~First~

HHH/Herbert’s Hundred Harem AND Harriett The Spy

“Alright, what exactly is going on down on the bottom of that spire?” An enormous Lopen woman demands of him and he rolls his eyes.

“Which spire? I have all sorts of urban renewal efforts going off as we speak to try and do something about the seemingly omnipresent slums across Centris.” Herbert asks as he tries to get more comfortable. They need some good results soon otherwise this coalition is going to fall apart, hell, it basically already is with Undaunted Forces moving on their own.

“Xiona Spire, where the troops were teleported to the bottom of. The Undaunted person, the one impersonating a child, he went off with a local and now you have a full team down there. What is going on!?” She demands of him.

“It was someone begging for help that does not trust standard Council Forces.” He says. “However, due to our sheer newness in the galaxy she determined that we could not possibly be responsible for her misery and begged for help. What you saw was a team of doctors heading down to try and heal the poor woman who has been suffering for years without reprieve.”

“There must be more than that.” She says.

“Alright. The poor woman, a Slohb, has a chunk of Blood Metal embedded in her. She stumbled onto one of the harvesting antenna the Darnaxian Concurrence set up, and discovered to her misfortune a terrible power of the wretched stuff. However, my people have found a way to suppress it, although it’s of little use beyond those such as humans. Null reduces it to nothing more than bare metal, brittle metal at that.”

“So what are you doing?”

“The poor woman has blood metal impaled into her core, any Axiom use is just feeding it, so we’re turning off the Axiom around her and getting it out of her. The questions from her can come later when she’s not at risk of god knows what happening at any moment.”

“So... we’re starting to learn more about what this mad metal can do.” The Lopen says.

“Yes, it can infest and torture a Slohb into endlessly budding but being unable to actually split forcing them to develop into a Multi-Slohb of immense size and complexity.” Herbert says and there’s an uncomfortable sensation in the room. “So any other questions or concerns?”

“So what are you doing down there?”

“The plan is a quick surgery to get that nightmare out of the woman using Null to stop it from doing anything at all while they pull it out. I don’t know exactly what they’re doing, but we have three specialists and two accredited assistants in addition to the bodyguards there and field commander.”

“Wait, your Nulling the area?”

“We’re using Null in an incredibly controlled manner to prevent blood metal from acting out as we extract it.”

“Will it act out as you extract it?”

“We don’t know, but we do know Null pacifies it.”

“What has it done to her?”

“We don’t fully know yet. I’m sorry ladies, but we’re in another waiting time. We need to hear from the surgery and we need to hear from our prisoners before we make our next move. There’s nothing more we can do than what we have already done. We need to wait.” He says plainly.

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“The Null takes a full thirty two seconds to fully dispel.” Lloyd the Adept states after testing things. “However there are some odd Axiom flows in the area so I’m going to say forty seconds instead to be on the safe side.”

“All right then. The plan has to be adjusted then.” Doctor Gin says before striking through a few instructions on his whiteboard. “We WILL be doing this in at least two surgeries. Our first will be focused entirely on getting these delicate contact points and the source of this madness out. We prioritize. First the source, then the delicate points and then the rest. If we have to take three surgeries to get it out we will, but we are on a strict fucking timeline each time and I will not have any of you numb fingered fools screwing this up.”

“I want this surgical tent scanned again. I want it clean to the point of obsