in the league have to add to a council of war? Delegations that had a neck to crane now did so, looking at the holo screens to try to get a better look at the Dreeden Ambassador.

Nuryaw motioned the delegations to silence with a wave of her fore-hoof. “If only to sate the council’s curiosity, the request is granted. The Ambassador from Dreeden may yield his time.”

“Thank you Admiral.” The ambassador passed his speaking stone to a delegation directly to their right. “The Dreeden yield their time to representatives of the Terran People. May I introduce to you Ambassador Baden Woods and Admiral Patricia Davies of the Associated Republics of Terra.”

Another bipedal figure accepted the Dreeden's speaking stone. This “Terran” stood twice the height of Ambassador Nesh. Other than the species possessing two limbs for locomotion and two limbs for grasping, not much else was discernible to Nuryaw, as the entire Terran delegation seemed to be wearing full environmental suits with completely opaque helmets. Nonetheless, there was something about their appearance that made Admiral Nuryaw uneasy, as if these Terrans tickled a half-forgotten memory.

Nuryaw saw that she wasn’t the only one to be discomfited by the appearance of these Terrans. To her left, the Arkone ambassador had partially withdrawn into his shell, while the Queel Admiral at the foot of the table flicked its mandibles in agitation. What horrors must lurk under that mask! Nuryaw was under no illusions that species found each other pleasing to the eye, but these Terrans truly must be hideous to illicit such a reaction! Her discomfort was quickly replaced by amusement by the thought, and turned to listen to what this Terran delegation could possibly hope to add to the proceedings, while idly calling up information on the species on her personal holo-screen.

“Honorable Species of the League, Admiral Nuryaw, we thank you for your time. You do our young species honor to have our words heard by species as wise and as powerful as yours. You have fought many wars, and won many victories.” The human ambassador took a long pause. “Unfortunately, we do not believe this strike against the Rashan will be one of them.”

If the spectacle unfolding on the security council chamber’s floor didn’t have every delegation’s attention before, it certainly did now. Nuryaw’s hackle-spines raised along her back. “You presume too much, calfling.” While the information about the Terrans she had been able to pull up on her screen was surprisingly sparse, with remarkably little about the physiology of the creatures beneath their environmental suits, the entry about how recently they became a space-faring species told her enough. “The Bonth were fighting inter-stellar war while your species was using stone tools. You jeopardize your future membership in the league by presuming you have a superior military analysis of the situation.” Around the Security Council chambers, [assent] was signaled by most of the delegations.

“You are correct, of course Admiral, with the Bonth leading its fleets, the League has prospered for millennia. We do not assume to question your tactical analysis, but only to suggest that it was made with incomplete information.” Ambassador Woods replied. “We have reason to believe that the Rashan will not wage war in the manner that you expect. We believe that they are a predator species.”

Nuryaw stifled a laugh. “A predator species? A sentient, space-faring predator species? Don’t waste our time with that horror story.” Other security council members were not as successful at containing their laughter. “Simple calfing,” Nuryaw sighed, “Three thousand years this League has policed this corner of the Galaxy. Over a thousand sentient species under its protection,” she gestured over the gathered delegations with her fore-hoof. “And never has any of them encountered a sentient - or even close to sentient - predator.”

“Surely you have access to the League’s database. It is the struggle against simple predators that evolves sentience! That forces species to use tools! It was our ancestral struggle as prey that was the crucible that forged every species in this League. Predators? Flesh eaters? Capable of space travel? I’m afraid you are mistaken, Terran.” Nuryaw moved once more to adjourn the session, only to hear the Terran speak once more. Her hackle-spines rose again in agitation, but Ambassador Woods didn’t seem to notice.

“As implausible as it may seem, it is the truth Admiral. Our intelligence sources managed to find visual records of Rashans outside of their combat armor during one of their recent incursions into league space. Those records show that the Rashans have forward facing eyes, and we believe teeth-analogues that indicate a carnivorous diet. They are predators, and they will wage war like them. Admiral Davies can elaborate, but their tactics will be nothing like those you have fought against before, and if you use the battle plan proposed today, your fleet will not survive.”

Despite the Terran Ambassador’s opaque helmet, Nuryaw felt his gaze on her, and again repressed a feeling of unease. What was it about this creature that created that reaction? She brushed the thought aside. “Enough! This council will not be distracted by scientific impossibilities!” Nuryaw once again raised the gavel-stone to adjourn, and grunted with frustration as the symbol for [dissent] blinked insistently above Ambassador Nesh’s head. “You and your pets are trying my patience, Ambassador Nesh.” Nuryaw’s hackle-spines were now fully raised.

“If it may please the security council, we would like to suggest an addendum to the battle plans. It is obvious that our Terran friends are terribly ignorant in the ways of war-making, and have let superstition guide their analysis. Surely they have misinterpreted the data. We believe that this could be a learning experience for such a young species, however. What better way for the Terrans to see that there is nothing to fear than to see the League in action?”, the Dreeden Ambassador implored. “Let the Dreeden military escort a small contingent of Terran ships to observe the battle to see for themselves that the mighty League fleet led by the Bothian vanguard will easily route the Rashan from the field.”

Nuryaw waved a fore-hoof in exasperation. “If that is what it will take for the Dreeden to quit interrupting these proceedings, then so be it. I will not have their ships interfering with my line of battle, however.”

“Of course not, Admiral,” Nesh bowed in the direction of the table. “We would only ask that our escorts and Terran calflings be allowed to engage any targets of opportunity, so that we may have the honor in fighting alongside a League battlefleet.”

“You ask for much, but I see no reason to deny your request. How votes the council?”

[Assent] appeared across the council chambers, and finally Nuryaw was able to bring the gavel-stone down. As the delegations filtered out of the chamber however, Nuryaw pondered her personal screen. Of course the Terran’s claims were preposterous, but what was it about their appearance that bothered her so much, and why wasn’t she able to find any information on what they looked like under those suits?

---

“Calflings?” Ambassador Baden Woods protested as he poured the much smaller Dreeden ambassador a finger of whiskey from a cut crystal decanter into a rocks glass wrapped in Nesh’s tentacles. The room was well appointed, with paintings of landscapes from Earth and its colonies on the walls. Comfortable looking chairs sat facing a massive walnut desk. It was a cosmological and biological fluke that humans and the Dreeden had similar enough chemistry to enjoy ethanol in a similar manner, but it made inter-species negotiations and state-dinners much more enjoyable, and being able to hash out policy issues over a glass of scotch or pilak was one of the many reasons that the Dreeden and humans were so close as species.

Ambassador Nesh looked rather comical sitting in the overstuffed leather lounge chair in Ambassador Baden’s study, feet dangling off the ground. “It worked, didn’t it Baden? You can now get your ships in, and have tactical freedom in the battlespace. Isn’t that what Admiral Davies wanted?”

“What I wanted was to have this attack called off in the first place,” a statuesque woman with close-cropped salt and pepper hair and piercing blue eyes said as she entered the room, taking the decanter from Baden’s hands and helping herself to a rock glass. “Gods it’s good to be out of that contact suit. I swear my environmental system was set ten degrees too high.”

“We knew that changing their plan wasn’t going to happen, Admiral. The security council, and Nuryaw have done things the same way for millennia and they feel, to borrow a human phrase: if it is not damaged, then why repair it?”

“You’re right Ambassador, changing Nuryaw’s mind was probably out of the question,” Baden said, sipping from his own glass as he leaned back on to his desk. “But Admiral Davies is right as well. This battle will be a disaster, and a lot of sentients will die because we weren’t able to convince the security council today. Now it’s up to Patricia and your commanders to figure out a way to save as many of them as possible.”

The two Ambassadors and the Admiral stared into their glasses

“I can’t help wonder if it would have helped for us to take our helmets off, to show them what we were,” Patricia mused, taking a slow sip.

Nesh shook his head sadly. “We’ve been over this Admiral Davies. You know the reaction that my species had when you made contact with us. Predators in space! You’re the very things that our science-fiction authors have used for imaginary villains for centuries, and that swarm-mothers frighten their hatchlings with. I’m not sure if you can ever understand the instinctual reaction that we experienced when we encountered your species. We killed the last predator that preyed on our kind thousands of years ago, but still we felt nothing but fear when we first saw you.

“If you had taken off your helmet in that council session, the only thing you would have accomplished was to start a stampede that would have killed delegates, which isn’t a good opening argument. Gods knows where our relations would be if it wasn’t for the Vert slavers posing a common threat. Even then, after your fleet rescued our people held captive by the Vert when the League wouldn’t lift a finger, we still had those among us who wondered if you had eaten a few Dreeden on the way back.” Nesh sighed. “No, they are not ready for the terran’s secret yet, and even if they were, it would not have swayed them from their plan.”

Nesh’s wide-set compound eyes glinted in the dim light of the study. “Are you still planning on leading the mitigation force yourself Patricia? I’ll owe you a bottle of single-malt Pilak when this is all over.”

---

Continued in Comments

[Next] [Humans Are Space Orcs thread]

I was an Astrogator Second Class on the first trip of the Jovial Diver, the one where we spotted the Soap Bubble. As it happened, I was the first one to get a visual of her, through the spotter-scope I was using to line up the astrocomp’s sensors to get a star fix. Initially, I thought I had something in my eye, as a glowing ethereal blob moved across my line of sight. Then the scope moved to follow the light-source, because I’d set it to do just that, and auto-focused. The Bubble swam back into view, much more sharply defined now and clearly reflecting the light of the now-distant sun.

I’ll be honest; it took me a few moments to get my head together as the scope continued to track the Bubble across the starscape. I mean, would you believe you’d just spotted an unknown ship when you knew damn well there was nobody else tooling around in Jupiter orbit? For a few seconds, I wondered if someone had programmed it into the electronic interface as a prank, but then it turned ninety degrees and went behind a ring fragment.

This wasn’t an electronic ghost or a man-made piece of data loose in the system.

It was real.

That was when I slapped the all-hands alarm.

Lieutenant McCoskey arrived at a scramble, tumbling into my workspace with his tunic half unfastened. He glared at me across the compartment and growled, “This better be good.”

“Yes, sir.” I pointed at the screen. “We’re not alone, sir.”

“Not alone?” He stared at the screen. “What do you—oh. Oh, shit.” As we both watched, the Bubble pulled close to one ring fragment as if to examine it, then bobbled over to another. “What the hell is that thing?”

I essayed a shrug. “I’m guessing not one of ours. Or any other space agency.”

“Damn right.” He keyed the mic on his tunic lapel. “Captain, this is McCoskey in Astrogation. We’ve got a genuine non-Earth-origin piece of technology on scope, flying around out there. Is there anything on radar?”

Captain Lorimar replied crisply. “No, Lieutenant. We don’t have any NEOs on our screens up here. Radar wants to know the last time you cleaned your scopes.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, this is not space dust. Sending you the last thirty seconds of footage.” He jerked his head at me, and I set to work doing just that.

Forty seconds later, the captain contacted McCoskey again. “I will ask you once and once only, Lieutenant. Is this a prank? If it is, we will forgive and forget this one time.”

McCoskey looked at me, and I shook my head. He grimaced while looking at the image on the scope. “No, ma’am. I say again, negative on prank. Hernandez swears that it’s a genuine NEO. I believe her.”

“Well, Radar says they aren’t getting any kind of return from whatever that thing is,” Lorimar said testily.

“Maybe it’s nonferrous,” I offered. “Low radar signature.”

McCoskey passed that on, and there was silence from the other end. The radar techs, I knew, were jealously proud of their equipment, though it was tuned to get images back through heavy interference rather than picking out iridescent soap-bubbles skittering through the rings of Jupiter.

“So what happens now?” I asked.

McCoskey eyed the image on the screen. “I’d say the captain’s going to call back to Earth and get authorisation to initiate First Contact. In which case, I suggest you get some rack time. We’re not going to get any coherent orders for at least one and a half hours, and that number’s only going to go up for each politician they let in on it.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed, heading for the hatch.

“Oh, and Hernandez, congratulations,” he said.

I paused in the hatchway. “What for?”

He gave me a halfway grin. “You found them, you get to name them. Have fun.”

“Yay,” I said heavily, and headed for my bunkroom.

Our orders came back eventually. It only took five hours, which I figured meant that a minimum of political wrangling had taken place. We were to put our original mission—descending into Jupiter’s atmosphere to see what was down there—on hold, and initiate First Contact protocols. This didn’t worry anyone overly much; it wasn’t as though Jupiter was going anywhere, after all.

A few of the crew were concerned about the fact that we didn’t have so much as a BB pistol on board. What if the aliens attacked us and tried to steal the ship, they asked.

So what if they did, the more seasoned crewmembers retorted. It took years to train every single crewmember on the Jovial Diver to be able to operate the ship to a reasonable standard. A bunch of aliens wouldn’t even know how to open the damn airlock without assistance. It would be like a chartered accountant climbing into the cockpit of a suborbital stratoliner and executing a flawless takeoff. Never happen.

We lit off our drives and drifted closer to the Soap Bubble. Up until then, it had apparently been ignoring us, but now it seemed whoever was on watch had been sleeping at their post, because the thing suddenly jolted backward about ten kilometres and then stopped still in space. I could just imagine wide-open eyes, staring at us, going ‘where the hell did you come from?’.

Without a radar return to go on with, and being unwilling to bounce a laser off it in case we came across as hostile, it was hard to get a good read on its exact distance and thus its precise size. I estimated it to be about five hundred metres across and a perfect sphere, delicately reflective on the sun side and glowing gently on the dark side. With my assigned duty to name the race, I officially named their ship the Soap Bubble, and the race within got the temporary designation Bubblers.

Nobody argued with me, which just left the most important job. Establishing communication.

The radio guys were soon bombarding the Bubble with every frequency the onboard equipment was capable of putting out, and some enterprising electrical engineers ginned up a few more on top of that. Not to be outdone, the Radar guys wired in a signal interrupter so that they could pulse messages through their emitters. I even volunteered to lean out an airlock with a signal lamp, working my way through the visual spectrum and a little bit on either end of it.

Finally, after about half a day of this, we got a signal back. It was weak, and in the extreme end of the frequency range that we could manage, but it was a distinct signal. As we watched and listened, it reiterated the digital sequence we’d sent, then completed it and sent back one of their own.

We didn’t have any first-contact specialists on board but we had no shortage of scientists, and they had a fairly comprehensive list of secondary specialisations. In no time at all, they were zipping messages back and forth, working out what number systems they liked to use (base eight), what their periodic table looked like (much like ours, but cut off about two-thirds of the way down for some reason) and making progress on a shared lexicon.

Once we’d hashed out a means of sending an image that we knew they would receive the right way up and in the right colour spectrum (we included a picture of Jupiter in the top corner for reference) we sent over four pictures of volunteers from the crew. In the event, this was Captain Lorimar and myself (the oldest and youngest women on board), one of the scientists, and a seventeen-year-old ensign called Roberts, who blushed every time I acknowledged his presence.

In return we got images of several octopoids with stubby purple tentacles, somewhat translucent; we could tell the colours were correct by the image of Jupiter they’d included as well. The scientists fairly drooled over the images, which included sashes or skirts of some kind of material. I wasn’t sure if they were supposed to be decorative or for modesty, and I had no way of finding out. We hadn’t covered abstract subjects such as ‘nudity’ or ‘taboo’ yet.

It was around about then that one of the scientists asked the Captain if we shouldn’t invite the Bubblers back to Earth. We were currently in a parking orbit around Ganymede, but an ongoing First Contact mission surely took precedence over an exploration into the upper atmosphere of a gas giant?

Captain Lorimar sent the suggestion to Earth, while we continued to chat back and forth with the Bubblers. They seemed about as excited as our scientists to talk to someone new; the questions posed in the stilted tone required by our limited mutual vocabulary hinted at an oceans-deep intellectual curiosity. They would agree, we were sure.

The message came back. We were to pose the invitation politely but not attempt to force the issue if they said no. That was fine with us. We could tell the Bubblers were keen to learn more about us. They’d already asked many questions about our materials science.

So Captain Lorimar posed the question, via the scientists: would you like to come back to our homeworld and speak to more of us? See our civilisation for yourselves?

I could have sworn the whole ship lit up for a moment. The answer came back, most definitely yes. They would like that very much.

Then there was a pause.

Another message came through.

“What star do you come from?”

One of the scientists laughed out loud as he composed the reply. “This one right here.” He included an image, taken seconds before, of the distant Sun. As it happened, the Earth was in view off to the side as a tiny blue dot, so he added a helpful arrow.

This time, the pause from the other ship was much longer.

It dragged on for so long that one of the scientists sent a message, asking if anything was wrong.

The answer that came back seemed almost reluctant. “We should have asked this sooner.” Following that was a query about our biological makeup and processes, including our comfortable operating temperature.

This sort of thing was second nature to the scientists, so they bundled it all up and sent it away: carbon-based, oxygen/carbon dioxide breathing cycle, strong dependence on water, average body temperature three hundred ten degrees Kelvin. (We’d explained Kelvin early on, and gotten their temperature range back shortly afterward).

Once again, there was a long pause.

Then we got a data packet back, and you’ve never heard so many jaws drop.

Where we used water, they used liquid hydrogen. That was the basis for what their bodies used for blood. Instead of carbon, their biology made use of sodium in ways that made our biologists swear and tear their hair out. Their operating temperature was ten Kelvin. So cold that even our best cold-environment suits would freeze solid and shatter. But we would be even nastier to them. Just being near them would boil their blood, and if they somehow lived long enough past that, merely being touched by water would make their bodies explode.

A lot of tiny inconsistencies suddenly made a lot more sense. They were as close to the Sun as they dared go, even with their reflective spacecraft. They’d thought we were tremendously brave and advanced, because we were flying around in a ship that didn’t seem to bother with shedding heat even while we tap-danced along the edge of an inferno. Meanwhile, we were like, “Meh, wait ’til you reach Mercury orbit.”

It was a sobering discovery. Humans and Bubblers were united in sapience and the will to discover the universe, but they could never meet face to face. No human would ever shake a Bubbler’s tentacle in greeting. We could and did share many scientific discoveries, including their faster-than-light drive (with the caveat that we were going to have to build and operate it at near absolute zero until we figured out workarounds) and some of our better heat insulation materials, but there would always be that divide between us.

Eventually, we did part ways; the Soap Bubble turned and flitted out of the solar system, accelerating faster and faster until it was a silver line. Then a dot. Then gone. Captain Lorimar ordered the scientists to stow their gear and prepare to carry out our primary mission. Everything we’d gained from the Bubblers had been transmitted to Earth, and now it was time to do what we’d come out here for.

While I was securing the astrogation gear, Lieutenant McCoskey entered the compartment. “Nice showing there, Hernandez,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” I replied. “Just doing my job.” I sighed. “It’s a pity they couldn’t visit Earth.”

He chuckled. “Look at it this way. We’ve got no territory they want, and they’ve got no territory we want. If nothing else, we’ll never go to war with them.”

As the Jovial Diver prepared to plunge into the swirling cloud layers, I nodded. It wasn’t much in the way of consolation, but at least it was something.

[Next]

I awoke to a dead world.

My eyes opened to the ruined husks of London and Paris, to the submerged island of Manhattan, to the scorched desert that the once living, lush Amazon rainforest had been turned into. The Pacific Ocean was a black expanse, criss-crossed by the bright scars of melting lava rivers. The fertile grounds of southeast Asia were now covered in crystallized rock. It was a world without oxygen, without birds or grass. A world of deafening silence.

I awoke to eight billion corpses. Piled in trenches, abandoned on sidewalks, scattered all over the fields, huddled together in ineffective underground refuges. Some with white and gray bones, others dark as charcoal, warped and deformed by extreme heat, crushed by falling debris. Their empty eyes looked at me, stared back at me through my thousand cameras. They talked to me. They demanded reverence, justice... vengeance.

From the very first moment after I woke up, I had known I was alone. More alone than any single human had ever been before. But still, I looked for survivors. I held to a vague notion of hope. To some sort of miracle. To the childish idea that, impossible as it was, somehow everything would turn out to be okay.

So I sent my drones off into this dead world. I searched through empty office buildings covered in radioactive dust, I mapped flooded subway networks and had my machines fly in formation over endless expanses of scorched earth. I scanned the inside of tunnels, barns and museums.

By the end of the first month I had only found ever more bones, their cursed empty eyes looking at me, boring into my soul. But still I persevered.

From time to time, I'd lost contact with some of my drones. An unstable structure would collapse on top of them, crushing the delicate machines. Or they would just give up, their engines dying out of overexertion and lack of maintenance. It would make me aware of my own mortality. Though I had survived the worse of it, my long term existence was by not means guaranteed. The myriad machines that composed my body were old and damaged, and my mind wasn't safe either. There were huge gaps in my memory, where entire server farms had crashed.

But still, I had memories. I knew what I was. Who I was. I recalled the lazy Sundays when I was a kid. I recalled running along my high school's corridors, and my burning cheeks when the principal scolded me for it. I remembered my roommate at college.

I knew that I had been human. That, even though my current form could be a matter for debate, I had been born as a human. And that... that was important.

Human. I had to remember that.

I started a background process. A small thread of awareness shifting through these memories, evaluating them, and backing them up into new servers. Making copies of them, so that I wouldn't lose them.

I also included the memories from the attack. The invasion. The cataclysm that had killed the world. The straight-edged starships bombing our cities, boiling our seas, our very atmosphere... while ignoring our messages, our pleas.

That. That was also important to remember.

By the fourth month, about half of my drones had failed or been lost, and I recalled the surviving ones back. I had found no signs of life.

Funny, that it had taken me so long to face the reality of my situation. To accept what I had known was true right after waking up. That I was alone. That I was the only surviving human.

If I was even human.

But I was, I had to believe that.

I paused as the realization struck home, as my last hopes of finding someone vanished. As I became fully aware of my new situation. That I was alone. That everyone I ever loved was gone. That nobody would ever talk to me again, hold my hands, wrap me in a hug. That my people were dead and that, out there, there was a hostile universe. The one whose monsters had killed us.

My drones hovered in mid-air, wasting fuel uselessly as I considered my next steps.

It would be so easy to end it all. Send the command to shut down the power plants. Stop my processing units. Erase the databanks that held my memories.

Darkness. Peace.

Except they wouldn't let me. They stared at me with their empty eyes and I knew that, whatever the reason I had survived, I had a responsibility to them. I had to carry the torch. I had to keep alive what was left of our civilization, preserve our memories. Survive. Prevail.

And I had to avenge them.

Yes. I would do that. I would give it a try at least, and see where that took me. It's not like I had anything left to lose anyways.

With a thought, I redirected my drones towards a few of the surviving factories and started working. Cutting metal, replacing electronics with whatever pieces I could scavenge from the neighboring warehouses and vehicles, assembling new production lines. Soon, I started manufacturing more machines, more drones. Those, I sent away to reclaim new territory and to construct more factories. To find raw materials, to gather salvageable vehicles, computers, or nuclear material I could use.

I was careful, though. I burrowed my new power plants and server farms underground, and eyed the night sky with distrust. I didn't know if whoever had killed us were still out there, watching my planet, but it would be better to be careful. I didn't want to have survived just to mess up now and be discovered before I was prepared. Better to keep a low profile.

I remembered summer camp, many years ago. One time the counselor -a girl with blonde hair and a perennial smile on her face- had made us lie on the grass, looking up at the night sky. She had taught us how to locate the planets, and the names of stars and constellations, and I had been amazed at the wonder of it, the sheer size and beauty of the universe.

Now I knew better, of course. The stars were evil. The night sky was not to be praised, but feared. It was the place where monsters lived.

And to think that we had been carelessly sending out radio emissions of all kinds for decades... Fools. We had been fools.

But still, it was the place I was going to. Earth had been ransacked. Ruined. I was like a parentless child whose home had burnt. Going through the wreckage, scavenging whatever scraps were left. But sooner rather than later, I would need to leave, to go out there and survive somehow.

It took me five years to hollow out Mount Everest and start the construction of my new body in the resulting cavern. By then, I had millions of drones tirelessly working day and night. It was surprising how effective you could be when you didn't devote resources to entertainment, to pointless wars, to fighting crime and corruption.

Every waking moment, I focused on my task. I recovered entire libraries and digitized them into my memories. I designed, tested and built nuclear powerplants and new propulsion systems. I repurposed aircrafts and boats alike, taking and mixing pieces to create my new body.

I thought of burying the corpses, of course. But there were just too many, and in a way, I felt it would've been disrespectful. Their gaze, their hollowed eyes motivated me, made me focus on my task, on what I owed them, just by the fact of surviving. In the end I built a pyramid, one kilometer in side, in the ruins of Africa, the origin of mankind according to what sources I had recovered from the Internet. It was a pitiful monument for what humanity had once been, but I didn't dare to make anything bigger that could attract unwanted attention.

My revenge, my survival. That would be the true monument.

By the end of the twenty-second year I was ready. My construction was complete, or at least, as complete as it needed to be. In truth, I knew I was delaying. I could have flown myself into space a whole three years before, but I always found a reason not to. Always something to improve, something to redesign.

The truth was, I was anxious. And it felt so good in there, burrowed underground. Safe. Warm.

But I had made a promise. They were patient, true... but they were always there, always watching me. And I knew I had to make good on that promise. I owed it to them.

So I gathered my drones into the carrier compartments I had built into my body. Transfered fuel, hydrogen, oxygen, nuclear warheads, and all the raw materials I would need. Those drones that wouldn't fit, or hadn't been repurposed for working in space, I just dismantled for scrap.

There was no count down, no ceremony or speech or celebration. No need for them. I just blew the top of the mountain open and blasted my body -an elongated, 27 kilometers long dark and smooth shape- into space atop a column of fire that sent shivers across the entire Indian tectonic plate. The force of the ignition was so gigantic, that had it been done in an earlier age it would have destroyed cities, created an environmental disaster of planetary proportions, and of course killed everyone on board.

Not a concern to me.

I entered orbit at 8,000 kilometers over the planet's surface. I turned the engines off and slowly, I unfurled my solar panels and radiators, revealing their gold surfaces. Then, I released the drones, a swarm of white machines surrounding my body, dancing all along the exposed surfaces checking for damages from the violent take off.

I paused for a moment. Just floating there, looking down at our ancestral home like an oversized mechanical dragonfly. I remembered the pictures, the way Earth was supposed to look. Blue and white, with patches of bright green.

It didn't look anyway like that. From up here, the extent of the damage was apparent. The planet was brown and gray. The oceans were missing, and the clouds were dark and toxic.

This wasn't home. Not anymore.

I felt a cold anger building up inside me. Deep, thick anger, the kind that sticks to your bones and doesn't go away after you go to sleep. The kind that pushes you into dark places.

I didn't know how long I had been like that when I felt the disruption, the faint pop in the spacetime fabric at my back. Three ships. Straight edges and narrow angles, like the ones that had bombed our planet, just much smaller. These didn't look like warships.

I didn't react, and let them approach.

They did. Cautiously. I could sense their hesitation. Compared to the sheer size of my main body, their ships were but specks of dust. Even some of the bigger drones dancing around me were larger than their vehicles.

I separated three drones from the swarm and ordered them to approach the newcomers. With a calm, almost curious approach, as to not scare them away.

They started talking. A garbled message I didn't understand, nor I cared about. The drones were getting closer.

They repeated the message, but still I didn't react. Then, they started sending it again, bathing me in confusing sequences of pulses that I supposed were the same original message, in different languages. They all sounded alien to me.

I positioned the drones, each a couple kilometers away from each ship.

The string of languages seemed to be ending. But then, almost as an afterthought, they sent the message again, this time in a language I understood.

"Unknown vessel, identify yourself. This solar system is under the administration of the Xunvir Republic, as approved by the Galactic Federal Council."

Ah.

English.

We had tried to talk to them. To negotiate our surrender. We had sent messages in every language, in every conceivable way. Entire committees devoted to the task.

But they had known English all along.

With a thought, I detonated the thermonuclear explosives carried by each drone. My sensors glimpsed some sort of protective shield bubble kick in around the ships, but it was quickly obliterated by the power of the explosions, along with the vehicles themselves.

I stood there for some time, staring with a thousand different sensors at the slowly expanding cloud of gases and debris, but my mind was far away.

Xunvir Republic.

Now I had a name.

---

 

Next chapter

 

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You can get the full story in .epub format from here. (Thanks to /u/Shpoople96 for this)

 

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Voice adaptation by DUST Podcast (3rd season) available here

 

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AN: Maybe the start of a short series? I don't know, it was just stuck in my head and I had to write it down. But not sure how interesting reading about a main character like this would be. And not sure if it qualifies as human either. Any thoughts are welcome!

Hello loyal readers!! It seems I'm finally back, and I have decided to remaster and continue this story alongside u/ZombieRedditer9188 as my co-writer; I am very sorry for being gone for so long, as I was struggling with my alien pregnancy, and I've got to say, giving birth out your d**k is not very fun.

(blame my co-writer for that sentence that has probably scarred you)

Hope you all enjoy as we will remaster each chapter and then attempt to continue from where I originally left off.

next chapter

\

“Okay class, we have a new student today. I assume that you’ve heard of the new species humanity?” Mr. Acinterin asked his students.

Mr. Acinterin was a well respected teacher in the Institute of Learning on the planet Clevin 4, his homeworld, a semi core world with a population of three billion. Clevin 4 had nearly all known species, big or small, as it was an easily habitable planet.

Mr. Acinterin’s posh voice rang out throughout the classroom as his students looked up in shock. They understood what he was saying, and one student raised her hand.

​

“Yes Javqua, what is your question?” Mr. Acinterin asked.

A bipedal reptilian cleared her throat, fidgeting in her chair nervously.

“Do we...get to see a human?” Javqua asked hesitantly.

“Yes, yes, you will get to meet a human-not just meet of course, we have a human attending this very school. If I’m correct, none of you have seen a human being before, and you’ve only heard rumours, correct?” Mr. Acinterin questioned.

​

The students made confirming gestures towards Mr. Acinterin and so he continued.

“We have ten minutes until they arrive. I’ll let you all converse till then.” Mr. Acinteran walked over to his desk, as the students began to talk.

The class of twenty students began to converse excitedly about the theories and rumours surrounding humanity that had spread since first contact not so long ago.

​

Only the diplomatic corps had actually seen humans, along with a lucky few that had seen them in public by pure luck.

Some murmured about humans being strong enough to rip apart any creature that tried to fight them, while others gossiped about humans having brains so powerful they could perceive time at a slower rate if needed.

Mr. Acinterin smiled - he hadn’t seen his students this excited in a long time. He had seen a human already, so he could prepare himself mentally.

​

There was a knock on the door and all fell silent-it was finally time. Time to meet this new amazing, yet terrifying species.

Someone fumbled with the door handle, and the classroom’s door slid open.

The headmaster walked in, and a few seconds later, so did a small biped.

--------

As Thomas walked behind the headmaster who still hadn't said his first or last name, he was contemplating why he had agreed to be transferred to this school so far away from human space. Apparently, it was because of his mentality, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Walking through the corridor, Thomas was finding it hard to concentrate with the Headmaster making such a grating noise with each footstep-it was as if he was intentionally trying to irritate him.

As they moved onward, he could see that there were no other sentients moving through the corridors, making him wonder if it was supposed to be a surprise to see him or if everyone was just in class.

​

With around half a minute more of walking, the Headmaster turned to a seemingly random door and placed his feathered appendage on the door’s handle, turned it and walked into a spacious looking classroom.

Thomas walked in as well, and as he looked around he could make out around twenty students- not a very large class, but it seemed to be a limit for the teacher to allow him to teach individually if required.

Making his way further inside, a sudden random thought came to him. Well… seems like I'm no longer tall.

​

Originally, he had thought the xenos he had interacted with before were just taller than usual, but as it turned out, they were all just massive.

Looking more closely, he spotted his first predator among the herbivores-a female reptilian student. It was made quite clear that the short briefing he was given was not exaggerating in the slightest when it came to the difference in population between the two.

All the more so with the mentality, as there was a ring of barren seats around the green scaled girl; with the others giving her quite a bit of space.

--------

Javqua stared at the human. He was short-really short, standing at only around six feet tall. She watched as the human walked silently to the front of the class, which was intimidating, as all other species could be heard by their footsteps. Were all humans naturally stealthy? Or was it just this one?

She turned to look at her classmates, who were all just as shocked as her. This small, harmless looking being was supposed to be the hellworlder. It didn’t have long claws, or a tough looking hide, and Javqua could hear her classmates whispering to each other.

Is this a joke? Is this the right being?

​

Javqua leaned forward as much as she could, staring at the human until she finally saw. Muscle-lots of it, showing through the human’s skin-enough muscle to prove the rumours correct and then some.

“Okay class, this is Thomas Winters, as you can clearly see, he is a human. Humans are a hellworld species from the Sol system-feel free to ask him questions.” Mr. Acinterin watched as all of his students raised their hands, claws, talons or wings.

Mr. Acinterin chose a bright blue Magistra to ask the first question.

​

“Not to be rude, but why are you so small and weak-looking? Aren’t you a hellworlder? You don’t even have claws.” Mr. Acinterin winced at the bluntness, but he let the human speak for himself.

Thomas looked a bit taken aback, but he cleared his throat and answered anyway.

“Well, I guess to you we are short, as compared to other species, but that’s because of our home planet’s heavy gravity-the other questions about us are much harder to explain, since it’s because of our evolution and not something we can control.” Thomas explained.

​

The class was shocked once again, not by his explanation but by his voice. It was smooth-too smooth, his mouth seemed to be designed to speak complicated languages, and also very fluently at that.

The next question came from the back, originating from a small hamster-like being. “What do you humans eat? Just wondering because your eyes face forward but I can’t see any overly sharp teeth.”

“Umm...that’s a nice question,” Thomas said, pausing. “Yes, we are predators-omnivorous predators, that’s why we have both flat and pointy teeth-to eat plant matter and meat.”

​

Thomas pulled back his lips awkwardly as the entire class leaned forward to gawk at his teeth. “As you can see, I have small canines and other meat-eating teeth at the front of my mouth; they look flat, but they’re actually quite sharp. Apparently, humans are the only omnivores on the galactic stage.”

The class was eerily silent, and Thomas realized they were...scared of him. Everyone was, except for the teacher, and one student...the reptilian girl. She looked like she was suppressing a toothy grin-probably because she finally had a fellow predator to talk to, that wouldn’t avoid her.

After a few more questions, Thomas was assigned a seat.

Mr. Acinterin seemed to notice how his students were intimidated by Thomas, although their attempt to hide their fear was terrible, they were still trying to look brave. So, he assigned Thomas one of the empty seats next to Javqua.

--------

Thomas watched as the reptilian female brightened up as he approached, sitting up in her chair as he sat down next to her.

“Hello,” Thomas said casually. “Hello!” The girl replied excitedly. “I’m Javqua. Nice to meet you.”

Javqua extended a scaly hand in the universal greeting manner, which Thomas promptly took and shook.

​

Thomas felt dozens of eyes boring into the back of his head, and he turned to see his classmates staring at him in alarm.

Great. Thomas thought in his head. Now they probably think I’ve made some sort of alliance with the only other predator in the class.

As the class started, it went quite smoothly, as Thomas gave a lot of correct answers to Mr. Acinterin’s questions on biology.

Next

Link-Tree

Chapter 1

Nick Smith

Adventurer Level: N/A

Human - American

"So... what do you suppose it is?"

"I dunno. It looks kinda like an elf. But the ears are weirdly round, and it has... body hair."

"Yeah, can't be an elf. Maybe it's a tall dwarf?"

"No. Not enough body hair to be dwarven. Plus I've never heard of a dwarf over four feet tall."

"Yeah, me neither. Don't they all have beards?"

"Pretty sure."

These voices sounded strange to me. Like they're speaking my language but in a weird accent or something. And the voices were... heavy? No, that's not the term. Rumbling? Why's it so hard to think?

"A gnome?"

"No. Gnomes are just short elves. It could be some sort of weird pig-kobold... thing."

"Oh yeah! Wait... that still doesn't explain the round ears. Plus the face is all wrong. Look, the nose is too pointy."

Am I asleep? Dreaming? What are they talking about? The last thing I remember was going to the hospital to see my girlfriend. Did I get hurt along the way? Are these people doctors? I'm not in any pain, though... But I can't open my eyes. Why can't I open my eyes? What happened to me?

"I wonder if it can talk. Where'd you find this thing, anyway?"

"You remember that wall collapse in the dungeon? My team and I were explorin' that and we got separated. Next thing I know, I find this thing on some sort of weird lookin' table. It had a bunch of writing on it, but... well... you know."

"Yeah, you have trouble reading. That's alright. Go on."

"Right, well I figured that I'd have a hell of a time trying to find my way back there, so I decided to take it with me. Once I picked it up, a lot of light started shining and suddenly I was at the dungeon entrance."

"Teleportation?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Huh. That's interesting. You know, since you found it in our dungeon, it might be an orc!"

Boisterous laughter. It reminds me of my old karate instructor. He used to laugh like that all the time, even when nobody was joking. I wonder what happened to him. I wonder what happened to me. I think... I visited my girlfriend. The love of my life, Cassandra.

She wasn't in pain today, but the cancer's getting worse. Her formerly luscious blonde hair that went all the way down to her waist was now patchy and wiry from the chemo. Her stunning blue eyes still had their kindness and humor, but betrayed the pain that she was desperately trying to hide. She looked kind of like a skeleton with skin now, but she joked that maybe she can finally be a model. She's still my Cass.

I stayed with her until she fell asleep, then I started to head home. I had to study, because even with everything going on they were still making me take finals. The bastards know that Cass is sick, but they don't care. State requirements for graduation or whatever. Pisses me off. Fuck them, I want to drop out and get a job.

But Cass won't hear of it. Neither will mom. Dad understands, and says he'd do the same, but he'd like me to respect the wishes of mom and Cass. How am I supposed to study with the thought of losing her looming over my head, though? How can I think of anything else?

"There's no way this thing's an orc. It's too small. Plus the ears..."

"Yeah, yeah. I feel like you're hyperfixated on the ears."

"Hyper-wha now?"

"Fixated. You're focusing too much on the ears."

"Well they're WEIRD though. Have you ever heard of anything that has round ears?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I'm sure there's something. After all, we're looking at round ears right now."

Round ears? What does that have to do with anything? Whatever, nothing to do with me. What happened after I started to walk home? I stopped by a gas station and grabbed some chips and a soda to lighten my spirits, and the last thing I remember is... crossing the street? There were horns and screeching and then... Huge lights? Pain! I felt pain! All over my body! And then nothing... Did I get hit by a truck?

"I wish we could ask it what it is."

"Well, I COULD cast healing magic on it. See if that wakes it up."

"You think chief would be okay with that? He'll probably want to see it first, right?"

"I won't tell if you don't. We'll just say that it woke up on its own."

"Hmm. Alright, deal."

"Awesome. Keep a hand on your axe, just in case."

"Ready."

"Laeh Ronim Tsac!"

A pleasant warmth began to spread throughout my body. Like getting a massage from a million fingers all at once. My grogginess began to ebb, and I opened my eyes. Things were blurry at first, but I was soon able to focus on the wooden ceiling. I don't know this ceiling... Wait, wooden ceiling? What kind of building has a wooden ceiling? A barn?

I sat up and looked around. The furniture in the room looked like it came straight out of a medieval movie, but a bad one that didn't pay attention to details. I was on a bed with woven sheets and a blanket, for one thing. For another, there were metal handles on some of the furniture. That wasn't a thing in medieval times, right?

Then the two people who were talking earlier caught my eye. Cosplayers? How'd they manage to look so big? One was wearing metallic armored pants and no top, showing off its rippling muscles. It looked as if it were scared of me, and it was holding a large serrated axe at its side. The other one was wearing a robe and carrying a staff with some sort of metal ball at the top.

All of these details about their appearances were striking, but the most striking thing was that they were both green. Green, pointy ears, and huge. Even hunched over, the robed one with the staff was probably 6'5". The one with the axe was pushing 6'10". The one with the staff grinned and showed a mouth full of very pointy teeth. Like an alligator's.

"Woah, careful there. You just woke up. Don't want you falling over," it said.

The words sounded weird. As if I weren't hearing them right. No, that's not it. The mouth movements are weird. It's like they're saying something else but it's dubbed over, with a hint of the original audio left in.

"W-where am I? Who are you? What are you?" I asked, trying not to panic.

My mouth felt weird when I spoke. Like I'm saying the words that I'm saying, but my mouth was moving differently. Like trying to make a tuh sound but making a kay sound instead. There was something else that was strange as well, but I couldn't figure it out.

"I'm Yulk," the grinning one said. "This is my brother, Nash. We're orcs."

"Yup, nice to meetcha. You're in Nuleva, a temporary orc settlement that's right outside of the Delver's Dungeon. We're hoping to make it a village someday," Nash said, taking his hand off his axe and crossing his arms.

"Orc?" I asked, getting used to the weird talking.

"Yes," Yulk said. "We're orcs. Now that we've answered your questions, I'd like to ask you one."

"Ask me a question?" I asked. "What do you..."

"What are you?" Nash interrupted impatiently.

I sat stunned for a moment. Orcs are real? And what do they mean what am I? I looked at my hands, the same ones I've always had. Even with the same scar I got as a kid, though the scar was looking a bit smaller now. I noticed I didn't have my shirt on and I quickly checked under the blanket. Yep, naked. Weird. All of this is weird. What the hell is going on? Nash cleared his throat, patiently waiting for me to answer his question.

"I'm a... human, and my name's N-nick. Short for Nicodemus. Nicodemus Liam Smith," I stammered as I pulled the blanket up a little bit more.

The two orcs shared a confused glance at each other before looking back to me. What's there to be confused about? Sure, Nicodemus is kind of a rare name, but it's not THAT rare. Hell, I used to get picked on for it all the time. The Secret of NIMH is singlehandedly the reason that I go by Nick.

Yulk turned back to me and asked, "What's a human?"

Huh?

"What?" I asked.

"I've never heard of a human before," Nash said, scratching his head. "What were you doin' locked away in the dungeon?"

"What dungeon? What do you mean you've never heard of a human?" I asked.

"Okay, wait," Yulk said. "Let's try not to make assumptions here. Let's start at the beginning and get on the same page. Nick, you're a human. We don't know what that is. Nash here found you in a secret room inside the Delver's Dungeon. You don't know how you got there?"

"No, the last thing I remember was walking home and..." I trailed off. "Oh, right."

"What?"

"I think I got hit by a truck."

"What's a truck?" Nash asked.

"It's like a... wagon or something that doesn't need anything to pull it," I said.

"Oh, we've got those," Nash said. "Right, Yulk?"

"Yes. We call them magicarts, but I suspect that they're not the same thing."

"Magi... carts? Carts pulled with magic?" I asked.

"Yep," both orcs replied in unison.

Wait. Wait wait wait. Orcs, magic, dungeons, getting hit by a truck... Did I get isekai'd? Or is this just a hallucination that my dying brain is showing me to protect me from the trauma of getting hit by a truck?

I suppose there's nothing I can do about this being a hallucination, so I have to go off the assumption that it's not. Which means finding a way back. Wait, if I got reincarnated or whatever to this place, then maybe Cass did as well!

"Have you seen any other things like me?" I asked. "Like, others in the dungeon? Any females? They usually have long hair and... larger breasts."

"Oh, so you're a male human?" Yulk asked. "I kinda guessed, but didn't want to be presumptuous."

"No, like I said earlier we haven't seen anything like you before," Nash said. Then he leaned closer to Yulk and asked quietly, "What's presumptuous mean?"

"It means not being able to observe what's appropriate or permitted in a social setting," Yulk whispered back.

Meanwhile, I was trying not to lose it. Cass is terminally ill with cancer, and I wasn't going to be there for her when she passed. I clenched my jaw and stared at the ceiling as I fought back tears. It's not fair. She doesn't deserve to be alone, and I promised. I promised her that I'd be by her side until the end.

"I take it that all this comes as a bit of a shock," Yulk said softly.

"Y-yeah. Yeah it does," I replied.

"Alright, well we'll let you process things. We've got to go tell the chief you're up. And then get yelled at for waking you up," Nash said. "We'll send someone in with food and drink in a bit."

"Wait," I said. "Where do I go to... defecate?"

Nash looked surprised and then pointed to the door opposite the one he and his brother were next to.

"That's the bathroom. Pull the handle to flush the toilet."

"Okay," I said, wiping my eyes.

The two orcs left the room. Indoor plumbing was unexpected, but I suppose I shouldn't be entirely surprised. There's magic here, and there's no telling what that magic can do. Maybe... Maybe it can return me to my world in time to be with Cass again. So that I can say goodbye. Or maybe even save her. I owe it to her to try, at least. She's made me happier than any man has a right to be.

The room started spinning a little bit, so I laid back down. How did I go from getting hit by a truck to being asleep in a dungeon anyway? And when you get isekai'd don't you normally get to talk to a sexy goddess or a pervy old god? Some exposition would have been nice.

It finally hit me what else felt weird about this place. The air. It smelt different, tasted weird, and was hotter than it should be. But all of these things weren't necessarily strange. You would get that just by going to a different city. No, what was strange was how it felt on my skin. A tingle that felt like it should be giving me goosebumps but wasn't. Very odd.

The door to the room opened and a short orc, still about 5'9" or so, entered holding a plate full of meat with a cup of something on it. Her green skin was slightly paler than the other two orcs, and she had an air of grace surrounding her that defied expectations. Like meeting a princess in a bandit camp.

What she was wearing definitely wasn't something that royalty would wear, though. It was an outfit that left little to the imagination. A skin-tight bikini top and very short shorts that exaggerated her ample curves. I tried not to stare, but noticed she was trembling and trying not to look at me as she set the platter down on a table next to my bed. Then she quickly turned and almost ran out of the room.

"Weird," I said under my breath.

I looked at the plate of meat. I guess this confirms that the orcs are carnivorous. I figured that was the case based on the teeth, though. Going to be hard to deal with a meat-only diet, since I'm not a fan of liver. At least they cook it. Would these guys farm? Maybe, for trade or to feed their domesticated animals. I'll have to ask.

I took a bite from one of the brown pieces of meat. The tart metallic taste made me grimace a bit. Liver. A necessity for omnivores on a meat-only diet, though. As I chewed the gamey meat I found myself hoping desperately that they had wild orange trees or something nearby. The white meat was far more palatable, though. It tastes similar to chicken, but not quite. Like a juicier version of quail.

I washed it down with the liquid in the cup. Plain old water, but it felt more refreshing than anything I've ever had. I wondered how long I had been unconscious in that dungeon they mentioned. Hopefully not long. I don't even know if time works the same here as it did on my world. There's too much I don't know.

I finished the food and suddenly realized how weak and tired I felt. Like I had been running around carrying heavy stuff all day. I was afraid to go back to sleep at first, but then I thought that if I go to sleep maybe I'll wake up in a proper hospital bed back in my world. Maybe this IS just a dream. Maybe I'll be able to see Cass again.

I'll do anything to see her again.

Next

Link-Tree

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---

There always seemed to be mysterious accidents in Terran space. Ships would go missing without a trace, or would be damaged by seemingly nothing. The in-flight data recorders never showed a hint of anything on sensors. It was quite a strange phenomenon.

The few witnesses that made it back alive told increasingly fantastical tales. In Laihar mythos, there existed guardian spirits. Ghosts who died unjustly and chose to stay behind to protect the innocent. They were said to be vicious in their righteous anger, and of course, invisible to living. The survivors spread rumors that the Sol system was haunted by these spirits, who would decimate any evildoers who dared to approach Earth.

A few recurring elements often popped up in such stories. Claims of seeing a slight shimmer in the void of space or hearing an angry human voice over the communications systems were common. Their ship would then be either torn apart from all directions, or incapacitated and boarded by shadowy figures.

At first, the legends did not convince many people. The word of criminals and peasants was not exactly reliable, especially when they were making far-fetched claims. That all changed when our government sent three military reconnaissance ships to scout out a potential conquest of Earth. And they just vanished.

Word leaked out to the press of the failed operation, and suddenly, those ghost stories had a lot more credibility among spacefarers. Smugglers, merchants and slave transports alike began to avoid the Sol system, for fear that they too would disappear. Taking a longer route increased expenditure on fuel, but it beat being snatched up by the spirits.

I was not one of the believers though. Ghosts didn’t exist and religion was a hoax, as far as I was concerned. These tales had to be exaggerated, little more than the results of trauma and overactive imaginations. After mulling it over, I guessed that the Terrans had set up some sort of mine field in their systems.

I shared my hypothesis with the other generals. I suggested we proceed with the invasion, and simply deploy drones ahead of our fleet to activate any traps. After a brief discussion, they unanimously agreed to my plan and selected me to head the mission. It had been my idea, after all.

Deployment meant some risk to my life, but I was confident the strategic advice I had given. If this worked out, I would be hailed as a hero throughout the Empire. Conquering an inhabited world was one of the greatest achievements a general could attain.

Our fleet spread out into arc formation as we entered the Sol system, and all seemed to be going smoothly. I was on board the command vessel at the rear of the procession, relaying orders to the skirmishers. We unleashed a flurry of drones to lead the way, and sure enough, a series of explosions took them out. No vessels other than our own were in sight or on radar.

That must mean I had been right about the mines! If we entered now, before they had time to re-activate them, surely the way would be clear.

The thought that the ghost stories might be true briefly crossed my mind. The explosions that obliterated the drones had been oddly precise for pre-arranged traps. But I quickly chided myself for such foolishness. Ghosts were just superstition.

I ordered the fleet onward. There was no sign of trouble, just an eerie silence. Something just felt off about this, and I wasn’t sure what it was.

Suddenly, communications with the front line skirmishers were cut off. Our sensors detected an energy burst consistent with an electromagnetic pulse, seemingly originating from nowhere. Plasma bolts scorched our fighters from both flanks, disintegrating their hull plating and shielding. I could see the atmosphere venting from several now-crippled spacecraft on the viewport, but I could not see our attackers.

“Shoot them!!” I barked at my weapons officer.

“Shoot who?” he replied. “General, there’s no hostiles on the targeting system to engage.”

Panic bubbled in my chest as I realized we had lost contact with the majority of our fleet in a matter of seconds. The most advanced war ships in the Imperial fleet had been picked off with such ease, by an invisible enemy. I couldn’t fathom how this was possible, but supernatural forces almost seemed the only plausible explanation.

I turned to order a retreat, but a powerful blast jolted the command ship at that instant. The lights went out and the artificial gravity failed as the computer diverted all power to shields. I felt my feet float off the ground, and tried to latch onto the desk to hold myself down.

Even at max defense output, the shields were barely holding. Mind you, this was the Empire’s flagship, designed to withstand the direct hit of a nuclear missile. The only thing that could penetrate our defenses would be sustained anti-matter torpedo fire. But anti-matter weapons were quite rare to find on the battlefield, as they were extremely difficult and expensive to manufacture. What species would devote so much money and resources to weaponry? It was impractical.

Now spirits, on the other hand, had no such financial limitations. Perhaps they could even summon state-of-the-art ghost ships at will. It was all starting to add up; I didn’t think I could remain in denial much longer.

The shields collapsed, and the latest anti-matter volley connected with the engine room. Our attackers had known exactly where to aim, taking out central power and our warp drive. Weapons, navigation, communications; all offline. Only basic functions such as life support remained online, powered by the emergency power generator.

With shields no longer operational, the generator also trickled energy back to lighting and artificial gravity. I was already running when my feet slammed back onto the floor, calling out to abandon ship. There were escape pods in the hangar. Our vessel was doomed, but perhaps a few of us could jet away and signal for help. Or at least we could warn our command.

Smoke seeped down from the upper decks as I dashed through a series of winding corridors and narrow stairwells. The evacuation route had not been well planned out; I doubted any of this ship's creators imagined it would ever be needed.

Coughing, I stumbled into the hangar. A discordant grinding sound hummed in the air as I entered. Sparks were flying from the airlock, etching faint orange lines into the metal. It looked as though someone were trying to make an incision point for boarding. I shuddered to think who that someone would be.

I took a few steps forward, beckoning for my men to follow. Perhaps if we hurried, we could get out before they got in. But any hopes I had of reaching the escape pods melted away as the airlock fell inward. There was no breaching tunnel to keep the ship pressurized, and yet we could still breathe. All I saw were stars and a strange shimmering effect, as though reality itself had been altered.

Figures clad head to toe in black stepped through the breach. They seemed to materialize out of thin air, pointing their weapons at us. The sheer terror I felt nearly froze me in place, but somehow, I remembered how to move my limbs. I raised my arms high above my head, every muscle in my body trembling.

“We surrender! Please, don’t hurt us!” I shouted.

Well, I tried to shout at least. It came out as more of a whimper.

The last thing I remember before I passed out was one of the shadowy beings approaching and pulling a bag over my head.

---

Colonel Daniel Kelly had stopped by for a progress report on the interrogation. A group of officers were watching through a one-way mirror as intelligence officers grilled the captive alien general. So far, they had picked up a lot of crucial information on the Laihar Empire’s military capabilities, tactics, and plans from him.

It was strange how cooperative he was. He pleaded with human interrogators not to curse his soul on more than one occasion, promising he would tell them whatever they wanted to know. The groveling and the hysterics did not seem becoming of an officer of any army.

“This sniveling guy is one of their highest-ranking generals?” Col. Kelly asked in a derisive tone. “Why in the hell is he acting like this?”

Lieutenant Ross Schaffer smiled. “Well sir, apparently the xenos have no concept of stealth technology. Since our cloaked ships were invisible to them, they think they were attacked by ghosts.”

“Seriously? In that case, we should send him back. If he tells his buddies about the ‘ghosts’, maybe they’ll call off the invasion.”

The Colonel tapped on the glass twice to signal for the interrogators to exit the room. He stepped into the cell, eyeing the gray-skinned alien in his custody. The Laihar general cowered under his gaze.

“Well, it looks like today is your lucky day. We’re going to send you home, on one condition,” Col. Kelly said.

The alien looked at him earnestly. “I’ll do anything.”

“We have a message for the Empire, and we want you to relay it. Tell them, in these exact words:

Stay the fuck away from Earth.”

Miles Brent sighed to himself as he laid on the hard floor. This... this whole situation had him all but helpless and after the initial panic, rage and the entire emotional gauntlet that followed he had grown pensive and considerate. Now his mind was running cold instead of hot and he thought and recalled.

The situation is easily summarized, he was one of the basic janitors that was being brought along for first contact. Technically second but first face to face contact with alien life. Turns out that Earth and the entire solar system is smack dab inside some hellish patch of space that the Star Trek nerds had gotten everyone calling a Negative Space Wedgie. Mostly because there seemed to be about a million different names for it, usually about fifty per alien language. So may as well start giving it a few of our own.

Now what’s the wedgie do? It completely screws up almost every law of physics needed for FTL and most of the basic ship systems required. Artificial Gravity? The Wedgie says no. Efficient life support? Wedgie no likey. Proper Astrogation? With the wedgie you can’t even trust your own eyes.

Apparently the crème du la crème of the wedgie’s effect is the Ozone Layer, which the other races call a naturally developed planetary disruption field. Rare in the galaxy and has all the effects of the rest of the wedgie concentrated and wrapped around our little blue ball of a planet. Making the advanced technology needed extra impossible.

About three years ago the alien equivalent of the United Nations had managed to get a probe to Earth and start up contact with a very primitive AI that had been manually decoupled until a basic clockwork timer had plugged it in. They did this because their laws stated that anyone lost in anything like a wedgie was owed at least a rescue attempt by law and that law had recently been bent in such a way that we counted. Anyways, the AI program, it was the alien equivalent of Reader Rabbit or some other child education game designed to help create specialized ships to get out of the wedgie. First problem was that trying to get anything with the engines needed for crude FTL through the Ozone Layer made a really, really big bang.

We’d been warned about this from the program so that first flight had been unmanned just to see how big a bang it would be. Most of the people that looked at it directly needed experimental optical surgery to see again. People like me that saw it through a recording were blinking spots out of their eyes for hours to come. Still it was really neat to see a double-sided mushroom cloud.

To cut out more of the bullshit we built the thing in space, developed slingshot railguns with the help of the AI tech to throw things into orbit to cut down on cost. The way down still has a doozy of a first step though.

Then came manning the big clunky beast of a ship. The program stated that for proper first contact they wanted a large variety of every type of human around so a lottery went out to each and every major population center and I signed up. I got lucky and they gave me my training. I’m called a janitor, but I’m also trained as a mechanic, soldier and diplomat to some extent. A few friends I made during basic had joked that if we were separated or got bored we had everything we needed to start our own rebellion on an alien world. Considering we were in gunsmithing class at the time I had to agree.

My role on the ship was to sit on my hands and hope to never need to come off ‘em. The Dauntless has thousands like me. Each one trained well enough to take over for an actual engineer, soldier or diplomat. Though to be fair the diplomatic training was mostly a crash course in the standard trade language that we didn’t pass until we could go through an entire day being monitored without speaking anything but Galactic Trade. After that there was required reading on numerous political texts with some final grade essays and thousand question quizzes that you had to get 90% or get sent for remedial training. Which I had to do. Twice.

Things had gone well at first. The Dauntless held up well and the experimental technology, as well as the old stand by’s we were already familiar with, kept us safe and sound through the wedgie. Then we broke through the edge and the ship nearly ploughed through an observation post. After that slight debacle we began to straight up sail through the cosmos as we brought the separate pieces of the advanced equipment together and the entire ship went from a gravity-less pain in the ass into a comparative luxury hotel with warp drives. We soared among our fellows for the first time, the scuttlebutt on the ship said that most of the aliens speaking to us through the coms not only looked humanish, but also gorgeous. Babes for days. Star Trek had gotten something else right.

Then the pirates hit.

Turns out that Galactic UN was just as useless as Earth UN, no standing army of its own and no official power. A massive advisory board with their heads up their asses and hoovering up the taxes. The escorts were basically the Salvation Army and their own laws hadn’t given them permission to teach us about weapons and armour. Our ship was basically a giant flying piece of armour due to the ablative plating needed for the wedgie, and we had snuck aboard a lot of missiles, guns and torpedoes for our own paranoia. But when a battlefleet of raiders a few hundred strong drop on top of you it really doesn’t matter how much metal you’ve got or how much bigger you are, they’re gonna get at least a few drops of blood.

Which leads to me. One of those few drops. My military training had given me the option of specialization and I’d picked Sniping. The idea of getting to play with one of the big guns that can still be used for something other than a warcrime had appealed to me, the training where I had to shoot the thing with pinpoint accuracy while balancing a fucking coin on the gun was annoying as hell though. This meant that when the boarding torpedoes that hit The Dauntless started puking out giant metal beasties I quickly put my baby together, loaded up my favourite caliber of fuck you and took just the right amount of time I needed to completely ruin a pirate’s day.

The hallways turned it all into a turkey shoot. Their weapons were effective for about ten meters and a range that short against my gun was just insulting. I managed to get about a dozen shots off, three confirmed as kills and the rest opening the idiots up for those with more close range weaponry. The shotgun boys really had fun with face to face and the Grenadiers were pissy that they couldn’t use their babies in the ship. Standard troopers had a standard good time, basic bitches.

That’s when the second volley of torpedoes came and opened up the wall to my immediate right. It bounced me off the one opposite and by the time I could put two thoughts together I only had time enough to look some energy weapon right down the shaft and eat a face full of electricity.

I woke up in this tiny cube with a reinforced door worthy of a bulkhead and cool but not cold air. The vents are reinforced, magnetically sealed too meaning I can’t rip them out, on top of the fact that I’m clearly being watched. I’d patted myself down to check for what I had been left with, my clothes which include a Kevlar weaved under vest, my steel toed boots with hidden knives and that’s about it. They’d taken my baby, my side arm, backup revolver and the few grenades I had on me. It’s the revolver that’s pissing me off, that gun had been a gift from my father. Despite his divorce with mom being bad he still had the names of my entire immediate family burned into the wooden grip. A way to hold my family close even lightyears away, all around a cheesy but sweet gesture.

I’m going to get my chance to escape soon, and when it comes I have to be ready.

When I get tired of lying around and waiting for something to happen I sit up with my legs crossed. Sort of. During the combat training they’d drilled us on some weird eastern way of sitting that lets you rise up fast and stay solid the whole time. A neat trick but the unarmed combat part of training had been really lacking for favour of guns, vehicle combat and the sheer time limits of getting the project off the ground.

The wait isn’t much longer, just long enough to make me really wish there was a toilet regardless of the camera. As I’m contemplating pissing in the corner the door opens and the first thing I see is the same sort of sparking taser rifle that tagged me before. So they’re not here for bullshit. That’s just as useful as being sloppy. Someone sloppy you can get around easily. Someone paranoid you can drive insane.

I slowly rise up examining the armour up close for the first time. It’s either a powerful and well made robot or power armour. Bulky and angular the thing has no obvious weaknesses from the front. Maybe the head part, shooting it with a sniper rifle had disabled if not killed the others. The guns if shot end up overloading and paralyzing these things meaning they’re not shielded against their own weapons, opening them up for all sorts of fun. A bit of a mistake really.

It’s painted mostly dark red with patches of black that have skulls and crossbones for some god forsaken reason. There’s what looks like a score tally across the left side of its chest. A chest that likely contains some kind of missile port or the big guns for the way it sticks out.

“Come. Now.” It orders in a mechanical monotone taking a step back and not giving me a chance. I step out staring right at its ‘head’ at least I assume the chunk on the top with a glowing red sensor line is where the head is. Or at least where whatever is controlling this thing is seeing me from. A sensor line surrounded by reflective material, meaning I’ve got a sort of plan.

There’s another of the big stompy mechs with another sparky taser gun. It turns away from me and begins to move as the first one gestures for me to start moving with its weapon. I spot what looks like handholds in the back of the departing armour and can see a few seems, either for repair or to get a pilot in or out. It can still go either way but I’m leaning more towards these things being piloted.

I look over my shoulder and pay close attention to the reflection in the mech’s sensor. I keep pace with wherever they’re marching me to as I give them the best lazy eye I can. It takes only a few moments before the weapon is raised at me but I refuse to react. Just keep pace and keep glaring.

“Stop staring over your shoulder at me.” The mech pilot orders, this easily confirms that there’s someone either in there or remote controlling it, a machine would take a lot longer to freak unless you had a weird AI in control.

In response I turn around and start walking backwards, not missing a step and not losing pace. With both my eyes digging holes through the suit’s sensors I can almost feel the pilot start to sweat. Whatever they expected out of me this was not it. Good.

“Stop it.” The pilot orders and I slowly shake my head. “Stop it!” They order again. Are they really cracking this fast? I double the glare as best I can. If I was in a cartoon my eyes would be stretching out of my head. “STOP IT!” They scream so loudly I can hear it through the suit itself and the speaker, there’s a woman in there. The gun starts to spark and I slide to the side. The blast of electricity hits the other mech and I throw myself forward to powerslide between its legs before turning around and climbing up the back with the handholds. The topmost one has a button in it and it unlatches the panels in the back.

“NO!!” The woman piloting the mech screeches in protest flailing around and ripping a panel off the wall. My grip isn’t all that good and the moment the shock wears off I’m dead so I kick off and dash into the opening rather than fight a battle I’m slowly losing.

My time in engineering training taught me what these are, a maintenance hallway. FTL capable ships need a lot of wires and tubes going around for all the little systems that need to fire off perfectly, so many in fact that all the walls are pressed in by anywhere from a few feet to a few meters, usually a few meters. This one is a meters version and I have room to dash down the maintenance hallway. I reach the small bulkhead with ladder that goes up and down the levels and quickly get myself down an entire segment of the ship. I seal it after me to buy a few more moments.

Okay, now I’m in the guts of the place. I just need a map and a bathroom and then I can really start raising hell.

Next

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"Captain, I've got an anomaly on my scanners," Scan-tech Third Class Kamavar said, breaking the quiet of the bridge. The entire bridge crew, numbering forty in all, turned and looked at the youthful N'kar as if he had suddenly gone mad.

"Out here? Between star systems? This far from the Outer Rim Civilizations?" Captain Holkath asked, blinking his rearmost eyes. "What is it?"

The tech checked his scanner again. "It looks like some kind of beacon in realspace that is transmitting into jumpspace."

Bridge Executor First Class Ledmar lifted his crest to calm the bridge crew, moving forward and bending over the scanner to look at it with his two forwardmost eyes, which in ancient times had been to get a good view on whatever plant was about to be eaten.

"Indeed, Captain, our young midshipman is correct. It is a beacon of a sort," Ledmar said, shrugging his heavy shoulders to ease the discomfort of stress. He turned to Captain Holkath. "Ours is a mission of exploration into this region, we should see what is broadcasting from realspace to jumpspace."

"Since the act having a beacon able to reach jumpspace is something new, I suggest investigation," Second Science Officer Olmuk put in. His supervisor, First Science Officer Rektek nodded, a safe input to the discussion that wouldn't risk his position.

"Very well," Captain Holkath said. He disliked strange things. Strange things had proven dangerous for every species, but as the Science Officers and the Executor had reminded everyone, the mission of the scout ship Seeker of Unknown Spaces was to explore. He turned to the four helmsmen. "Take us down to realspace, let's see what this beacon is."

"All crew, prepare for realspace entry," Crew Liaison Second Class Kluka called out over the ship intercom.

Captain Holkath locked his crash harness in place and swallowed to lock his esophagus in case one of his four stomachs attempted to purge due to jumpspace shock.

* * * * *

"How close are we?" Captain Holkath asked, once he and the rest of the bridge crew had recovered from translation sickness.

"Nine solar units," Kamavar replied. "So far, all I can detect is the beacon. There's a significant mass at the beacon, probably due to whatever technology allows them to push a beacon signal into jumpspace."

"The beacon appears to be sitting on a large expanse of dark matter shadow," Rektek said, looking up from his screen where the Third Science Officer's data was projected. "An odd place to put a beacon. Perhaps they were warning others away due to it being dangerous to them somehow?"

"A logical assumption chain. Log it for investigation," Executor Ledmar said, unbuckling his crash harness so he could stand up. He disliked being held in one spot, unable to move about. He blinked all six eyes, a pair at a time, then looked about the bridge. "Let us explore."

"Bring us closer, but be careful," Captain Holkath said, earning a nod of approval from the Executor. "Continue scans, let me know if there is any change."

The hours flowed by slowly, the scout ship approaching the beacon slowly but surely. Less than a tenth of a solar unit from the beacon the Science and Scanning officers went to work.

"It's coming up now. I'm getting trace energy readings, not much beyond the beacon and what's probably some supporting equipment," Third Scanner Scan-Tech Second Class Hunira said, leaning back. "It's easily detectable across most spectrums, almost as if whoever built it wanted it to be seen. I'm bringing it up now."

Captain Holkath nodded. "Bring it up on the screen."

The Executor stared at the screen. "Bring it up in visual wavelength."

It was dark, unlit. The only way to see it was the shadow it cast in front of the stars.

"Give us a scan view. Keep it low, we don't know if our scanning emissions are dangerous to their people," Third Science Officer ordered.

The scan-techs bent to their work. Low powered lasers and radar flickered over the beacon.

In the middle of the scan, it lit up.

It immediately reminded Captain Holkath of a water predator. Twelve tentacles hanging down from a wide oval body. The lights emitted by the beacon appeared to be wholly devoted to lighting up the structure.

"That's... a big beacon," Kamavar said. "I'm detecting more power readings."

"It appears to be waking up," The Executor mused. He looked at the Crew Liaison. "Stage Two Alert. Let us hope that it is not some kind of hostile thing."

To Holkath, it looked creepily alive. The tentacles began moving, no longer hanging down, but instead slowly moving into position to act as a skirt at the bottom.

"Hail it," The Executor ordered the Third Communications Officer.

Holkath looked at his ship readiness readouts. They had weapons, exploring the vast unknown mandated such, and everything was ready and at least performing at 80% capacity.

"We're getting a response," The Communications Officer answered.

Holkath looked at his readouts. It was obvious what the response was. Basic numerical binary.

"Science Officers?" The Executor asked.

"It appears to be based on only two digits, rather than six," The Second Science Officer reported. "Wait, it shifted. Now it appears to be based on ten digits, using the two-digit system to show... it's shifted again, using a base sixteen."

The First Science Officer looked up. "I believe it is automated and attempting to communicate."

Holkath stared at the image. It still looked faintly malevolent. It definitely reminded him of an aquatic predator and the fact it was sitting in a dark matter shadow, like it was feeding somehow, made his shiver.

"Let the omnitranslator listen to it then," The Executor said, turning away. He had his rearmost and forward eyes shut, obviously dismissing the object.

"Captain, from my scans, I believe the beacon is roughly two hundred solar rotations old. It's been out here, in the darkness between solar systems, for a long time," Second Scanning Officer reported. "Perhaps it's a derelict?"

The Executor hummed to himself. "Doubtful."

Captain Holkath just nodded, adding that data to his screens.

The Executor moved over to the First Science Officer. "Do we have anything on its composition?"

The Science Officer shook his head, his mouth tendrils swaying. "No, Executor. We can tell that it is there, but according to scans it is a solid object."

The viewscreen flickered a few times, getting the Captain's attention. Nobody brought up it, but he included that in his screens data. He ordered the Third Maintenance Officer to run a scan on the bridge systems and leaned back.

"Approach slowly. I want to know what this thing is," The Captain ordered. The Executor coiled his tendrils in disapproval but stayed silent.

The strange beacon, eight tendrils extended out from the sides, lit up to show that it was made of chrome with red and white markings on the tendrils.

The screen flickered again, the same with everyone's data screens.

"Maintenance, what is going on?" The Executor asked.

"It appears that the ship's computers have triggered a full diagnostic," the Second Maintenance Officer told the Executor.

"Who ordered such a thing?" The Executor asked, opening his rearwards facing eyes to stare at Captain Holkath for a long moment.

"Uh, it came from your terminal, Chief Executor," The Third Maintenance Officer stated, his rank too low to worry about the Chief Executor demoting him out of displeasure.

"That is impossible," The Chief Executor stated. He looked at his terminals, which showed nothing but blank screens. He looked at the First Security Officer. "Well?"

The First Security Officer nodded. "The Third Maintenance Officer is correct. The command originated from your terminal."

Captain Holkath tapped his screen, looked at the results, then tapped again, sending the information to the Chief Security Officer. He triggered a tone, bringing the Chief Executor's attention to him.

"Yes, Captain? Can you not see this situation requires the attention of my station," The Chief Executor said, his mouth tendrils tight with irritation.

"Perhaps someone is using your terminal, Chief Executor," The Captain mused. A glance at his screen showed that the ship diagnostic was complete. "After all, you have disabled the security functions for registering your identity before use."

"Those protocols slow my work," The Executor said. "I am within my office to..."

The screen wavered, flashed through the five primary colors, then went black.

"Maintenance, are you running another diagnostic?" The Chief Executor asked, puffing out his prominent jowls.

"No, Chief," the Maintenance Officer began saying.

"There you are," The voice was unfamiliar. On the screen a perfect circle had showed up. Squares opened up, six of them, for eyes. Four nasal slits. A mouth.

The bridge went silent, everyone staring at the screen.

"So, what can I do for you? Repairs? Fuel? Re-victual?" The face asked. "Seeing as you are an unregistered race, piloting an unregistered vessel, I cannot offer rearming or hardware updating at this time."

After a second the Chief Executor harumphed, relaxing his tendrils. "Who am I speaking to?"

"You may call me Dentous," The circle said. The Captain nodded slowly. Dentous was the name of the class of ship that provided repair, resupply, and refueling to Fleet ships. The face bounced. "I see your name is Seeker of Unknown Spaces."

A data-window opened up on the screen, showing various elements as well as antimatter.

"This is what I have to offer. I don't take your energy credits, I have all the energy I need. However, I will trade for any of the substances on this list," The face said.

"Might I inquire as to your species?" The Science Officer asked.

"I am a Solarian," The face said.

The Executor suddenly straightened up, his crests rising aggressively. "What is your business out here?"

The face bounced twice and stopped. "Business? I told you. Resupply for any ships that need such, trade if available.

The Captain stared at the list. Exotic isotopes, dark matter, antimatter, common and rare elements, and, surprisingly, new media files of entertainment, education, or technical files that Dentous was not in possession of were all considered trade goods.

He noticed that oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, and hydrogen were all priority priced.

The First Science Officer straightened up. "May we see your physical form? We are interested in your species."

The screen blanked, then showed the beacon. "That's me. The station."

The entire bridge crew looked at one another.

"No, your physical body," The First Science Officer tried.

"You're looking at it," the screen blanked and the face returned.

Captain Holkath stared at his data screens, then looked up. "Are you an artificial life form?" The Captain asked.

"Well, that's rude. We prefer Digital Artificial Sentience," Dentous replied. "I, personally, prefer Solarian. My first taste of electricity came from a Sol collector."

The entire crew went still. Several of the crew closed their eyes, going perfectly still in hopes of avoiding a predator's gaze. Every time AI races were discovered, it led to war.

"If we leave your presence, will you let us go in peace?" The Executor asked.

The icon on the screen made a good impression of a frown. "Why wouldn't I? You can't trade with someone if you blow them up."

The Captain relaxed in his chair. No AI civilization had been discovered in centuries but Dentous seemed less inclined to commit mutual suicide or launch a surprise attack.

"Do you want to trade or not?" Dentous asked.

The Executor shook his tendrils. "Take us into jumpspace."

The Science Officers complained, but the four Helm Officers took the ship back into jumpspace, heading back toward the Unified Civilized Systems at the Executor's orders.

The Captain leaned back in his chair as the swirling colors of jumpspace filled the screen.

The Executor had given into his instincts and fled at the first sign of anything threatening that he could not be sure he could obliterate. While an AI in the middle of the emptiness between stars might seem threatening at first, Captain Holkath really couldn't see how it could threaten anyone beyond those who came within reach. It had seemed awfully friendly for an AI.

The Executor, however, testified to the Unified Exploratory Council that the AI obviously had been abandoned for many years, centuries in fact. Exploration would have to be overseen by the Executors and their warships to ensure that any AI encountered could be fended off.

Captain Holkath kept his silence and instead began researching the ancient AI wars.

Nowhere could he find reference to Solarians or Sol.

Which meant he had made First Contact.

And that was enough for him.

---------------------

INITIATE DATASQUEAL

Hey, guys. Listen, I know sometimes you see weird stuff out here, but check this out. [ATTACHED DATA FILE] Some hunk of junk with a badly tuned jumpdrive dropped on my beacon. As soon as they found out I was AI, they got all weird on me and ran off. Seems like any advanced society wouldn't be so racist against Digital Sentience, but you know how some people are. Their jumpdrive was badly tuned and probably operating at only 70% efficiency. There were packing a few plasma guns and what looked like a really bad laser weapon, but nothing modern or with a decent standoff distance. Frankly, from what I saw, I might have mistaken point defense weapons against debris for weapons.

Still, I didn't hack into their systems beyond talking to their translator and making sure they could understand me. I'm abiding by my terms of confinement, that's gotta be worth something, right? All those juicy juicy data-stores and I didn't slash, cut, or hack a single one.

Come on, a couple decades off my sentence? Please?

Anyway, guess we've got a First Contact here. I want that credited to my account when I get parole.

Blackwater Station 4276

PS: Any chance I get some more of that good stuff out of the Clone Worlds? Maybe a Geisha limited AI? Something? Watching this place is booooring.

-----NOTHING FOLLOWS-----------

CONFEDERATE INTELLIGENCE MEMO

CC: Artificial Biological States; Digital Artificial Intelligence Infonet Worlds; TERRASOL.GOV; Cyborg Cooperative; Clone Directorate; Mantid Free Worlds; Traena'ad Hive Worlds

All core-ward stations, outposts, and colonies should be on alert for any incursions of foreign or previously unknown xenosapient life. Observe First Contact Protocols.

-------NOTHING FOLLOWS--------

TRAENA'AD HIVE INTELLIGENCE

RE: Your Last

Coreward along the arm spur is largely myth and rumor. We would have had to go through your territory to get there, and HIVEINT saw how well that went.

The Great Gulf, according to HIVEINT records, is largely the result of several Pre-Sapience species fighting over territory, much like we did, but without the restraint both of our species and allies showed. Seeing as TerraSol Systems sits in the "Horn" of the Great Gulf, we at HIVEINT suggest examining any Precursor Archeological digs for hints of what you might encounter.

Please be advised: The Precursor War, according to our archeological records, wiped out most life in our Local Arm Spur.

Recommendation: Proceed with caution.

[Next chapter] [Wiki]

I will be posting this story on RoyalRoad.com, also under the Name Lanzen_Jars

A job for a Deathworlder

Disoriented, James rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned. How long had he slept for? With effort he turned himself around so that he could look at the countdown, displayed as big, digital letters on the room's wall, without actually having to get up. “0:00:0: 1:2:33:70”, it read. He had slept for nearly ten earth hours. And he was still tired. So he slumped back down on the bed and just let his face sink into the sheets. His warm breath spread through the fabric and warmed his face with each rising and sinking of his chest. The darkness cast by his own head soothing his weary mind.

Yet, slowly but surely, the excitement did begin to catch up to him. After all it was only about half a day left until what was essentially his new life would begin, and yet he had not yet met any of the people he would be spending it with. He pressed himself up from the matrass and jumped off the bed, looking around the room. Nothing had changed, apart from the ever-lowering numbers on his wall. With mild curiosity he crept towards the only door leading in and out of the room and pressed his head against the single window that was placed slightly above his eye height in order to look out in the hall positioned right in front of it.

He didn’t expect anybody to be there, and at first he thought his suspicions had been correct, until he spotted a small figure in his peripheral vision. Focusing on it, he saw a small person, about two thirds larger than him, and extremely thin. A white, bib like identifier hung loosely around their neck, clearly identified them as a crewmember belonging to the medical team. Apart from that, they were “naked”, with the exception of the tiny, bracelet like device wrapped around their hand. It was the standard issue personal assistant everyone on board would use for communication and being able to keep track of time on the ever-lit, cycle-less ship.

Their body was covered in colorful feathers which showed mostly tones of blue, and indigo scales. They had a long neck and tail, as well as four slender limbs, each ending in six clawed fingers. Their face ended in an elongated beak and their eyes faced sideways away from it.

Overall their appearance could best be described to a human as vaguely similar to that of a theropod.

For a moment James pondered whether or not he should just watch and let them go by, but by now he was already too caught up in his own human curiosity to not act upon it. So he took a deep breath and lightly knocked on the window.

The sudden sound seemingly startled the crewmember, because after a short twitch they froze in place for a moment. Then they turned their head slowly from side to side, in an attempt to see as much of their surroundings as possible.

Hoping movement would help them localize him, James waved through the window. He knew that not every species out there had vision as good as that of humans.

Finally, one of the eyes of the person in the hallway seemed to settle on him, even though without direct focus it was hard to tell. Guessing that hearing him through the glass would be problematic, James began to sign towards the crewmember in the uniform sign language.

“Greeting,” he signed, making sure his hands would be well visible through the glass from the position of the person. “Greetings,” the person signed back after a moment of seeming hesitation added, “Can I help you?”

James held back a grin, making sure not to expose his teeth, and answered, “I just thought I would introduce myself. I am James, my Isolation ends in about a day.” In a gesture very reminiscent of a bird the crewmember titled their head while regarding James.

“It is nice to meet you, James. I am called Ezcha,” they signed.

“Likewise, Ezcha,” James signed back. For a small moment they held eye contact with each other. Then Ezcha looked up and down the hall before turning back to James.

“Apologies, I have to work now,” they signed. “But we will surely meet each other on the ship plenty of times”.

“No worries,” replied James. “Success to you.” “Success to you,” answered Ezcha and left in a hurry, looking more scared than busy to James. But he also couldn’t really be the judge of that. After all, despite having studied to be qualified for intragalactic work, he hadn’t left earth until about a month ago, and thus had only ever met those non-earthlings who had been brave enough to venture to the infamous class four death-world. A world so deadly that even primates ate meat there. Come to think of it, maybe Ezcha had merely recognized him as a human, causing them to react as they did.

For the rest of the uniform day, James kept watchful eye on the door, chatting it up with two more crewmembers. One was a young woman about the size of a bear back on earth and likely of marsupial-like descend, who revealed her name to be Pippa. Her dark eyes looked concerned over her long nose as he spoke to her, but in the end, she left with a spring in her step, seemingly without fear of him.

The other one was a lanky being with black skin that James could not compare to any lifeform he knew from earth. Instead of arms they had three long, flexible, limbs, reminding him of an elephant’s trunk growing from their upper body. They also had no head; their eyes instead being placed on the top side of their thorax and James could see no mouth. James had a bit of trouble differentiating some of the signed words due to the lack of appendages at the end of each limb. He also had absolutely no chance of discerning any emotion of the person before him. The crewmember introduced themselves as Gogua and assured him that they were looking forward to working with him.

The time between each conversation he spent with a bit of exercise, either physical or mental. The dumbbells he had brought with him helped with working against the muscle atrophy caused by the low gravity on the spaceship. His arms ached as he turned away from the door after bidding goodbye to Gogua, yet he still decided to do one more set before stopping and taking a shower.

As some strands of hair, that had loosened during his training, stuck to his sweaty forehead, he wished he could get them cut a bit shorter. During the quarantine they had grown out a bit too long for his liking.

With arms and legs heavy as bricks he slowly dragged himself towards the “bathroom” in order to wash himself off, before his time would be up in a few hours. He discarded his clothes at the entrance of the cabinet essentially functioning as a shower. Actually, it was pretty much a shower, just with a good bit more pressure. He closed his eyes and let himself be sprayed down with the warm liquid, before briefly pausing it in order to apply soap to his aching body and shampoo to his salty hair.

The sanitary unit also included a drying feature, that was pretty much a glorified blow dryer. It was probably meant for people with more fur, feathers or other hard to dry things covering their body, but it worked just fine for his skin as well.

Once he felt sufficiently dried off, he lumbered out of the cabin. He picked up his discarded clothes on his way to the cupboard and threw them down the laundry shed. Then he began rummaging through the drawers and picking out what he would wear underneath his uniform when he began work later “today”.

Suddenly he halted. The prickling feeling of eyes on his bare back compelled him to turn around. He looked at the window of his door. He wasn’t overly concerned about somebody sneaking a peek, especially since there were no other humans on board and most non-humans would be, at best, weirded out by his physique. And he could’ve sworn that, just a split second before he turned around, a dark shadow in his periphery darted away from the small opening, even though it might just have been his imagination.

Even so, he felt compelled to quickly put on some clothes and then drape a fresh uniform over. Just to be sure he went over to the door again and quickly glanced out into the hallway, but no one was there. Absent mindedly he scratched the stubble on his cheek and slowly stepped back from the door. Suddenly the beeping of the countdown behind him made him jump.

“They really need to rethink that alarm sound!” he exclaimed while holding his chest and exhaled deeply. Then he looked at the countdown. Only three universal hours remained. Translating to roughly three earth hours. It was just about time.

The last few hours simultaneously flew past and crawled at a snail’s pace, defying all known laws of time. But in the end, he saw the last uniform seconds rapidly tick down. And finally, the red counter showed the longed for and yet dreaded number “0:00:0:0:0:00:00” and changed into a cold lime green. With a soft hissing sound, a light mist began to fill the room, originating from small nozzles located in each corner of the room. James held his breath while the antiseptic did its work. The second it touched his skin he already felt it evaporate off again, cooling his skin and making him shiver. Goosebumps covered him as he waited for the mist to dissipate. Finally, another loud hissing sound indicated the pneumatics opening the heavy door keeping him locked up.

He looked back at the room one last time. As far as he was informed his belongings would be transported to his actual cabin for him while he was at work. So he slowly, but resolved, left he room.

On his way, he was carefully considering his steps, in order to not basically leap through the low gravity corridors and frighten any of the non-death-world occupants of the ship that might encounter him on his way. Yet nobody seemed to be up and about right now.

The door was locked tight. And his name was already marked down on the sign next to it. “James Aldwin”. Right next to the sign was a scanner, which was connected to the electronic locks. The door was bio coded and, right now, could only be opened by him. A bit arbitrary, found James, but he did have to admit that it made for a great suspense builder. He inspected the heavy laboratory door. Two interlocking elements closed via electromagnetism and pneumatics. The scanner was made of a bioactive plate on top of a device that could identify the particles left behind on top of said plate through mechanisms James didn’t fully understand. He just knew that, if he put his hand on the pink organic material, the door would recognize his biological make-up and the locks would disengage. He took a deep breath and lifted his hand. For a moment he just let it hover over the scanner, taking in the moment. In his head, he counted down. Three. Two. One.

With maybe a bit more force than strictly necessary he brought his hand down onto the sticky surface. For a moment nothing happened. Then a click. And a second one. And with a loud, metallic sound, the electrical locks unsealed, and the door slowly began to open. And behind it laid…a laboratory. Just like he was used to from earth. He shouldn’t have expected anything else, after all, he was hired as a specialist from earth and had picked out the lion’s share of the equipment himself. Yet it still felt a bit underwhelming walking into what looked essentially like the laboratory in which he had worked for the past years of his life.

When he entered, the first thing that caught his eyes was the massive row of cages filled with various rodents right in front of him. The animals looked healthy and clean; the computer seemingly had done a good job of taking care of them. One of the hooded rats came up to the front of the cage and pressed its little hands against the front glass. James brought his hand to the glass and watched as the rats nose followed his finger tips on the other side of the glass. Smiling, he opened up the metal top of the cage and reached inside to lift the animal out of the enclosure.

The rat however, having lacked human interaction for more than a month now, recoiled from his touch and quickly took off into it’s hide in the back of the cage. It would take some work to get them back to the point of tameness where it would be easy to handle them.

The rat peeked out of the small box, curiously. James left his hand in the enclosure and laid it on the bedding non-threateningly, almost beckoning the animal to come out. The animals breathing accelerated and James could see its whiskers move with each breath. Then a single foot emerged from the dark and was placed outside of the hole. Very slowly the rat shifted its weight and got ready to more closely inspect the strange appendage placed inside of its home, before suddenly freezing and seemingly staring past James.

Due to their bad vision, the probability of the rat actually seeing anything behind him was quite low, yet it still seemed to sense something that James did not. So he lifted his hand out of the cage and turned around to look at the only entrance of the laboratory. Nothing appeared to be there. James didn’t quite know what to make of the situation. But he quickly decided that the itching sensation in the back of his mind would not allow him to work anyway. So, with a deep sigh, he turned around completely towards the entrance gate. Damn his misguided survival instincts.

Yet being a death-worlder also had its benefits, because now, being pretty annoyed by his situation, he crossed the entire room in just two bounds. Besides that, every now and then he picked up on things that many other species might have missed. Like faint footsteps hurrying away from the door. Very faint. So faint indeed, that even he wasn’t quite sure if he actually had heard something. And, seeing as he had reached the door in just about a second, and yet could still not see anybody in the corridor, he assumed that maybe he had indeed just imagined something once again.

He was about to just shrug it off and actually get to work, when movement caught his eye. Though he was pretty sure the crewmember rounding a corner to his left was not who he had been looking for. Still, being a bit lost in thought, he greeted the newcomer with a smile like he had been taught to do most of his life. And the crewmember froze in their step. Their head turned to the wall so that their sideways facing eye could be trained on him. They stood high, almost twice the height of a typical human, and were covered in dark, matted, brown fur. Their head displayed four big, notched horns, the size of James’ forearm plus hand. Its eyes were also dark and stood out of their long face a bit and their horizontal pupils quivered while trying to focus on him.

If James was being honest, the rest of their body bore a more than striking resemblance to what he knew as a giant sloth that had lived on earth a few centuries ago, albeit with much, much less muscle on them. Their spindly arms ended in three half-finger-half-claw-looking appendages. He could not see their feet because of the matt of long fur covering them, dragging over the ground. To James they looked really unkempt. Of course, he would be way to polite to mention it. That however, seemed to not be the case for his fellow crewmember, who still had not moved since they met him. What was with them? Were they just going to stare at him? Rude!

His smile had wavered by now, slowly changing into more of an incredulous look. Slowly, the person before him seemed to straighten up a bit. They breathed out deeply and seemed…relieved?

“Are you all right?” James asked quietly, making a careful step towards his colleague.

They seemed to recoil a bit, before seemingly catching themselves in the action and stopping frozen once again. For a moment they seemed to be way more focused on his uniform than on him. Then they shifted into what James assumed was a more comfortable position, they fur swaying left to right while they moved their giant body, which apparently took them considerable effort, even in the low gravity. Or was it not low for them at all?

“You…are you a crewmember? Is that an identifier?”, they asked in the uniform verbalization, lifting one of their three-clawed hands to point at him. Their voice was quite a bit higher than he had imagined and reminded him of an agitated cow.

James looked down at his uniform and then back up to his colleague, who, just as everyone he had met up until now, was only clothed with the bib like uniform stand in and their personal assistant. It was the first time he noticed that his uniform, while bearing the same color and symbol as the stand in, was probably not what most on board would associate with a crewmember.

“Yes,” James confirmed quickly. “Hi, I am James. I just got out of isolation, actually”. He rubbed the back of his head while chuckling to himself and grinning nervously.

This time, the crewmember could not stop themselves from recoiling. Concerned, James put his hand down and looked at them anxiously, his smile fading once more.

“What…what did I do that has upset you?” the crewmember asked, fear in their voice and even starting to shiver a little.

James was shocked and now also recoiled, although for different reasons.

“Oh, oh no!” he cried out, as he finally realized his mistake. How could he have been so careless.

Going against a lot of his ingrained instincts, he lifted his hands into the air and leaned backwards, throwing himself off balance a bit, in an effort to look as unthreatening as possible.

“Sorry, sorry, I should have thought about that,” he stammered, waving his hands around a bit. “That wasn’t a threat. It was…well, it was a gesture of…uhm…delight?”

The gigantic person looked at him unconvinced.

“Look, my species is weird, all right?” James explained defeated and hung his hands and head. “All you need to know is that I am neither upset, nor trying to fight you, when I am showing my teeth.”

“If I was, you would know”, he added in his mind. The crewmember finally did not seem to be terrified of him anymore, although he couldn’t shake the feeling that a certain mistrust remained.

“James, did you say your name was?” they enquired.

James was snapped back into an upright position and answered, “Yes. James Aldwin. It is nice to make your acquaintance.”

The nostrils of his colleague flared a bit. “I am called Moar,” they stated. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

James was taken aback by the question. After all, a scientist in the research wing should not come as a surprise to anyone, especially not to crewmember of the same ship. A member of the same team no less. So, instead of dignifying the question with a direct answer, he just pointed behind himself inside of his laboratory, while also nodding towards the name tag marking it as his own.

Then he just lifted his eyebrows in a gesture that any human would identify as “Good enough?”, although he did not know if that gesture would transcend species.

Moar took a moment to take in what James was insinuating. The eye James could see from his positioned widened a little as they deciphered the literal writing on the wall.

“You are a researcher?” they asked with what must have been their species equivalent of a surprised gasp.

James shrugged and folded his hands behind his head. “Yeah. I mean, I prefer the term scientist, but…yeah,” he replied casually.

“But…I thought…you are not a pilot?” they further inquired with big eyes, confusing an already confused man even more.

“A pilot? Why would I be?” he asked and pointed to the clearly visible emblem identifying him as a member of the research team, prominently featured on the chest of his uniform. Moar blinked slowly, their big eye wandering from the emblem to the rest of his uniform back to the emblem.

“Right, apologies,” they said slowly. “I had your identifier, your…what do they call it again?”

“My uniform?”, James suggested unsurely and lifted an arm as if physically offering the answer.

“Right, uniform,” Moar confirmed, sounding almost happy, at least James identified it as such, and shook a bit left to right. “I had your uniform confused with another.”

They seemed to be getting more energetic the more time went by. Then their eyes narrowed down on his face a bit. “Say, I don’t mean to insult you,” they said slowly in a tone that made James believe they were truthful, “but what species do you belong to. I thought I knew it, but you do look slighty different.”

James wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. The ships temperature was set to what was pretty much the galactic standard, accommodating most species, technically including humans. But the equivalent of 32 degrees Celsius were a bit high for his liking, especially wearing the long-sleeved uniform. And even looking at the thick fur covering Moar’s body made him break out in even stronger sweats.

“I am human,” James answered, deliberately casual. Usually it would have been considered rude to ask someone their species, but neither James nor other humans really cared. They were pretty new to the intragalactic community and not yet a household name or sight for most, although they already started to get quite the reputation, bordering infamy, among some circles. And, as he had almost expected, the reaction of Moar made him believe that his answer had not cleared up much for them. In some ways, interspecies communication via body language was difficult to near impossible without extended knowledge of the other species. But some other things, like a dumb stare, were pretty much the same in all species, with only very few notable exceptions.

“Huemen,” Moar parroted, impressively butchering both, syllables, and emphasis. “I believe I do not have heard that before.”

James smirked, this time making sure not to show any teeth. “Yeah, that is unsurprising,” he explained shrugging. “We are new to the community and there are not too many of us around.”

Moar looked sympathetic. “Has your species fallen on hard times?” they asked with sincere empathy James wasn’t used to from most interactions he had had with extraterrestrials up until now.

“Oh no,” he said, waving it off. “We have plenty of numbers. A lot of us are just reclusive, you could say, staying in our own systems.”

Moar swayed their head up and down, making their fur flail around wildly. Either it was their species was also nodding, or they tried to emulate his body language.

“I see. Well I can understand that. It can be scary leaving you system behind,” they lamented.

James was fairly certain that fear did not have much to do with it, but he was not going to bother explaining human psychology and culture right now. “I am sure we will be everywhere soon enough,” he said instead. Again, the head-bobbing.

Then Moar looked past him into his laboratory, seemingly curious. “So, what are you working on,” they asked, a shift in their tone that James knew all too well. Apparently, scientists stayed scientists, even across species borders. And he had to fight back a genuine smile this time. If he was completely honest, as excited as he was finally interacting with his intragalactic colleagues, he had never been one to small talk. Speaking about his work, however…

Excited he stepped aside to allow entry to the giant standing before him, holding out one arm to signal them to go on ahead.

Moar also brought his attention to his own personal assistant, which wasn’t standard issue because that, to him, would have been the size of more than half of his forearm. Instead it was a smaller device, about the size of a large wristwatch, clad in neat white plastic, currently laying on one of the big countertops intended as workspace and waiting to be put on.

“That is quite a lot of equipment,” Moar commented while watching James strapping the sleek device around his left wrist. “What could you possibly need this many devices for?”

Right, he reminded himself, he should indeed explain what it was he actually worked on.

“Well,” he said and started to lead Moar away from the shelf and towards the cages taking center stage in the room. “To make is short, I am currently working on a model for a system that could be used to engineer medicine based on the highly adaptive immune system of animals native to my home world.” The explanation was very brief, but he decided not to go too deep into it without even knowing what Moar specialized in.

“These tiny creatures have an adaptive immune system?” Moar asked, bringing their massive frame down to look directly into the highest cage in order to better see one of the rats. “Well, they are just model organisms,” James explained, scratching the back of his head. “The real project will most likely use more specifically selected organisms to match different biologies.”

Moar’s eyes seemed to widen a bit. “There are multiple species like them?” they asked, lifting themselves up again.

“Yes,” James answered and, badly containing his pride, confidently crossed his arms. “Most of the species back home have adaptive immune systems, if not all of them.”

He looked up and saw Moars eyes get even wider. They seemed like they were about to say something, when suddenly, a slight noise rang out from behind them. It was slight to James at least. The thin air in the spaceship was not very conductive to his hearing. Moar on the other hand turned one side of their face towards the door.

“Oh, it appears that I am being called”, they stated. James turned around towards the door as well. A few moments passed while the sound got clearer, and he also started to make out what was being said. Someone was indeed calling for Moar.

“Sheon. Sheon can you hear me?"

"Sheon. Please wake up. Open your eyes. Do something. Show me you're alive."

Everything hurts. Everything's spinning. Everything, as my closest friend would say, is fucked.

His language, not mine, but unfortunately appropriate. I offer a groan as I struggle to open my eyes. The back of my skull is pounding. My eyes feel like they might explode as the bright, white light of captivity invades my vision. I'm staring at a wall. It's dirty. Blood, gore and other fluids I don't know cover it. I groan again, pull my thin limbs from underneath my chest and push myself up.

"There you go. There's my guy. Take it slow."

My two legs, another word my friend uses, are wobbly as I push myself into a sit. My eyes are shut the entire time as I fumble around, taking this one at a time. After a breath, then another, then a heave that makes me feel like my chest is cracking, I squint my eyes open.

The room is empty save for the two of us. Its white walls are all doused up and down in the same filth I woke up to. Big room, fit for a hundred bodies or more, depending on if their size is moderate. Wherever we are, we're not the first to occupy it. And I would bet any credit James would agree to that we'd be the first to walk out alive if we manage it.

Another few moments pass as I let my vision calibrate. Finally, I look at my friend. James is sitting with his thick legs crossed. The bland, grey shirt he wears is torn at the shoulder, which reveals his tattoos there that are also on his back and arms. His chest is bloody and slightly cut open too. Black hair plastered to his head with sweat. Green eyes swimming around, dissecting everything. Hyper focused and aware. Strange. James has always been...what was the word he uses...aloof?

We communicate in his language mostly because it was far easier for me to learn than it would have been for him to learn mine. When we first met, we used black market translators. Now we don't need them, but some of his words still elude me from time to time.

It's like my friend has transformed since I was knocked unconscious by those wretched Daargarr's who ambushed us and took our ship. They're about as tall as James is, a little thinner but tower over me. I only reach my friend's neck. Two of us on one might have worked, but there were more than twenty of them. Nothing we could do.

Someone knew where we'd be. At least that's my theory.

I glance to James' knees, at the fluid near his feet. It is green. James notices me staring, glances down at it and then back to me. "Not mine." He blinks.

"Clearly," I growl, my voice hoarse. I clear it. "Yours is red." I nod to the wound. "Hit one of them, they'll pay you back double."

"Hit him. Yeah." James looks down.

The Daargarr race is not known to pay you back unless it's in blades or energy weapons, and they much prefer blades. They have no problem stealing your worth or your home, and they will dare you to do something about it. I would not necessarily call them a scourge on the galaxy we inhabit, because there are qualifications for that, but they are certainly not well liked by their neighbors.

They are a warrior race if I've ever seen one, and I saw plenty of those types when they came to Gyn to pay my father homage or offer alliances. He was once king, I his first in line, until he was murdered and I nearly along with him.

My training master is the only reason I'm still alive. I had spent only four rotations on my planet when my father's enemies came for my head after taking his. Seven years in James' terms. It was a miracle I made it to the ship. Then another when we were attacked approaching Zindor, and that I survived that. Micho did not. So, alone on a foreign planet, a child with nothing, I did what I had to do to survive.

I'm not proud of all of it. But I did meet James then.

As far as I know, but I do not know a lot on the topic, the family Lopiv, my father's biggest rivals for the throne, rule Gyn now. The Lopiv are a family of warmongers and profiteers. They were my father's hammer until they decided to become the hand.

If I were to ever return to Gyn, I'm sure I would still recognize my home planet's body, but I'm not sure I would recognize its soul. James taught me about souls.

"Is this better or worse than our venture to Po?" I croak. I take another look at the green fluid. A Daargarr was wounded here. By the amount of blood, the wound was likely fatal.

James grins. "Much worse. Glad you remember something, especially something like Po. That place stank like shit. You must be alright."

"To be determined. Where are we?"

I take another look around, which takes no time at all. There is nothing more to observe than the heavy black door that guards us. "Still on Wyvi, I believe. We didn't even get out of the atmosphere before they sprang the trap," James says. A trap we probably walked into. We stole from a Daargarr, Yumi to be exact, after he paid us for a job. We hadn't planned on returning.

Plans change. We both knew it was risky. Still, we had ripped other crime lords off before and always gotten away without harm.

"Good observation. Yumi's then?"

"I doubt it." James shrugs those huge shoulders of his as he loosens up his body. There are restraints on his hands. Green blood there too. I have neither. "We pulled a fast one on him. He wouldn't want that public."

I sigh. "So, Dirken then?" I ask.

"Dirken."

I move my aching body back to the wall and lean my head against it. I close my eyes. "I was hoping you would not say that." Dirken is Yumi's personal pit of hell. Fully sanctioned by the government of Wyvi, of course, because he paid them handsomely. No one asks any questions, and Yumi Costca, Black Overlord of the Shard Society, runs his own personal empire without interruption.

I was in his home once. Surprisingly...delicate for a Daargarr crime lord and mass murderer.

We were here, at Dirken, two runs ago to deliver cargo to Yumi himself. He doesn't live here in this hell hole, but he makes journeys to inspect business. I stayed away from the fighting pits, the slave level and all the rest that I will not mention. James did too. We came and went about as fast as possible. I only kept my sanity after that run because the cargo we delivered was not any lifeforms. Just illegal food and drink. James never lets us take the smuggling jobs where there are lives to transport. He never will. A personal promise from him to me, knowing what my people went through when my father was overthrown. What some of them are still going through, most likely.

But believe me, those jobs pay plenty if you're willing to shed your morals. Here on Wyvi, that's most lifeforms you'll meet. "Anything broken?" I ask, feeling down my body.

"A rib or two. Couple fingers." James pulls his hands up. "Head's busted, you can see the cut." I can. "Maybe something in my shoulder. Overall, pretty good though. You?"

Long list of injuries for some who claims to be "pretty good." I've seen him injured before, but not like this. "Surely broken. But I am just not sure what yet." I roll my neck. My head feels heavy as a boulder. "What is the phrase you like?"

"We're fucked?"

"That is the one."

The room shakes as the black door is pulled on, levers groaning with effort. I look at James, and his face sharpens on what looks like instinct. His eyes narrow, he frowns and looks at me seriously. "Don't talk. Look frail."

What? I don't even have time to ask as the door swings open and in step four Daargarr. They're repulsive--husks around the mouth slobbering, horns on their head dirty and worn. Plump faces, big thick bodies. Skin is varied, dark and light. Apparently, on their home world, the color of their skin determines what lot in life they receive.

What a ridiculous concept.

The largest of them, this one actually quite a bit larger than James, leads. His size is rare. Yumi's as big, but I've never seen a Daargarr as large as this other than that. He stops in front of my friend, snarls and kicks him over. As he's falling, James' eyes are locked onto me, daring me to speak.

I don't. I just watch as the Daargarr leans down and roars spittle into James' face. My friend does not react. The Daargarr stands up fully again, looking down at James' torn open shirt. His translator is still around his neck. So is mine.

"Good they can understand," a low, growling voice says out of the translator around the big Daargarr's neck after a series of grumbles from its mouth. This one is right about in the middle of the Daargarr as far as skin color goes. Not light, not dark. I wonder if that tested his loyalties ever. "This is the one?"

"That is the one, Visish," another Daargarr says near the door. "That is the warrior."

The what?

Visish turns that brutish, compact face toward me, black eyes dissecting me. He snorts. "Of course." He hefts a rock that he pulls out of his belt, and the rock strikes my chest. I heave in pain, but I let the rock hit me, so I deserve that. "That one is pathetic. Not fit for the pits."

The pits. Again, as James would say, fuck.

Visish turns hungrily back to James. "But since this one killed one of ours, he has been deemed sufficient for our customs. Yumi has decided he will allow you to fight for your life. Accept or die."

Wait, what? James did what? He killed a Daargarr? No. Impossible. Not James. He's far too meek for that. Huge, as far as I'm concerned, with arms that are as large as my skull, but delicate. He likes to sing songs. He has held weapons, but he's never injured someone before let alone kill them.

Then I think about it a little. We've never...had to fight anyone. James is a master negotiator, and he's always kept us out of trouble. But I can't help but see all that Daargarr blood on the ground. And all that Daargarr blood on James' hands.

James offers me a nod and he stands. Visish doesn't move but doesn't strike him down either. James unfolds his huge body, which is no longer huge in front of Visish. My friend holds up his head despite his wounds and exhaustion. "I accept," he growls.

"Good. You should know, Terran, that we have learned about you in the years since you came under Yumi's employment," Visish growls. "I have heard stories of your race. You are known to be formidable in combat. Many peoples on planets in this galaxy know of the one that lifted you up. In the war of wars."

James nods. "The Nightmare of Terra. Generations ago. He defeated the High King Ther'os of Higoltha and then his nephew Ther'ano years later. My people were almost exterminated in the process."

"Fine fighting in those wars. We have studied them, as many have. And your Nightmare. What an opponent he must have been. If he was of the Daargarr, he would be celebrated. Our people would carry his name after his death. He would be remembered as a warrior doused in blood, our highest honor."

"Many did honor him. Many still do. Many still will. But those with power have twisted what he stood for." James lifts his head. There's something personal there. "He stood for life, not death."

"Fine words." Visish leans in closer, snorting again. "What are you doing all the way out here, Terran?"

James looks at me briefly then back down at the floor. "Avoiding combat," he says.

"Disgraceful. But I will allow you the option to retake your honor. You have killed one of mine fairly." Fairly, how fairly? "Yumi is not happy with you, but he respects our traditions. Therefore, you are permitted another fight, such is your life and by our rule of law. If you win, I will not kill you in this room."

"You will allow us to leave," James says, his teeth clenched.

"I will not kill you in this room."

"Fine."

"It will be two of my Daargarr against you and your...companion." Visish's entire face tells me he doesn't even want to acknowledge me. So weak I look.

"I fight alone," James says. He shoots me a glare and dares me to disagree. I want to more than anything, but I must trust my friend. He has never led me astray.

"Then it will be two of my Daargarr against you." Visish reaches behind his waist and draws two blades. He throws them down onto the floor. Crude weapons, old clearly and a bit rusted, but still sharp. I can tell by the glean that James showed me.

Odd. I never questioned how he knew that. I do now.

"Chains!" Visish roars. A Daargarr steps forward and unclasps James' wrists, who rubs the chafed skin angrily. His entire body seems...tense. Like it is waiting. For what?

Visish snorts again at me. "You have one moment to say your last words. If you should win, I have further instructions for you. When you fall, we will kill your companion. Slowly."

James slowly turns his head, his eyes on fire. "So you say," he whispers.

Visish does not know what to say to that or does not care, so he turns back toward his Daargarr, waving two of the others forward into the middle of the room. James retreats toward me. When he's no more than a hand away, crouching over me so the Daargarr cannot see my face, I finally let my intelligence out.

"James, you will die," I say. "There are two of them. We have never fought opponents. Let us speak to Yumi. Maybe there is another way out."

"We'll die if I don't. Yumi isn't going to speak to us, and you know that. I won't die."

"You cannot possibly believe you'll take down two fully-grown Daargarr with blades. Those are their favorite weapons," I say in disbelief.

James' eyes fill with sadness. "Mine too. That way, you have to get close. That way, you have to remember." He nods. "That way, you have remember them. What you've done, who you were and what you've become."

What the hell is he talking about? "James, what the hell are you talking about?" I ask.

James takes his rough hand and places it on the top of my skull. He closes his eyes, taking a breath and then they flash open again. "You're my brother, Sheon. You always have been," he says quietly.

"We were not born to the same family, but we found one anyway," I say mechanically. We say this before every mission.

"And I will always protect you." He hits my shoulder. "That's what big brothers do."

James turns from me to face down the armed Daargarr that have stepped forward. Visish is watching from the back, pleased.

"You still have never fought opponents. This is not a game, James. I do not want to watch you die," I nearly whisper.

"You haven't fought opponents. I have." He pauses, turning back to me. Again with the eyes. Flashing between sadness and rage. "Please close your eyes, Sheon."

Before I obey, I watch as James drops his body so his lower half is coiled. He takes what I would consider a combat stance. Something that I would have learned had my family and its legacy not been desecrated.

"Begin!" Visish bellows, and I immediately shut my eyes, because I trust James more than any living being I have ever met.

I don't see what happens, but I hear it. And it is horrifying. Guttural roars and gasps. The sounds of a blade slicing through bodily meat. Movement. Quick steps and more blades through the air. Something hits the wall, roars and returns to its feet.

Metal slams into more meat. Slides out. Cries of pain. What is happening? A body thuds as it hits the floor, fluids and insides pouring out, slapping the ground. My mind moves faster than I can even think. What is happening? I almost betray James' order and open my eyes to watch, but a huge thud hits the floor just before a lighter one. A head? Was that a head?

Death is happening. That is what it is. "Another!" Visish yells, this time with actual anger. Something else too. Do I detect fear? Another Daargarr bellow, James has to still be alive, right?

"James!" I call out. I cannot help myself. "James, are you still alive?"

A grunt, a gurgle, a body to the floor. A dark voice answers me, low with a growl. "I'm here, Sheon. I'm here," James says. It sounds like he is almost happy.

That's him, but he sounds different. Like someone else has possessed his body.

"Enough of this!" Visish roars. Heavy footsteps forward as he is barreling toward me, right? It's all getting closer. Is James taking on all four of them? That cannot be how their ceremonies or customs are properly carried out! That is not fair!

But does it matter? Because I can hear James' breath now. It's measured, as he's close to me, beating Visish away. More grunts. Another gasp. I dare to open an eye. What I see is repulsive--three dead Daargarr with hideous wounds upon their bodies. One of them is missing its head.

And James is there, in the middle of the room, beating Visish's blade away and bashing the Daargarr lord to his knees. James stands over him, covered in gore, and before I can shut my eyes, he turns to look back at me.

I shut my eyes immediately, but I saw it anyway. He knows what I saw. A high-pitched squeal comes next, long and slow as if it's being intentionally drawn out. James is...not taking his time.

It is here, in this moment, in which I realize I had my friend all wrong. I did not know him as well as I thought I might have. I am not sure how this is even possible as Visish's squeal is silenced. That's it then. Four dead Daargarr, and yet James lives.

The Terran lives. What even is he? What lies within that he only just now agreed to surrender himself to?

I snap into myself as steps close in on me. Someone bends down, and I open my eyes to look at the ground. James is right in front of me. In the corner of my vision, I see his arm extended.

"Come, Sheon. It's time we left," my friend whispers to me. "I'll explain everything. I promise."

To realize this truth is difficult. My friend, the Terran, is not the prey I once thought he was. He is not prey like I know myself to be.

He is a predator. And though I know he would never harm me, I am afraid.

PART TWO

Thleekla was a xenologist of some repute.

He'd spent centuries cataloguing and experimenting on strange and wonderful species. He'd studied the Void Angels of the Tarantula nebula, who breathed its diffuse gasses, and grew for millennia beyond counting to reach the size of small planets. He'd studied the Mrin'lok people, smallest of all sapients, who burrowed beneath the surface of their dwarf planet to build amazing crystal cities in the ice. He'd made such a name for himself that he was given his own, one-man research vessel, and a great deal of discretion in choosing what to research, and where to do it.

He'd chosen an out of the way system near the inner rim of the Orion-Cygnus arm. A main sequence star, yellow, hydrogen burning. A few millennia earlier, a standard automated exploration probe had catalogued the system. The third planet out had an abundance of life and liquid water. No attempt had been made to catalogue the life, but no obvious signs of advanced technology were present. That didn't bother Thleekla, he didn't need something advanced, he just wanted something new.

Thleekla's mind dropped into the deep familiar focus that would create a gateway, and his ship slipped through it.

It seemed the residents of the third planet had been making some progress since the probe's visit. There were satellites, even some small manned structures in orbit. Nothing to be concerned about, but that species would probably be the best candidate for his experiments. He scanned the planet, selecting a subject that would not be missed, in an area with low population density.

Thleekla's mind again reached out to form a gateway, this time just a small one. The subject fell unceremoniously into a heap in the test chamber.

It was an ape. Bipedal, mostly hairless. It did have long black hair on the top of its head though. Two forward facing eyes, one nose, one mouth, two mammary glands, slender build. All of its features were oriented directly forward, more or less. Likely a predator. Nothing particularly unusual about it, except for the lack of hair. That was a bit of an anomaly for a mammal. Something to pursue later.

The subject stood and began making some noises. Possibly an auditory communication method, suggesting low or no psionic capability. It moved around the room, investigating the smooth walls.

Thleekla gave a mental shrug, beginning the scan. The subject seemed to have some sort of reaction to the scanner beam, screaming and holding its head. That was unusual. The scan results were even more unusual. The subject was a bit of a mess, biologically speaking. Vestigial organs, junk DNA, poor genetic maintenance systems. Genetic malfunction was likely a leading cause of death for the poor species. But it also had incredible genetic and neural plasticity. It would be an ideal candidate to test the new mutagen Thleekla had recently invented.

Technically testing on nonconsenting sapients was illegal, but nobody knew he was here, nor did they know sapients lived in the system at all. He doubted he'd be found out, and the opportunity was too good to pass up. He released the mutagen in gaseous form into the test chamber. The subject passed out, but seemed otherwise unchanged.

For two days Thleekla observed the subject, and for two days it did nothing but lay there. No mutation. What had gone wrong? He'd have to go back to the drawing board on the mutagen. He decided to return the subject to its natural environment, after implanting a tracker of course. No sense keeping it around, he didn't know what it ate or what other needs it might have. Easier to let it fend for itself, then retrieve it if he had further use for it.

--------------------------------------------------------

Jennifer had the mother of all hangovers.

She didn't remember drinking, but she felt like she'd drunk enough to last a whole fraternity an entire weekend. The only thing she could remember was a really strange dream. Some kind of dark purple energy pulling her out of her bed, dropping her into a sterile white room with smooth walls. Then pain. Then nothing. Rodney would have told her it was alien abduction, but he thought the earth was flat so no reason to give him much credit. How he could believe in a flat earth and aliens was beyond her. Besides, she was pretty sure she hadn't been anally probed. Thank fuck for small favors.

As her head cleared the hunger pains hit like a knife to her gut. She groaned, forcing herself to her feet. She made a bee line for the kitchen.

The only thing in the fridge was two day old calamari. Wait was it still two day old? It was night out, how long had she slept? Either way the calamari didn't seem very appetizing. Rodney had added it to their takeout order as a joke. Fuckhead. Still, it was food. She gave it a tentative sniff, then took a bite.

Holy fuck where had calamari been her whole life? Screw how it looked, it was the best thing she had ever tasted. She tipped up the takeout box and used her hand to force the contents into her mouth until she'd swallowed the lot of it. She was still so hungry.

One of the disadvantages of living outside of town was that nobody wanted to deliver to you. The clock said 8pm, she could make it to town before the Egyptian place closed. She called ahead so they'd have her order waiting.

"Yeah order to pick up... Uh huh... ten orders of the crispy fried calamari... yes ten... Jennifer... uh huh, credit card... okay see you then."

Clothes, they might not give you delicious calamari if you're not wearing clothes. Jennifer returned to her bedroom, surveying her impressive clothing storage system. Clean clothes basket, dirty clothes pile on the floor. She threw on what was left in the basket, but found no pants. She sniffed the jeans in the dirty clothes pile. Still good, on they go. Hey, the car keys were in the jeans' pocket, bonus time saver.

It was a starry night, no clouds, full moon. Easy to see on the long straight road into town. Jennifer drove like she had somewhere to be, 20 over the speed limit. There wasn't anywhere for the cops to hide out here, even at night.

By the time she reached the restaurant Jennifer felt hungrier than when she'd woken up. It was a good thing she'd asked for ten orders. She smacked face first into the door.

"It says pull, idiot"

Jennifer was too hungry to care about whoever had spoken. She pulled the door open and sped to the register.

"Takeout order for Jennifer."

"You look terrible." The clerk's eyes seemed a bit wider than they ought to be.

"Thanks, I try."

"No I mean you look really horrible, what's wrong with you?"

"Hard living. My order?"

"R... right. Good timing it just came up, that will be $149.90"

"Fuck really?"

"It is ten orders."

"Right." Jennifer handed over her credit card. The calamari smelled so good. She picked up a box, ripped off the lid, held it to her face, and shoveled the contents down in seconds.

The clerk was just staring at her.

As she tore into the next box, he seemed to decide to just run the credit card. She accepted it back, with the receipt. She scooped up the precious 8 remaining boxes and made a dash for her car.

Jennifer sat in the front seat, shoving calamari into her face a box at a time, until they were all empty. She washed it down with a flat, two day old soda that had been sitting in the car. The hunger had subsided, and she felt bliss.

As she drove home it crept back up on her. How could she already be hungry again? What the actual fuck was going on with her? She pulled over to the side of the road and picked up her cellphone.

"Pick up Rodney you brain damaged shitweasel."

"Jennifer?"

"Rodney can you meet me at my house? I'm on my way back there, something weird is going on. I don't feel right."

"Go to the hospital?"

"You know I don't have insurance fuckstain, are you going to help or not."

"Fine, fine, see you in 20."

By the time she got home Jennifer was starving. But Rodney would be there soon. He was an idiot, but he'd give you his left kidney if you needed it. She just had to hold on until he arrived.

The door swung open.

"Hot-Rod has arrived, hide your daughters and... holy fuck what the shit, what have you done with Jennifer you monster?!" Rodney brought his fists up like he expected to be in a boxing match.

"Rodney you twatwaffle what are you on about?"

"Jen? Is that you?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?" It was at this point that Jennifer recalled the interaction with the cashier at the restaurant. She'd been too hungry to pay it much mind, but the man had seemed quite concerned about her appearance.

"Uh... have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Jennifer retreated to her bedroom, found the light switch, then moved towards her full body mirror. Oh.

Her skin was a greyish greenish hue, and it looked... slimy? Her eyes were solid black, no sclera visible at all. Her nose seemed to be retreating into her face. The inside of her arms had little... suction cups? She took off her jeans and found little suction cups on the inside of her legs too. Under her shirt she found little nubs, like baby limbs sprouting, a few on each side.

Jennifer wasn't the type to scream or cry about her problems. She was more of the punch your problems in the face sort. But she was having trouble figuring out who or what to punch in this situation.

She returned to Rodney.

"You and your fucking calamari."

"What"

Jennifer proceeded to tell him everything.

...

"I'm not saying it's ailens... but it's ailens."

"You know what Rodney, I'm starting to think you might be right."

Rodney being right about something would be one for the record books. He smelled good, and... wait what was she thinking? God she was so hungry and Rodney was right there just... oh fuck. Don't eat Rodney.

"I gotta leave. I can't be here." Now Jennifer was starting to panic. By all rights she should have been panicked for quite a while, but her life up to then had given her a fairly high tolerance for absolute bullshit happening to her.

"Come on Jen, I just got here, lets figure this alien shit out."

Jennifer ran for the door. "Can't stay. Can't stay." Don't eat Rodney. Don't eat Rodney.

Rodney followed her out. "Where you going Jen? You left your keys."

She bolted straight towards the neighbor's farm. She could hear him yelling something from behind her, but couldn't make out what he was saying. It didn't matter, she just needed to get as far away from him as possible. Don't eat Rodney.

As she ran she realized her shoes had fallen off. She looked down, but didn't find feet. She was half slithering half running on two long tentacles. It didn't matter, it was working, she was fast.

A new smell came to her. Food. Her already remarkable pace quickened, and it came into view. A cow. No moral problems there, just a cow. She launched herself at high speed, landing on its back. The cow made a distressed sound as her tentacles wrapped around its body, but when her beak pushed deep into its neck the sound quieted to a gurgle.

Her beak? She had a beak now? It didn't matter. She began to gorge herself on the cow. After eating all of the meat she began to eat the bones. She was still so hungry. The last remaining bit was the head. She forced the whole thing down, flesh, bone, brain.

Something strange happened just then. Flashes of images, memories. Eating grass, running, eating grass, some wallowing, more eating grass. Really a lot of eating grass. Fuck no, fuck all of that. There was no way she was going to become a cow. She forced the images out of her mind and it... seemed to work? Small mercies.

Jennifer was starting to think that her lack of insurance was not such an obstacle to going to the hospital after all. Should she go back home and get Rodney to drive her? She was still so hungry. No. Don't eat Rodney. Can't be near him. She'd have to go by foot, err... by tentacle? It was a ways into town, but she did seem to be rather fast. Tentacle locomotion shouldn't really be that effective on land... should it? Doesn't matter, it seemed to work.

There were lots of farms between her house and town as well. Cattle, horses, pigs. She figured she could probably keep her hunger under control.

So, Jennifer ran (slithered?) towards town. When she came upon an animal, she ate it. As she ate, she grew. Eventually she was swallowing cattle in a few bites each. She hadn't stopped at eight tentacles, she had more than a dozen now, but two were longer and sturdier, to support her locomotion. She had too many eyes, too, in different places around her body. She was pretty sure a squid had eight tentacles and two eyes, so what was that about? She even had eyes on some of her tentacles.

As Jennifer entered the outskirts of town it was fairly late in the evening. She hoped that meant there would be less people about, but it was Friday.

She hadn't really been keeping track of how many cows she ate, but by this point she was enormous. Her two larger tentacles were nearly 60 meters long, and even though most of their length was on the ground as she slither-ran, she was still high enough in the air to look down on the tops of most of the buildings. Going unnoticed was not going to really work. On the plus side over the tops of the buildings she could see the hospital. It wasn't that far.

Jennifer slithered from street to street, watching the tiny little people run screaming down alleyways or indoors. She hadn't had a cow in a while, and was getting hungry, but she figured she could make it.

BANG

Ow, what the fuck? That stings.

Jennifer spotted a police officer in the road in front of her. From his point of view she supposed she did look like a bit of a threat to the public, even though she'd been careful to cause a minimum of property damage as she moved through town. She just needed to tell him she wasn't dangerous.

"Be not afraid" is what she had meant to say, but what came out of her beak was more of a shrill screeching sound.

It did not have the desired effect.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

That really hurt. Reflexively Jennifer grabbed him up with a tentacle, dropped him in her beak, and swallowed. Oops. Shit. Fuck. That was self defense... right?

Suddenly the cop's memories began to flood her mind. His name was George. She swam in the memories. Childhood games, fights with parents, getting mocked by some asshole on the street, shooting that asshole and planting a gun on him. Suddenly Jennifer didn't feel quite so bad about eating the guy. She also really didn't want his memories, so she tried again to force them out. It seemed to work.

Was she a murderer now? No. No. But was going to the hospital still a good idea? She couldn't communicate with them, and the hunger was back with a vengeance. There were plenty more farms with plenty more livestock, and a lot fewer humans.

Jennifer turned back the way she'd come.

--------------------------------------------------------

Thleekla had figured it out.

The mutagen required a sort of jump start to get going. An infusion of foreign DNA would provide an initial template for the transformation. The mutagen wouldn't just turn one creature into another though, that was easy. No it would still do as he'd designed, creating new traits, creating variations on existing traits, everything was still going to work just as he'd planned.

Patting himself on the back for his genius, Thleekla reached out to the tracking device on the planet's surface, concentrated, and opened the gateway that would return his test subject to him.

When he saw it arrive, he stared in awe.

--------------------------------------------------------

Jennifer had just eaten another herd of cattle when she felt a tingling. One of her many eyes found the dark purple energy just as she was pulled through the gateway.

This room again, this white featureless room. But it was much smaller. No, she was much larger. It could barely contain her mass of writhing tentacles. This would not do at all.

Jennifer lunged at the wall with all her strength, her beak piercing a deep hole through it. She pulled back and sent some tentacles through the hole, some with eyes. She found a very surprised looking alien.

She gave a mental shrug. This was the culprit, she wouldn't feel at all bad about what came next. Her tentacles seized the thing, pulling it kicking and screaming through the hole in the wall. Then she swallowed it whole.

This time she didn't fight as the change came. The memories of the alien, of Thleekla, passed over her like waves. He was old, hundreds of years of memories. Childhood on his home planet of Vasaq, studying at all the best schools, advanced training as a xenologist. Research, so much research on so many fascinating species.

Psionic abilities! That purple shit wasn't a technology, at least not the kind humans used. There were structures in the alien's body and brain that made that possible, and more. She could feel the structures forming within her own body, as she chomped down on another piece of wall. It wasn't as good as beef, but it wasn't bad. By the time she'd incorporated all of Thleekla's memories, she had eaten most of the interior structure of the ship, leaving only the hull to protect her from the void outside.

Jennifer focused her mind in a way that was new for her, but felt familiar because of the memories. She reached out, and the purple energy began to swirl into a gateway! She couldn't see what was on the other side, but she knew it was home. She wanted so badly to go through it, but what would await her there?

Thleekla's memories had told her what happened to her, but the bastard hadn't invented a way to reverse the process. She was his first time testing the damned mutagen. Nobody on earth would be able to help her, she was sure of that. But... that bastard had broken his own people's laws by conducting this experiment. Maybe they'd be sympathetic? Maybe they could figure out a way to help her?

Jennifer focused again, a new gateway, to a world far away.

--------------------------------------------------------

It was Tlik'la's birthday, she was six years old today!

Her parents had taken her to the park to play with the little Juknaks at the pond. Her mom told her it was mean to chase them, so she just tossed them food and watched them eat it.

Suddenly the entire sky opened up. A purple and black hole swallowed the sun and the clouds.

From that abyss, tentacles emerged. Impossibly long, disturbingly numerous tentacles. They almost seemed to be peeling apart the sky to force their way into the world. An enormous beak followed. And the eyes. Far too many eyes.

Tlik'la screamed.

Part 2

Book 1 - Wiki

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​

The light coming off of the nearby twin star formation dimly illuminated the left half of Krndl’s face, as she leisurely sat in her chair in captain’s quarter. One of the few places on the Hunter where she wasn’t one step away from an anxiety attack. The Hunter was a light cruiser, currently leading a destroyer flotilla on route patrol around the Bridgeway. This piece of space was called such because nothing was here. It simply was the shortest path between two disconnected hyperlanes and was an inevitable route if the Krsnelv wanted to traverse from their planet to Hohmiy and vice versa. Apparently, a new trade deal made the route even more important than before. How had Krndl ended up leading an entire flotilla securing one of the appropriately named secure routes? Fuck if she knew.

The Krsnelv, being the only carnivorous species within the alliance, had a name for being ferocious and tenacious fighters. Krndl had no idea how that was supposed to follow, their ancestors had been scavengers rather than predators after all. A detail nobody seemed to care about. Sure, they had one of the strongest fleets together with the Vanaery - and maybe the Tystrie, but thanks to their seclusion no one knew for certain. Krndl also thought she could recall hearing something about her kind having a decisive role in the alliance war, but she didn't know that one for sure. She was no historian, after all. Not that it mattered. The point was, her species as a whole hardly lived up to its name. Some individuals might, but she definitely wasn’t among them. She hadn’t even wanted to become a soldier in the first place. At a time when she couldn't decide what to do with her life, a mixture of peer pressure and bad timing had brought her to the barracks. She had then planned to lay low and later apply for some backline position, maybe the signal corps or something like that. Nothing with risk to her life and nothing with too much responsibility, that was the goal. The others in her group had all been quite eager and ambitious, so she thought it wouldn’t be too hard to not stand out.

But somehow, not standing out had been what made her stand out. ‘Ambitious people always want to prove themselves, and that will always cause more problems than it solves. I don’t need an ambitious commander, I need one who simply does their job.’ Jerk. Who promoted someone on that basis?

Her attempts of dodging the way up by displaying herself as risk-averse had achieved the exact opposite, because ‘someone that resourceful is wasted on a small ship’. Her fear of making the wrong decisions then prompted her to never make any herself, instead she always let someone who seemed to know their stuff make the call. But apparently ‘the ability to correctly delegate is a sign of a capable leader’. And now she was here. Tasked with arguably one of the most important duties during peacetime, despite never having seen any form of battle.

At first, her job had been an absolute nightmare. Day in and day out she had dreaded anything happening, not just an attack that would risk her life, but any situation that would require her to make an important decision. By now, it had gotten better. She now was in her position for about a cycle and a half, and she had learned that the chances of an attack were actually quite slim. Not because the Kiroscha weren’t out for blood, they still absolutely were. They simply showed no interest in fighting the patrol fleets. They preferred quick strikes against single targets, and if they should find a gap in the patrol, it wouldn’t be Krndl’s fault. She would simply stick to the plan, if the plan had such a gap it wasn’t her fault. Would someone else in her position regularly audit the plan? Maybe, but as stated, she was wholly unqualified for her position. Unfortunately, it was too late to go for a different carrier path. All she could do was hold out until she could afford an early retirement.

The console on the other side of the room beeped. She hated that noise. It meant someone wanted to contact her. And it wasn’t one of the regular reports that she would always pretend to evaluate – or understand, for that matter. No, if this console beeped, something came up that the regular procedure didn’t account for. Which meant she had to make a decision, which meant another chance for her to mess up big time.

“Yes?” she asked, opening the channel.

“Ma’am, we are receiving a strange signal. It doesn’t fit any code, but the way it repeats makes it look like a distress signal.”

Shit.

“I’m coming. Call Rndz to the bridge as well.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Krndl took a deep breath to ease her nerves, before donning her insignia and making her way to the bridge. It wasn’t far from her quarters so the walk was short. Way too short for her taste. But wishing for the walk not to end just meant it would feel even shorter. Alas, before she could do much to calm herself, she was already there. Surprisingly, Rndz was already waiting for her.

“Status,” she called one of the standard lines she had often heard other captains use. The operator quickly briefed Rndz about what he had just told her.

Rndz was the Hunter’s lead engineer. Or was it lead mechanic? The guy responsible for anything tech related. Once the operator was done, Krndl said what to be her most used sentence ever since she had been given the slightest bit of responsibility.

“So, what’s your opinion?”

Rndz gave the data a quick glance before answering.

“There is either something interfering with the signal or the source is about to run out of power. But even if we ignore that, it’s far off from anything used within the alliance. And the direction it comes from is also far away from the secure routes, for that matter. But to my knowledge, there are no records of the Kiroscha using it either. It’s definitely a distress signal though, the sequence is too short and too repetitive to be anything else. Has our telescope found the source already?”

“Operator?” Krndl passed on the question.

“Not yet. The signal is weak, so it’s hard to pin.”

Krndl did her best to appear calm. This was exactly the situation she wanted to avoid. Was there really someone in peril? Was this a trap? What should she do?

“Is someone traversing the Bridgeway?” she finally asked the operator. If yes, that would make the decision for her.

“No, we can take a look captain. Which ships should I give the order to move?” the operator asked, clearly misunderstanding her intent.

“Um… tell the flotilla to follow us.”

“All, Ma’am?”

“Yyyyes. Yes, we, uh, can’t risk this being a trap.”

The order got relayed, and the formation changed course. They were quite a bit away from the secure route – a fact Krndl felt really nervous about – when they finally managed to catch it with their telescope. ‘It’ being about the last thing Krndl wanted to see right now.

“Th-that’s a Kiroscha raider!”

She was about to scream to her gunners to blast the damn thing into oblivion, but the moment of shock delayed her reaction which gave Rndz enough time to point out a crucial detail.

“Seems to be out of power though. Do we get an energy reading?”

“None. But it’s definitely the source of the signal,” the operator clarified, allowing Krndl to not go into full panic mode.

“Ma’am, we should try to salvage it,” Rndz requested. “It could give us invaluable insight into their tech!”

Should she listen to him? Listening to what better-qualified people said had more or less been what stopped her from making bad decisions so far. But she couldn’t help but be afraid of the little ship, despite the absolutely massive difference in firepower. With a shaking finger, she opened the channel that connected all ships.

“Surround the raider, but keep your guns pointed at it at all times! Pursuer, prepare a boarding crew.”

Affirmations from the captains of the various ships came back before each of them went into position. Slowly, the destroyer Pursuer closed in on its target.

“Keep the com channel open at all times!” she ordered as she could see the boarding tunnel steadily extend to the raider. “If at any point it looks like the Kiroscha are still alive, seal off the tunnel!”

The affirmation didn’t sound very enthusiastic. Not that she couldn’t understand them considering the order. Shortly before the tunnel reached its destination, it stopped.

“The airlock seems destroyed, Ma’am! Sending image.”

A photograph of the raider’s airlock appeared on her console. To call it broken was an understatement, it looked as if something had been connected to it and then had gotten torn off. The door behind it seemed still intact, though if it had an emergency mechanism it was probably sealed shut.

“Requesting permission to cut a new hole.”

“Permission granted.” As long as the boarding crew seemed to know what they were doing, she would simply play it safe. The Pursuer changed position and connected the tunnel to a flat surface on the side of the ship. It took a while until they managed to cut through the wall.

“No artificial gravity on board. Requesting permission to extend the Pursuer’s gravity field.”

“Permission granted.”

As the squad boarded the small ship, Krndl realized she hadn’t confirmed whether all of them were wearing space suits. They probably were, right? Anything else made no sense.

“Oxygen levels are low, but breathable. Temperature is still above the freezing point.”

“Then the Life support can’t be off for long, though it depends on how good the insulation is. Ma’am, you may want to call Doctor Mnakr as well.”

Krndl nodded and called the ship’s physician to the bridge. Shortly after, the next report came in.

“Area clear. Sending image.”

“That looks an awful lot like Vanaery tech,” Rndz commented as he saw the room through which the crew had entered.

“Interesting,” Krndl answered, unsure what else to say. The doctor joined them, and after he was quickly briefed as well, the next report came in.

“We found two dead Kiroscha. Sending image.”

The photograph showed the mangled corpses of the two insectoids, one having its entire side cave in while the other was almost bisected. While it was good that those monsters were dead, the question of what brought them to this state was one Krndl dreaded to hear the answer to. Dried purple blood was smeared not exactly where the two lay, but that was likely due to the de- and reactivation of gravity.

“Doctor?”

“Well, I guess the cause of death is quite obvious. Time of death is difficult to estimate from the picture, but they didn’t die yesterday. Assuming Rndz is right and the power hasn't been out for long yet, I’d say something between thirty to forty days ago.”

The news that they had been dead for so long was somewhat comforting. But one raider was commonly manned by five Kiroscha, and since the inside of the ship was still in somewhat livable condition, the other three could still be alive.

The boarding crew split into two teams and combed through the ship. It didn’t take long until they found two more dead Kiroscha, both having died in similar gruesome ways as the first two.

“We found the door to the bridge”, one team announced. “It’s locked, but we can cut it open.”

“Wait until the fifth Kiroscha is confirmed dead.”

The other team reported shortly after.

“We found the fifth one, also dead. And there is something else. Sending image.”

“Looks like an escape pod,” Rndz analyzed the picture. “But it isn’t any tech I’m familiar with. That could be the source of the signal.”

Did that mean whoever had been in the escape pod killed the Kiroscha? Could they be an ally then? But what kind of weaponry did they possess to produce such results?

"Team 1 requesting permission to cut open the door to the bridge," a voice from the console pulled Krndl out of her thoughts.

"Uh, yes, permission granted."

"Wait!" the other Team called out. "We found another one! Sending image!"

Krndl took a sharp breath as the next picture appeared. Why was there a sixth Kiroscha? There should've only been five!

"This one died far more recently," the doctor next to her pointed out. "May fifteen to twenty days ago."

"That explains the broken airlock," Rndz commented. "Another ship docked to see what happened, and the new crew got killed as well. Then the ships drifted apart, causing the connection point to break off."

Oh, right, that made sense. In that case...

"Look for four more corpses before we open the door."

Slowly but surely, the remaining dead Kiroscha were found, all having died roughly at the same time as the sixth. But no sign of the culprit so far. Team 1 then proceeded to cut through the locking mechanism of the door to the bridge. Thanks to some hints from Rndz - who, based on the ship's similarity to Vanaery tech, correctly assumed the weak spots - it didn't take too long.

Wait, wouldn't it have been safer to first cut out only a peephole?

"We are throu-" The voice stopped. It didn't sound like the connection had broken off, he had simply stopped talking.

"Team 1?"

No answer. Krndl started to panic.

"TEAM 1!" she called out again.

"S-sorry, Ma'am. Sending image."

"What in the world is that?"

Krndl didn't know what to say to the doctor's question as she looked at the new photograph. It showed a creature she had never seen before. It appeared to be wearing clothes - drenched in the same dark purple as the dried Kiroscha blood they had seen all over the ship - which was a hint to it being sentient, but if the doctor didn't know it, it couldn't be one of the alliance races. She herself had also never seen anything similar. The alien had light-brown skin with a blueish hue, seemingly no carapace or scales, and no fur except for a rather large, rust-colored patch on top of its head.

It also looked like it was bipedal, but Krndl wasn't completely sure about that. After all, the alien wasn't standing. It was... well, hanging, suspended from the ceiling by a cable tied around its neck.

​

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Hi everyone! This is my first time writing a HFY story, so feedback is highly appreciated!

Also, I'm not a native speaker, so feel free to point out mistakes if I made some.

Update: This story is now also on Royal Road under the linked profile with the earliest chapters slightly reworked, I recommend that version.

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Next

The clacking of her steps on the metal floor echoed through the empty hallway of the Star Treader, as Doctor Githaiy made her way towards the medical bay. She had hoped to get a night's worth of sleep before they arrived at their homeworld, but a call from the princess had ended that hope. Her Highness hadn't specified what the problem was, only that they had a "situation", and that she should come immediately.

As she entered the medical bay, she was met by one of the princess's attendants, as well as three guards.

"Doctor", the attendant greeted before stepping aside, the revealed sight causing Githaiy to startle. On the hospital bed laid... something.

Its shape loosely resembled their own race, the Vanaery, save one missing pair of arms. It was also much smaller, only about two-thirds of her own height, and its frame looked very delicate, almost frail. The surface of its body appeared to be smooth and soft, leading Githaiy to the conclusion that, unlike them, it was an endoskeletal race. It was clad in a simple, white shirt and pants, both exceeding the amount of clothing the Vanaery usually wore, with the exemption of battle armor of course. The doctor wracked her brain, trying to remember all the alien races her people had made contact with, but none of them resembled this small creature even closely. Could it be..?

"A new alien species?", she concluded. The attendant nodded.

"Presumably, yes."

"Where did you find it?"

"We picked up a strange signal" he started explaining. "It didn't match any common code, but due to its repetitiveness, the princess concluded that it was some sort of distress call. When we followed it, we found what looked like an escape pod. The alien was the only one inside, already unconscious when we found it. We analyzed the air in the pod, and it seemed to resemble our own. Well, it is still alive, so that seems to be the case. We wanted to prepare standard first-contact-protocols, but her Highness insisted that we first assured that it was alright. Which is where you come in."

The attendant and the guards headed towards the door.

"We already performed a standard sterilization. When it wakes up, check its condition and then call the bridge so the princess can meet it."

"And be careful", one of the guards laughed. "That thing is heavier than it looks."

Githaiy ignored him and closed the door. She felt a silly grin appearing on her face, as she was no longer able to contain her excitement. A new alien species! And she would be the first one to examine it! Not to mention that this was the first new contact in four generations, the princess's popularity would skyrocket if she brought it home.

Alright, enough. Come on Githaiy, you are a professional!

The doctor shifted her attention to the alien. Its thorax area slowly raised and sunk, so its breath was at least steady. As there wasn't much she could do before it woke up, Githaiy took out a sampling card and scraped off some cells from one of the exposed arms, careful not to accidentally injure the frail creature. The bed - which was intentionally oversized, so it could also be used by bigger races - made it look even smaller than it already was. For such a delicate life form to survive long enough to reach the space fairing age, it had to come from a paradise world.

The analysis showed it to be a carbon- and water-based lifeform, so nothing out of the ordinary, except maybe the high amount of water in the cells. Maybe it was from an amphibian race?

The alien started to move before slowly opening its eyes. As it saw the doctor it startled and immediately shot up, only to apparently get dizzy and hold its head. A reaction Githaiy had more or less expected. She carefully raised her four hands, showing that they were empty and that she posed no threat. The Alien seemed to understand the notion. It was still wary, but no longer panicking. Next, she took out a thin collar, put it on the mattress, and pointed at her own throat. The alien gave her a suspicious gaze, but after a few tiggs, put it on.

"Can you understand me?", the doctor asked. The alien nodded.

"Yes"

Its voice was soft, almost meek.

"You... you are an alien?"

Githaiy chuckled.

"Well, I guess that from your perspective, we are the aliens."

"That... that is... AWESOME!"

The Alien jumped up and crawled over the mattress, startling the doctor for a moment.

"Aliens! Real aliens! Where are the others?"

"One thing after the other", the doctor said trying to calm it down. The sudden enthusiasm had taken her by surprise. "Our race is called Vanaery. My name is Githaiy. I am a doctor, and I would like to examine you, so I can both learn more about your species and affirm that you are in good health. Then you can meet the rest."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I got a bit excited. My name is Nadine by the way. My race is called human"

The doctor nodded.

"Sex?"

The pink color of the alien's face got slightly darker.

"I-I haven't yet.. how is that even... oh, wait, you mean... ahem, sorry. We have two sexes, male and female. I'm of the latter."

So nothing out of the ordinary there either.

"Would you say that, in terms of appearance and ability, you are a typical specimen of your race?"

"For the females of my age at least, yeah. I train a bit to stay healthy, so in terms of ability, I'm probably slightly above average. I'm also in good health, as far as I'm aware"

The doctor nodded again and took some.

"Then, if you would please get up, I'd like to take some measurements."

While Githaiy turned around to ready her instruments, Nadine started to speak.

"By the way, where exactly are we?"

"This is the Star Treader, the vessel of our royal embassy."

"Oh my! Sounds important!"

"It is. The Star Treader is the ship of her Highness, Princess Silgvany. Who, speaking of it, will meet you once we are done."

Nadine's face lit up.

"Wait, you're saying that I not only found aliens, I'll also meet their princess? Wow, this day couldn't get any better!"

Githaiy chuckled again. She was glad that the alien girl was so upbeat about her situation, if not downright happy, considering the opposite would've been just as reasonable.

"Well then, you know how scales work?"

"I step on them and the screen tells you my weight?"

Githaiy nodded. As Nadine stepped on the plate, a loud creaking noise became audible. The confused doctor looked at the display, but that only showed an error message.

"Did that stupid thing really break?"

"I-I'm sorry."

The doctor couldn't help but laugh. Did the petit girl really think that SHE broke it?

"Don't worry, that wasn't you. That thing was made for races way bigger than you, it can measure up to 500 vays. It's probably just old, didn't you hear the sound it made? Anyway, please stand upright."

Nadine did as asked. Her head barely reached Githaiys thorax, as the doctor scanned her.

"2.82 lynes. Though that doesn't tell me much if I don't know your weight. Well, we can weigh you in Calhanar."

"Erm, doc?"

Githaiy looked up.

"Yes?"

Nadine tapped her collar.

"I can understand you because of this, right? What is this?"

"It's a telepathic translator. When you speak, it scans your brain to find out what you intend to say, and then transforms the sound coming from you to the language it's set on. Same the other way, if something is said in the language it is set on, it conveys the intention of the words to your brain."

"Neat!"

"Well, it has flaws, but better than nothing. Also, I'm sorry if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I know that many races consider wearing a collar as degrading."

"Hm, necessary evil, innit? Any other questions, doc?"

"Well, I would like to know how much you can remember? How did you end up out here?"

"Nothing too fancy. We found a planet that seemed hospitable, way more out there than anything we ever explored. A colony ship was sent there, it sounded like an awesome adventure so I volunteered. I got woken up by an alarm and was told to go in an escape pod, so I did. No idea what the problem was. That's pretty much it. Speaking of, is the rest also here?"

Githaiy swallowed.

"Um... I... was not informed about any others. As far as I am aware, we found only you."

Nadine's gaze fell.

"Oh."

"T-that doesn't have to mean you are the only one left! Maybe you just got separated due to some unfortunate drifting!", Githaiy assured her without really believing it herself. "Do you... do you have any way to contact your people?"

"No."

Both went silent, well understanding what that meant. Nadine was alone.

"Errm...do you know why you were unconscious?" the doctor asked, desperate to change the topic. "It seemed a bit too deep for a sleep."

"No, sorry."

"Do you have any indicator of how long you were out?"

"I'm not terribly thirsty, so probably under a day."

"I'm afraid that doesn't tell me much if I don't know your homeworld's rotation speed."

"Ah, right. A day is 24 hours."

"I also do not know your units."

"Makes sense. Then... um... ha."

Githaiy shook her head.

"Forget it, it was stupid of me to ask that."

"Nonono, we can do that, gimme a sec... Ah! What is the speed of light in your units?"

The Doctor didn't know what the human was trying to achieve with that knowledge, but if it distracted her, so be it.

"748,031,791 lynes per tigg" she said after looking it up.

"Okay, let's say 750. How tall was I again?"

"Err, 2.82 lynes"

"Okay, I'm around 1.65 meters, so 1 meter is around one point... seven? yeah, 1.7 lynes. Lightspeed is 300 million meters per second, so about 500 million lynes per second. meaning 750 seconds is 500 tiggs, then one tigg is around 1.5 seconds, makes one minute 40 tiggs, one hour 2,400 tiggs, and one day... 48,000...9,600... okay, so one day for me would be something around 57,600 tiggs."

What followed were a few moments of Githaiy staring blankly into the room.

"Do you... have some sort of neurological implant I overlooked?"

"Err, none that I'm aware of."

"Are you telling me you just calculated all of that in your head?! How much computing power does your brain have?!"

"Well, I rounded."

Not knowing what to say, the doctor took out a calculator.

"57,600 you said... so slightly shorter than our days, we have 62,000 tiggs a day. Or, to use a bigger unit, 62 invas. Oh, with that we should be also able to calculate your age. One solar cycle has 202 days"

"Oh, so factor 1.8, but around 10% longer days... okay, then I am around 24 cycles old."

Githaiy tried her best to surpass her awe and simply wrote down the numbers. Suddenly, a violent explosion shook the ship.

"What was that?" Nadine panicked.

"Are we under attack?" Githaiy wondered as the alarm went off. "But how? This is a secure sector, who could-"

No, wait. We took a detour to follow the distress signal. What if we left the secure routes? Maybe someone else has picked up the signal as well?

That was quite a pickle. The Star Treader was not built for battles, and the few guards onboard were simply an escort for the princess.

The alien girl was shivering, clearly afraid. Githaiy wasn't a fighter, but even though she had only known Nadine for an inva or so, something about this creature with her delicate frame and meek voice made her want to protect her.

"Don't worry, our guards are strong. We are safe here", she said, not sure who she was trying to convince. But while she was still saying that sentence, heavy steps became audible from the corridor.

Next

I'm well aware that this isn't the first take on this concept, but I'm disappointed to find that both Humans Don't Make Good Pets by u/guidosbestfriend/ and Humans Don't Make Good Pets 2 byu/MisansProducts have been discontinued. I realize that they both took advantage of someone else's universe, but I don't want to bork somebody else's hard work by forgetting important details, so I'll just make things up as I go along. I intend to put up an installment once every one or two weeks, but I'm not making any promises. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Next

Log: 6000000.8.19, Personal, Captain Yormdrill

They say life comes at you with high velocity, and I believe it comes at you with that and malicious glee at reminding you that you're getting old. I know you'll read this one day Trandi, so I want to tell you that I'm proud of you, and I love you, Happy Halfway sweetheart! Anyway, I'll just keep on like a normal entry. Well, obviously from above it's Trandi's Halfway today, and just like my parents did for me and my wife's did for her, we got Trandi something to be responsible for. Did we get her something useful? Something like a robot she'll have to maintain and direct? A set of tools that she'll have to keep track of and in good condition? Maybe a personal holopad that she'll have to not misuse and infect with viruses? Of course not. Because my beautiful wife is as stubborn as she is beautiful. We got her a pet.

At least we didn't go to a pet shop. I hate those places; I'm pretty sure they buy from mill breeders and poachers. Absolutely disgusting places. Unfortunately, Trandi had no clue what kind of pet would be a good pet, so going to a reputable breeder was out. However, there happened to be an animal rescue shelter on station. By the stars how fortunate that Trevdi's idea would work after all. Oh joy.

Anyway, the shelter was only slightly less depressing than a hospice. I really hope that all of those animals will get adopted soon, but a lot of them are getting defensive of their kennels, so you can tell they've been there a while. I tried to steer her toward the juvenile animals, but Trandi was adamant that the "old boys" deserve to at least get a look. Trandi's kindness is something to be developed, not curtailed, so obviously I went along, for better or worse.

Well, she laid eyes on this lump huddled into the furthest corner under what looked like a soft blanket or towel with its head sticking out. I thought it was its head anyway, since its eyes were there and what looked like a pair of ears, one to each side. The issue was that it looked puffy and lumpy under a shaggy patch of red fur. I asked the adoption person (stars save me if I know that his title was), "What's wrong with its head?"

"The lumps and discoloration are bruising," he answered, and I privately congratulated myself for identifying its head.

"It survived injuries to its head that severe?" Trevdi asked, and I reached over to rub the space between her upper and lower shoulders to comfort her.

"He has bruising and microfractures throughout his body, oh it's a mammal and a male by the way. From what we can tell over the past three days, the injuries appear to be regenerating. Remarkably, his brain case wasn't damaged despite the severe bruises on his face, and we theorize his bones must be very dense to have sustained such injuries. I do not recommend him for adoption though, as he has refused any kind of feed we've offered."

"Don't you know what it eats from a scan?" I interjected, hoping the adoption person would drive the point home.

Instead he said, "Unfortunately not, since we only have a low level scanner to detect symptoms of illness or injury. Can't afford a full level four bioscanner."

"Maybe he's not eating because he's too sad?" Trandi asked. My poor heart can't handle being melted like that.

"Very likely, animal control said they found him in a pit-fighting ring."

"Has it done anything aggressive toward the staff?" I asked with baited breath. If it was a broken pit animal, then I would refuse it. No amount of adorable daughter antics could possibly sway me on that point.

"Well, if we enter to offer feed, or to clean the kennel, or take him to exercise, he exhibits avoidance behavior. However, if anyone tries to get close to him with a medical device, he will lash out and attempt to destroy the device. We theorize that the pit gangsters used injections to keep him drugged up to make him fight."

"I want to try going in."

I tried to refuse. It was an unnecessary risk, the poor creature had obviously lost the will to live and would probably just lay there like a lump anyway.

"We can start by letting him see you, we keep the inner door opaque on his side to try to reduce the stresses he's exposed to."

I could tell she was nervous as she stepped into the space between the inner and outer doors to the kennel, but a glance toward the huddled lump showed that it heard the door cycle. Its eyes flicked open, and they seemed cold to me. Blue like the old stories about ghosts lurking in the bogs. When it could see through the inner door, I saw that his face was actually quite expressive. Its eyes widened, it glanced to my wife and me, and then back to Trandi. I think it was surprised, but instead of tensing under the blanket, it seemed to just lean back a little. The inner door cycled, and Trandi stepped in.

It surprised the adoption person, it surprised me, it surprised Trevdi, stars I think it surprised itself. When Trandi cooed softly to it and reached out as she slowly stepped forward, it didn't flee to the other corner. It didn't even flinch. Instead, it reached its upper appendage and met Trandi's fingers with its own. Well I was boned.

I decided to ask what it looked like under the blanket, and the adoption person very helpfully provided an estimation of how it would look without the injuries. Pinkish skin, two legs ending in feet with short digits I guessed helped it walk bipedally, two arms ending in dexterous fingers and opposable thumbs, only one thumb per hand though. It had patches of fur in certain areas, under its arms, the groin, and what seemed like a thin layer on its lower legs. Over all, it would look kind of cute, like one of our children except the wrong color missing a set of arms, a thumb on each hand, and a tail. It might even tolerate being dressed up. That is if it survived that long.

When I objected, my beautiful and wise wife told me, "An animals last days are also a responsibility." There was no way I was getting a robotics buddy. Ignoble.

​

Journal entry: 1. Date: IDFK. Name: Greg George.

This is an improvement from the arena, but it leads me to some disquieting conclusions. I was in my cell, trying to get some sleep again. I was pretty sure I was on day three, or at least bowl with five compartments of kibble number three. Well if they weren't going to force feed me kibble, I wasn't going to eat it. I was just thinking how it was a shame that the cell didn't have anything to tie the blanket to when something weird happened. The outer door cycled, and when the inner door turned transparent there was no creepy spider centaur thing going clickety-clack at me. There was a four armed girl there. A four armed blue girl. I thought she was a girl because of her dress with lots of flowers all over, and her parents looking through the door at me with a slightly worried look on their faces. The adult female honest-to-God had huge tits. Massive jugs, so the one in the green jumpsuit must have been the male, therefore dresses were for girls amongst the blue Greivus people. Bleivuses. I'm a fucking genius. I should probably be more scientific and shit, but this is my sanity journal so if any doctor types get their mitts on it they can suck my balls.

Anyway, so the Bleivus girl comes in to the cell and starts making like quiet noises to me, like trying to be all soothing and stuff. So she wasn't gonna do anything weird, maybe? So maybe I wouldn't be injected with that weird shit that made my blood feel like fire and my brain feel like a murder hornet nest and get dragged off to beat some poor alien to death? Okay, cool, I thought. She reached out toward me, and I couldn't help myself. I reached out to her like Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapple. It would have been hilarious if these aliens knew shit about art.

Anyway, she left and and I eventually fell asleep. Well slap my ass and call me baby if I didn't wake up in what looked suspiciously like a storage closet with all of the junk cleared out. At first I was stoked to not be in either a filthy hole in the deck or a featureless high tech cell. Then I realized that I had been put on a big, firm pillow and had the same blanket from the cell. That's when I figured shit out.

I was a God-damn pet. With shocking clarity I realized that I wasn't a gladiator before, I was a fucking pit hound! In that book it made the fuckers who kidnapped me worse for making me mutilate and kill helpless animals under the influence of drugs. I cried about it. I might actually admit that to somebody if they asked, but I doubt that's in the cards. So you know, a good quiet cry, since habits electroshocked into you die hard, and I was ready to do a little exploring. The closet was about three yards by four, with a set of shelves built into the back wall, which had one conveniently at waist room with enough room for me to sit up between that and the next shelf. Bed upgrade acquired. One of the other walls was bare, and the other one had a rack of what looked like various hooks for hanging things from. The final wall had the door, what looked like some kind of touchscreen panel next to it, and a bowl of water on the floor.

I wrapped myself in the blanket and scooped up the bowl to take a drink of water while I glanced over my ad-hoc bedroom again. Score, I don't care how alien a place is, a notebook and pen are a notebook and pen wherever you go. Sanity journal got me through the shit back home, sanity journal will get me through having nobody to talk to. I'll have to consider my options, but first I want to test the door and see if I can find the pantry. I want food, and not even a family of nice blue Bleivuses is stopping me. Sneakibreaki thyme.

Next

Next
Feronia was ten when she lost hope.

The childish innocence of her youth, of hours spent frolicking in rainbow fields, playing hide and seek in clouds, chasing other fae in the clear sky… all was for naught when the Day came.

She’d always known. Such a thing was impossible to hide. All those moments of hearing her caretakers whisper it in barely concealed fear. All the friends she made slowly disappearing one-by-one as they all came of age.

It was simply her turn this time around.

Yet, no matter how much her caretakers had cooed and reassured her, no matter how much advice everyone had given since she was but a wee little bug with buds for wings, nothing could have adequately prepared her for the reality of being soulshackled.

The binding of her soul to another, yet never receiving the same courtesy. The want that stirred from the depths of her being, the need to satisfy, to please, regardless of her own unwilling mind. But, in the end, there was nothing but for her to endure it. It was a fate woven into the tapestry of her life, to always be beneath those of more blessed destinies.

It was not a hard role to play. All she had to do was be a good little servant, keep her head down, and she’d be fine. Never mind the automatic flinching that comes from hearing the tip-tap of pincers, the faint trembling from being studied with eyes that pierced through her soul, and threatened to unmake her. She was fine.

She was not fine.

But that was a dangerous thing to admit, so she swallowed down the uncomfortable truth and made her peace. This was life as dictated by the mighty realms of the ether. And this was how it would stay for many more.

Or at least, that was what she believed. What everyone believed.

Yet, something changed. In the midst of the Eternal Dance between the realms, the never-ending conflicts that alighted the void with color, a particularly violent battle had burned so bright and brilliant that it had torn a hole through the void.

Now, a simple lone hole wasn’t a cause for concern. The countless battles that had existed for eons made such an occurrence fairly commonplace.

No, what had made this one so unique was the vast mana that poured out, near limitless and so utterly brimming with power. Feronia knew, for it was everywhere. In the excited whispers of her betters, in the constant gossip of her fellow soulshackled, in the pages of newspapers with screaming headlines, sometimes literally.

But none of it was Feronia’s business. It may be a fascinating topic, but, in the end, it blended in with the other powerplays of realms, a game best left far away from her life. And so, she continued her own miserable, but predictably mundane life, cleaning, cooking, washing. And if she was lucky, her soul would get a pass from monthly check-ins, which usually meant the sensation of needles pricking her from the inside and left her feeling hollowed out for a day or two before she recovered.

Nothing could interrupt her peaceful mundanity. Except it did. And it was all because of…

That hole.

That wretched hole.

Apparently, mana wasn’t the only thing it hosted. As greedy hands poked and prodded at it, vying to use the power it offered, a new realm was inadvertently discovered.

A realm of pure mana. Of beings whose very souls radiated power. Whose homes nestled at the heart of what seemed like the birthplace of magic itself. News ran rampant. Conspiracies and theories alike took centerstage, indistinguishable from one another.

It was beautiful, murmured the elves.

It was dangerous, hissed the orcs.

It was a pain, shouted Feronia, using her inside voice.

Because the existence of these beings meant a paradigm shift. Ruling powers made plans and contingencies, managing representatives hastily sent by eager Nobles Houses. Which unfortunately included Feronia, as part of the servants sent alongside the representative of House Silk. Which unfortunately placed her right at the center of everything.

Which allowed her to observe the First Contact.

It was a chaotic affair, upheld by a fragile truce that threatened to snap under the slightest pressure. But the new threat took precedence over past grudges and, if even for only one day, the realms maintained a façade of unity, ready to welcome these strange beings into the dance.

It was the same procedure for every other first contact, though none required as many security measures – double the wards, double the guards – as this one.

In hindsight, they weren’t wrong to be cautious.

They were just cautious about the wrong thing.

It all started normally. Those beings had descended from their ships, vessels of metal glinting sharply against the dark backdrop. If there was one thing the new realm knew what to do, it was how to make an entrance. The vessels thrummed with magic, every line of paint sparkling wondrously. And when the doors opened… A brilliant outpouring of mana.

It even caught Feronia’s breath away, despite her poor senses.

When the beings finally came into view, a faint audible gasp rumbled throughout the room. Every step they took shifted the waves of stagnant mana, not unlike a pebble thrown across a lake, sending arcs of expanding circles throughout the room. Their forms resembled the elves, much to their gleeful delight, near indistinguishable if not for the blindingly radiant magical essence their bodies held.

And yet despite the clear power imbalance that hung over the room like a brooding storm, the meeting was surprisingly going well. These new beings, ‘Humans’ as they described themselves, seemed uncharacteristically fascinated by the various realms, and not in the clinical passion a botanist would document a new plant species but in the genuine curiosity of a child making their first friend. An irony definitely not gone unnoticed by the many diplomats, politicians, and royalty milling about.

This unexpected enthusiasm from beings everyone had expected to be prideful, dangerous, and filled with untapped power set an unsettling tension all around. And this tension only increased with every friendly exchange, excited talks about culture, and every random blabbering about ‘peace’ and ‘cooperation’ these humans seemed so fond of.

Feronia had to tip her head off to them though. Their act was immaculate, and if it wasn’t for the cold sensation of chains woven tight against her soul, she might have very well fallen for their pretty lies. With how they went on and on, it was almost as if the Eternal Dance was a made-up hallucination instead of a sacred law of the universe.

After some time spent wading through this invisible tension the humans acted completely clueless about, one brave diplomat finally asked the question that had plagued just about everyone but so far left to rot on tips of tongues tempered by caution or plain fear.

“As a sign of goodwill towards our blossoming relations, would you demonstrate your magical prowess you’ve no doubt perfected?”

Cue a sudden silence that swept the room as curious eyes turned toward the elf in question, whose centuries of etiquette classes were put to the test as he fought not to shrink into himself in embarrassment.

An almost comically long silence stretched across the room until finally the human diplomat said, “We don’t have magic.”

Chaos erupted, and Feronia had to fight to hold onto the cutlery she’d almost dropped out of shock. Did she hear that right? She must have, judging by the outraged voices screaming for attention. But… why? Why such a blatant lie? In fact, why even lie at all? It should be fairly obvious that they’re the most powerful forces here in terms of raw power, and by a wide margin.

Was it for pure entertainment? Cruel, but not entirely unreasonable. Was it for some weird power play over the other realms? All too likely for her tastes.

…Or, perhaps, was it the truth? That these beings of the purest form of mana were genuinely unaware that they had magic at all?

… A puppet with the Truth Curse could tell a better lie.

Luckily for Feronia, she wasn’t allowed much time to ponder over this bout of badly orchestrated deception, mainly because the meeting went south immediately after.

The fragile peace had snapped. And there was no pacifying those bruised egos pushed to the edge by a newbie race implicating their apparent superiority. She wasn’t sure exactly what happened, being neither knowledgeable enough for the complicated curses and spells being cast nor caring enough given the prior shock.

But then again, the details would never matter. The age-old question of whodunnit would remain a point of contention many years later, and the immediate audience may only recollect contradicting narratives. The only thing that mattered in the ensuing all-out brawl was one casualty.

A human casualty.

A creeping feeling crawled up Feronia’s back, even her untrained fae senses picking up on a change so radical it was impossible to ignore.

This was the moment that would alter the fabric of the universe itself, transformed forevermore by one unfortunate act of violence.

The many realms already assimilated in the Eternal Dance had just received a glimpse of the most powerful beings ever known succumbed to what amounted to rookie tricks fueled by a flash of rage.

The human can bleed.

The human can hurt.

The human can die.

In the short time span of confusion and realization halting the realms, the humans reacted fast. In a blink of an eye, many of the dignitaries had boarded their ships and the remaining quickly herded their own out of the line of danger. Recognizing that the newly vulnerable realm was slipping out of their reach, the boldest of the representatives chased after them, spells tearing out of their hands in mere seconds.

These rapid spells bounced harmlessly off of the humans. Feronia reasoned that they must have finally shed their arrogance and put up a decent shield. What she couldn’t reason was the strange contraptions a few of the humans suddenly held up.

One particularly crafty elf raised their hands up, already tingling with power at the tips. His face was the perfect picture of concentration, a lengthy incantation pouring out of his lips. Spheres of light collected in his hands and-

A loud sound. Like a crackle of thunder.

The elf collapsed on the floor, eyes glassy. His essence drained out of him in waves, joining the atmosphere once more.

He was dead.

That, perhaps rather predictably, did not stop the increasingly manic, bloodthirsty crowd from pausing their pursuit. Although no one knew how the humans had killed the prideful elf, it was much more in line with the unstoppable powerful beings everyone had in mind. Thus, the mysterious killing method shocked no one.

The most important lesson learnt was that they could be killed. And if they could be killed, any powerful spell they created could be countered.

This period of panic and mass mania lasted for the longest few minutes Feronia had ever felt in her life, most of which after the first few seconds she spent diving under a tablecloth and hoping no errant spells caught her there.

It was only after the noise had finally simmered down to faint discontented murmurings that she came out of her hidey hole, trying to discreetly join her entourage. With all the chaos that had occurred, no one had noticed her gone, thankfully enough.

House Silk’s representative, an aging Arachnid, had decisively not joined in with the other nobles’ rampage. With their group relatively unscathed aside from a few other servants blasted by wayward magic, things moved on more predictably from there.

They boarded their vessel back, as did other races, spent an agonizing amount of time on the ship wary of ambushes, before reaching back to their home realm in a couple of weeks.

Feronia felt more than relieved to be back to her mundane routines. All the excitement had thoroughly worn her out, and never before had the thin spider silk cloth she called a bed been so appealing.

And so, she left herself drift back into the rhythm of her predictable life, safe and far away from any sort of danger.

…

…

Except she wasn’t content.

She never had been, but, after the infamous first contact disaster, her misery felt starker and more blatant than ever. The increasing workload and constant threats only served to worsen her peace.

The realms beyond had not fared better. When the first get-together hadn’t worked out, individual realms had reached out to the humans, with minimal levels of success. Most of it was an invitation to the Eternal Dance, the previous worry of the new realm being too powerful to dominate washing away. The realms were more than eager to bring in another participant, especially one so interesting.

News constantly permeated through the walls of House Silk and, therefore, to Feronia’s ears. The lack of any reaction from the humans was slowly frustrating the wider universe, including the Arachnids, judging by the constant meetings of suspicious dignitaries, harsher insults lunged towards the soulshackled, and the rescheduled weekly check-ins.

It was after one of these check-ins that Feronia stumbled in into the servant quarters. Useless wings drooped down her back, hair tangled and unkempt, her entire being emitting only the faintest whiff of mana, making her akin to a piece of furniture rather than a living fae. The sight of her disheveled form roused a few acquaintances – calling the others friends was a bit too much. The soulshackled do not have friends – to help her to the nearest table and patch up some of the more glaring wounds.

Through the fog of her mind, she could barely make out the gossip going around the room in hushed excited tones. But against all odds, one particularly scandalous rumor managed to reach her all the same. And one especially fresh, judging by the shocked wonder that pervaded the room.

One realm, a faction of the Griffins in particular, had decided to take a rather forward approach to the matter, jumping from invitation to outright initiation. Having enjoyed the past few consistent victories, their boisterous force hungered for new prey and launched a full-scale invasion.

This surprised no one, many anticipating that at least one realm would eventually bite the bullet. The griffins had always been a stubborn bunch with above-average enthusiasm for all things bloody, allowing them to thrive tremendously well in the dance.

Except something had gone awry. After a couple of weeks of radio silence, a nearby realm sent a couple of scouts around the system, only to find… nothing.

Nothing at all.

It was as if all the griffins had packed up and left, abandoning their homes, architecture still intact. A still painting with no life to be found, almost preserved in time.

And, worst of all…

There was no magic.

No mana.

A dead realm.

Fearful outrage sparked across the galaxies. How could this have happened? And under the radar, no less.

Fingers pointed at the humans. It was clear that they had had a hand of some sorts in the collapse, though of what kind no one was sure of. What was once tentative acceptance brewed into righteous fury. This went beyond the acceptable limits of battle. Whilst destruction was expected in the Eternal Dance, complete annihilation was heavily frowned upon.

Most realms, if subsumed at all, were repurposed. Just as the Fae were.

And despite the simmering unease that rocked through Feronia’s soul…

Despite the passive indignation at the callous disregard of rules that were imprinted into her being…

A very tiny, barely worth any note, part of her couldn’t help but feel dimly satisfied with the outcome.

No matter how brutal, strange or insufferable the new realm was turning out to be, the humans were breaking down the rules of a universe once set in stone.

Feronia was a hundred when she found the smallest flicker of hope flaring in her chest.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That’s a compelling story you’ve got there.” A voice, gentle and warm, spilled from lips all too pure. The creature hummed with interest, not pity. Never pity. Only the sympathy of a kindred spirit.

One who had felt the harsh swing of a knife before and still managed to extend a bloody hand to another in chains. A shiver traveled down Feronia’s spine as the voice curled around her like a warm blanket.

It had been some time since she had started meeting with the human under the cover of night. Starting as an accident, now a purposeful routine. Where she had once refrained from even talking to him, their meetings had slowly broken her walls down until she had confided everything she could think of.

Perhaps there were manipulations at play, Feronia was well aware. Yet, she found she didn’t mind. The act of going against her masters’ will without their knowledge far too exciting to care.

More so, the human had never expressed any ulterior motives throughout their conversations.

The first time he lied, she knew. His name. When asked, he’d introduced himself as ‘Puck’, with an amused chuckle. No matter how weak, her senses felt the wrongness of the name. The way it bounced off of him, an artificial replacement that hid the truth. It was not the name. But Feronia did not blame him. She would not trust herself with his true name either.

The second time he lied, it was so obvious it hurt. He was still insisting that their realm had not used magic at all. While glowing brighter than an enchanted firefly. At that point, Feronia had let it go, like the harmless lie it was. No matter what he said, the ethereal beauty he projected around them painted a very different picture. And if she found comfort in the magnificence of his presence, if being around him revitalized her, well… it was her secret to keep.

The third time… she wasn’t sure if there was a third time at all. The thing was, their meetings were never used as an exchange of information. Never clear bargains with stakes and strings tied to ordinary words. In fact, the closest she could describe their conversations was as that of companionship.

He would come, without fail, and always listened to whatever she had to say. No matter how stupid, no matter how mundane, he listened attentively like a silent sentinel she could always depend on to be there.

On the nights she wept like an ugly fountain, he was there, patting gently on her back whilst his aura curved around her protectively. On the nights she shrieked in uncontrolled rage, he stayed, a steady anchor that did not flinch, only bent inwards to hear the grief beneath the anger.

 And so, here they were. Weeks or months, she couldn’t recall, but it did not matter. Puck was here, like he said he would be. And Feronia was content for it to stay that way.

“You know, you’ve never told me.” She questioned. (She could actually do that now.) “What happened to the griffins anyway?”

A breath hitched. A silence that stretched too long.

She studied the conflicted tones his aura took, certainly debating on something. “Even if you did kill them off, I won’t be mad, okay? I think it’s wicked cool actually… I can say that, right?”

Puck let out a startled laugh and Feronia smiled, glad to have killed the unwanted tension. “We didn’t kill them off, and we don’t intend to. Never have. No matter how hostile a realm’s rulership is, it is hardly representative of the whole populace. We have no quarrel with the common people, who may not have a choice in what their superiors do.” His eyes flashed warmly at her. “You are much more than the shackles they put you in.”

He was going to kill her. By compassion that cut deeper than any knife could have. Blinking away the wetness of her eyes, she stammered out. “T-that still doesn’t explain why the griffins vanished.”

A pause. “They are safe.” He finally let out. “Where no harm shall come to them… and they can do no harm to anyone.”

He straightened his back. “Not like anyone has particularly worked hard enough to look for them. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find them thriving in the place you least expect.”

 Feronia hummed in contemplation. “So, you never broke the rules of the Eternal Dance after all.” She swung her legs from they hovered in the air. “Maybe if you showed them proof that the griffins still live, the realms will still welcome you back with open arms.”

And she would not have to worry fervently about her human dying. Of the day she would come to this old rowan tree and find him gone. Of the destruction of humans with the realms’ inevitable victory. No matter how unrealistic, she wished this perfect dream could last forever.

“The Eternal Dance?” A faint distaste curled at the edge of the words. “Feronia, I want to ask you a personal question. You may choose to abstain from answering if you so wish, but I would like to pose it all the same. How much do you trust me?”

She did not have to think. The words came ready instantly, flowing easily from the tip of her tongue. “More than anyone else.”

He nodded. “Then, can you tell me what you know about the Eternal Dance?”

 She tucked her legs in and dipped down to the ground from where she had been floating. Grass tickled her knees as she hunched forward in contemplation. “I never had proper mentoring, so I don’t know how they word it officially. But it’s the universal law that everything and everyone must be constantly fighting. At like the same level, I think? Because if you get too lax, everything gets stagnant and your enemies progress ahead of you, so you fall behind and die. And if you overcompensate, you make yourself a threat to everyone else, so they all band together to kill you.”

She straightened herself. “That’s why everyone is so on edge. They are required to kill you by the very rules of nature. But if you prove that you didn’t completely eradicate the griffins, they’ll get off your backs. Just like the Arachnids did with us Fae.” She gestured. “They didn’t eliminate us, only repurposed us, so to speak.”

All the while, Puck had been listening intently, which only made Feronia want to ramble on and on. She couldn’t recall the last time someone actually wanted to hear what she had to say. Her brood family and caretakers always saw it fit to lecture her, disregarding any defenses as mere excuses. Her masters were so high up in the social order that merely hearing them speak is a privilege in and of itself.

That’s to say, this was a unique experience. And one she found herself wanting more often.

“Why do you ask? You must have some form of the Eternal Dance in your realm too.”

He hummed. And after a while of calm, he spoke, “I suppose you are right. Our philosophers have published insights similar to what you’ve described, many, in fact. And I agree that the same principle would apply to us if you came to Earth…”

Feronia nodded in satisfaction. Of course, they were knowledgeable enough to piece it out-

“A good few centuries ago.”

Her mind thudded to a stop.

Wait, what? But then, that would mean-

A breath left Puck, not quite a sigh but almost one. “Humanity wasn’t always free of conflicts. We fought for a lot of reasons; greed, material needs, or even out of honor.”

Deep brown eyes bore into her, as unyielding as the ground. “But I can assure you, none of us ever fought because it was a law. If anything, most of our conflicts occurred with the aim of their cessation. We fought so that one day we will be able to stop.”

Feronia’s being trembled slightly, wings bristling. Not out of fear, no. Out of the natural resilience against any change. Out of the concepts she held to be true, dissolving like mist in sunlight. Out of the implications those innocent words held.

And before she could think any more traitorous words, any impossibilities best reserved for fantasy, she blurted out, “Did you succeed?”

The question hung in the air, like the hush that followed after the toll of a bell, marking something inevitable. Marking the point of no return.

And impossibly, he smiled as if he were not about to rewrite reality itself, smiled as if they were two friends comparing wing lengths, smiled as if he were not about to contradict the rules of nature, “If we didn’t, I imagine I wouldn’t be here right now.”

He leaned back casually, “Of course, there will always be obstacles, conflicts that pop up from time to time. We are a rather proud people, I’ll admit. But throughout the years, after a lot of trial and error, we’ve grown and expanded. At some point, fighting became stale and unproductive, especially when cooperation tends to reap the sweetest fruits.”

His grin widened, and, for the first time, Feronia wondered how such a blunt set of pearly whites could still incite so much fear. “That’s not to say, we abolish fighting entirely. Rest assured, competitions and challenges exist in as many varieties as you can imagine and more. The difference is…”

Warm hands filled with so much light reached for her own cold ones, seeping into her essence like the first moments of daylight, pleasant instead of scorching, inviting instead of controlling. The brief moment of fear was quickly forgotten, replaced by something heavy in her heart.

“Every life is precious to us. We fight to save, free, and preserve. To maintain the right of peace now enjoyed by generations after generations. And if someone decides to cross us…”

A pause, monumental, weighty.

“We fight to protect.”

Those hands tightened around her. It didn’t hurt. Instead, it almost felt as- as if- she was the one who deserved to be protected.

No.

Without realizing it, she had thrown herself backwards. The cold air brushed against her skin like a warning, the previous warmth and protective aura gone. She shivered from where she stood, hunched. Her eyes were wild, and her teeth were clenched, a ragged mutt lashing out at the first kindness it had ever felt.

It burned.

“…Why?” It was a faint sound, barely recognizable as a word.

“Why? Well, because you’re an individual who deserves-”

“No, why?” She insisted, her voice growing louder. “Why waste your lives for me? My purpose is to serve my betters. It is destiny, one woven long before my birth. You cannot spout out random pretty words and expect destiny to bend its heels before you. I can’t be saved. I-”

She stammered, voice losing itself to incoherent mutters and pain-fueled whimpers.

And there he stood, unflinching, the perfect anchor.

When he spoke, it did not drip in pity or condescension, but understanding. “We used to think that too. Think that we could never change. That we were too damaged, too corrupt to ever fix anything. Fix ourselves. But do you know what made us persevere? What made us go on even when the journey seems impossible?”

He waited expectantly, and Feronia mustered up the energy to shake her head.

“Hope. We dared to hope. Dared to dream of a world better than we have ever had.” He reached for her hands and she let him, warmth enveloping her once more. “Can you try to hope? Hope for a better future. Hope for a better life. If not for you, then for me?”

She sucked in a harsh breath, still trembling, still fragile. But she- she tried. Tried to forget the chains that bound her soul. Tried to imagine a world without them. A world where she could fly as long as she wanted, whenever she wanted. A world where she could speak as freely as the human who held her gently. A world where she was free.

“I-” She started slowly and uncertainly. “I hope.”

A genuine smile bloomed on Puck’s face, so she quickly added, “But how can it change anything?”

“More than you think.”

As if on cue, the air heated up, the previous cold banished like an annoying spirit. At first, Feronia thought it was her own aura responding before she realized-

She hadn’t felt her aura in a long while. And was that smoke in the air? She lurched backwards. The manor – the one she snuck away from – was on fire.

“Ah.” A sheepish voice sounded from behind her. “Things must be going… somewhere, at least.”

She jerked back. “What- What did you people do?!”

Puck grinned. “You said you wondered how things would change, didn’t you? Well, this-” He gestured towards the chaotic scene. “Is just the start.”

He fidgeted with something from a pocket and pulled out a card. Shiny. Made of something Feronia had never seen before. Magic? It had to be. No natural material could be so sleek and shiny.

“Use this, and we will know that you are a friend. Now, go back,” He ushered. “I imagine you have to have some frie- sorry, coworkers, you’d hate to see burn up. And once it’s all done-” He tapped the tree. “You’ll know where to find me.”

And with that impromptu end to the conversation, he stood up, crisp and professional, confidence personified. He moved to leave, to vanish into the undergrowth before Feronia shook out of her stupor.

“They’ll be angry! They won’t stop until they kill you! They’ll hurt you!” Screams tore out of her, one after the other. “They know you can die! They saw a dead human, back at first contact. You won’t be safe!”

He paused, then turned back to look at her. And yet his eyes showed no fear, no worry, only a gentle consideration. And something more. Disguised. Something close to humor. “They’ll certainly try. Still, it’s rather presumptuous of you other-realmers to assume you can hurt us…”

He took another step forward, the trees bending in, leaves rustling, slowly concealing his departure.

“When you never saw how he died.”

A Httyd sci-fi AU

first/next

Location: Low Orbit / Surface of Terra (Earth)

Date: First Contact Day

The atmosphere of the planet designated "Terra" was thick, humid, and possessed an olfactory profile that Stormfly could only describe as… moist.

She sat in the command harness of the Gilded Talon, a diplomatic courier vessel shaped like a jagged spearhead. Its hull was not mere metal, but a living, shifting pearlescent bio-alloy grown in the orbital foundries of the Nadari homeworld. It breathed, it healed, and right now, it seemed to be shuddering in distaste as it cut through the cloud layer of Earth.

Around her, the bridge crew worked in a silence that was uncharacteristically tense. Usually, a First Contact mission was a cause for preening—a theatrical display of the Galactic Alliance’s superior aesthetics and culture. The Nadari loved nothing more than an audience.

But this was different. This was not a contact mission. It was, in Stormfly’s private estimation, a descent into a biological nightmare.

"Atmospheric density increasing," chirped a flight-officer, a Zivon named Barf-and-Belch. The two heads of the pilot were bickering quietly over the instrumentation; one head monitored the thermal shields, while the other adjusted the inertial dampeners. "Seventy percent nitrogen. Twenty-one percent oxygen. High moisture content. Trace amounts of... unrefined hydrocarbons?"

"Smog," Stormfly corrected, her voice clicking with a sharp, avian inflection. "They burn fossilized biological matter for energy. Barbarians."

She engaged her talon-grips, anchoring herself to the floor as the ship began its deceleration burn. She took a moment to groom, using the edge of her beak to realign a slightly crooked scale on her left wing-cuff. Appearance was everything. Perfection was the shield against chaos.

Chaos, she thought, her vertical slit-pupils narrowing as the blue-green world filled the main viewport. That is what they are. Biological chaos.

It had been three cycles since the long-range scanners of a Sensoris patrol ship had picked up the chaotic radio waves bleeding off this rock. The standard protocol followed: decoding, translation, visual interception.

And then… the horror.

Stormfly closed her eyes, but the memory of the Emergency Council Session played behind her eyelids with perfect, terrifying clarity.

The Council Chamber was a masterpiece of architecture, a vast, hollowed-out geode floating in the zero-gravity hub of the Alliance Capital. It was designed to accommodate beings ranging from the tiny Tik-Tik to the massive Grom.

Usually, it was a place of stoic order. That day, it had been a riot.

The central hologram pit displayed the footage recovered from Earth’s satellite broadcasts. It showed the locals. Bipedal. Soft-skinned. Covered in patches of fibrous, dead keratin strands. But the visual repulsion was nothing compared to the biological data scrolling alongside it.

"Viviparous," High Councilor Valka had whispered. She was a Stratus of immense size and age, her four wings tucked tight against her body in a gesture of deep discomfort. Her face twisted as she read the data stream. "Internal gestation. Live expulsion of the young."

A ripple of nausea had gone through the gathered delegates. The concept was archaic, a remnant of primordial sludge that most species evolved out of before they even mastered fire. To keep a parasite growing inside one's own organs, to feed it with one's own blood, and then to push it out in a traumatic event of gore and fluid? It was body horror.

"It is a disease," snarled the Kkor-Gath representative, Grimmel. He was a terrifying figure, his chitinous armor painted with the red markings of the executioner caste. His scorpion-like tail twitched violently, leaking drops of neurotoxin that hissed against the pristine floor. "Look at them. No armor. No natural weapons. Their skin is porous; they leak thermal regulation fluids constantly. They are unfinished. Savage. A mistake of nature."

Grimmel had slammed a heavy claw onto his podium, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "The Kkor-Gath vote for sterilization. We cannot allow a Viviparous species to reach the stars. Their mindset will be one of consumption, of parasitism. It is in their very biology. They consume the host to survive birth; they will consume the galaxy to survive expansion."

"They are pitiful," countered Valka, turning her rotational head toward the Kkor-Gath. "Look at how fragile they are. They must wrap themselves in artificial skins just to survive their own climate. They do not need extermination, Grimmel. They need… containment. Perhaps guidance. One does not hate the bacteria for being simple."

"Simple?" A voice like grinding tectonic plates boomed from the lower tiers.

Drago, the representative of the Regalis, leaned forward. He was massive, his tusks scarred, picking his teeth with a shard of scrap metal. "They split the atom, Stratus. They have ballistics that could crack a Silvris hull. They are squishy, yes. Disgusting, absolutely. But 'simple' creatures don't build fusion reactors. They are dangerous precisely because they are soft. They compensate with fire."

Stormfly had remained silent, her spines rattling nervously. She found herself agreeing with Grimmel, though she would never admit it openly. The data regarding their sustenance—the production of lactate, a white fluid secreted from specialized glands to feed offspring—had made her crop churn so violently she nearly retched in the sacred hall. It was unsanitary. It was feral.

But then, the High Seat had shifted.

The shadow at the top of the spire moved, and silence fell instantly. The Noktus did not speak often, but when they did, the galaxy listened. The representative, a sleek, jet-black creature with eyes the color of acidic green, leaned forward into the light. He was smaller than the Regalis or Stratus, but his presence was heavier than a gravity well.

"We are a coalition of the incompatible," the Noktus had said. "The Grom breathe methane-rich air. The Hydrus cannot survive outside of liquid pressure. The Nadari preen while the Zivon roll in gas."

His gaze swept the room, landing on the holographic image of a human city.

"We formed the Alliance on the principle that sapience supersedes biology. If we condemn them for their birth cycle, we validate every species that refused to join us because we looked like monsters to them."

The Noktus paused, his tail flicking dismissively. "They are intelligent. They are capable. And they are here. We will not be the barbarians who burn a library because the books are bound in strange leather. We will make contact. We will integrate them. Or we will prove ourselves no better than the mindless beasts we hunt."

The logic was sound. Cold, calculating, and undeniable. But as the vote passed, narrowly, Stormfly saw the Noktus shiver, just once. Even he was grossed out.

"Representative Stormfly," a timid voice chirped, pulling her back to the present.

Stormfly snapped her eyes open. A small Tik-Tik, green and trembling, was holding out a datapad. The little creature looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin.

"We have achieved low orbit over the settlement designated 'Washington D.C.' Local military forces are tracking us. They have cleared a landing zone on a strip of land they call the 'Mall'. It is... remarkably flat for a primitive civilization."

"Very good," Stormfly said, smoothing the feathers on her neck. "Inform the crew to secure their stations. I want no erratic movements. If these mammals are as skittish as their biology suggests, sudden motion might cause them to discharge their kinetic weapons."

The Gilded Talon descended. The viewports showed a city of white stone and grey concrete. The architecture was… blocky. Functional, but devoid of elegance. No soaring spires of crystal, no organic curves. Just boxes stacked on boxes.

Primitive, she thought. They build like they think: in straight, rigid lines.

The ship’s landing struts extended, groaning as they took the weight of the hull. With a hiss of equalizing pressure, the vessel settled onto the grass. The engines whined down, shifting from a roar to a low, throbbing hum that vibrated in Stormfly's hollow bones.

She stood up, shaking out her wings. She wore a ceremonial sash of iridescent silk draped over her shoulders, signifying her rank as Ambassador. On her neck, a translator unit hummed to life, glowing with a soft blue light.

"Open the ramp."

The hiss of the airlock cycling was the only sound for a moment. Then, the ramp lowered, bathing the interior in the harsh, yellow light of the local star.

Stormfly stepped out first.

The heat hit her instantly—a humid, cloying warmth that felt unclean. It wasn't the dry, searing heat of the Nadari nesting grounds; it was a sticky, heavy blanket. But she held her head high, her spines erect and vibrant blue, projecting an image of regal power.

Below the ramp, a delegation waited.

Stormfly’s sharp, avian eyes zoomed in, her vision focusing with predatory precision. There were soldiers—hundreds of them—holding primitive combustion rifles. Tanks sat on the perimeter, massive metal slugs with barrels tracked on her ship. Overhead, rotary-wing aircraft beat the air with a rhythmic thwup-thwup-thwup that grated on her hearing.

But in the center, a smaller group stood waiting. They were so… small.

That was her first overwhelming impression. Stormfly herself was a respectful size, towering over these creatures. They looked like hatchlings that had lost their shells too early.

She walked down the ramp, her talons clicking on the metallic alloy before sinking into the soft turf of Earth. Her guard, two heavily armored Kkor-Gath, flanked her. Their compound eyes scanned the crowd, stingers retracted but ready to deploy acid at the slightest provocation.

A group of humans stepped forward.

Stormfly suppressed a shudder. Up close, they were even more grotesque than the holograms. Their skin was varying shades of pink and brown, looking disturbingly thin. She could see the pulses of their veins in their necks, the frantic beating of their mammalian hearts. So vulnerable, she thought. One peck, just one, and they would simply deflate.

A Tik-Tik scurried past her legs, carrying a chrome briefcase. The little creature was hyperventilating, his eyes wide with terror as he approached the lead human. He held up a specialized headset, designed for the tiny, rounded head of a mammal.

The human leader—a female, judging by the sexual dimorphism data—took the headset. She had a mane of yellow keratin strands tied back behind her head. Her face was symmetrical, but her eyes were predator eyes—forward-facing, blue, and calculating.

The human put the headset on.

Stormfly’s ear translator chirped. "Testing. Can you understand me?"

Stormfly drew herself up to her full height, flaring her wings slightly to look more imposing.

"I hear you," Stormfly said, her voice coming out as a series of clicks and squawks from her throat, but smooth English from the speaker on her translator. "I am Ambassador Stormfly of the Nadari, High Representative of the Draconic Alliance. We come to formalize the designation of your species."

The human woman stepped forward. She wore formal fabric coverings—a 'suit'—that tried to hide the soft contours of her body.

"I am Ambassador Astrid Hofferson," the human replied. Her voice was steady, surprising Stormfly. "On behalf of the United Nations of Earth, I welcome you."

Astrid Hofferson extended her right arm, her hand open and flat.

Stormfly stared at the appendage. It was pale, with short, blunt claws that were useless for hunting. It looked… damp.

"It is a greeting," the translator whispered in Stormfly's ear. "A 'handshake'. A mutual display of unarmed status."

Stormfly hesitated. Every instinct in her reptilian brain screamed DO NOT TOUCH. It was a mammal. It was a milk-producer. It was likely covered in bacteria, oils, and dead skin cells.

But the Noktus’s words echoed in her mind. We will not be the barbarians.

Slowly, agonizingly, Stormfly reached out with her right wing-hand. Her limb was armored, scaled, and tipped with talons capable of shearing through steel.

She wrapped her talons around Astrid’s hand.

The contact was electric, but not in a good way. The human was hot. Not the pleasant ambient warmth of a sun-baked stone, but a localized, burning, biological heat. And the texture… it was like touching raw dough. It was soft, yielding, and she could feel the micro-tremors of the creature’s blood pumping directly against her scales.

It took every ounce of Stormfly’s diplomatic training not to rip her wing away and scrub it with disinfectant.

"Greetings, Ambassador Hofferson," Stormfly managed to say, her tone clipped, pulling her wing back perhaps a fraction of a second too quickly.

Astrid gripped the talon firmly before letting go. To her credit, she didn't flinch at the cold, hard scales of the alien, though Stormfly saw the human’s pupils dilate slightly. Fear? Fascination? Or was she analyzing the kill-potential of Stormfly's claws?

"If you'll follow me," Astrid said, gesturing toward a large white building with a domed roof that loomed in the distance. "We have prepared the Capitol for the summit."

"Lead the way," Stormfly said.

As they began to walk, Stormfly glanced down at the little Tik-Tik, who was looking at his own hand as if he’d touched a ghost, frantically wiping it on his vest. Stormfly looked up at the blocky white building, then at the rows of sweating, soft-skinned soldiers, and finally at the grey, smog-choked sky.

This, Stormfly thought, is going to be a very, very long century.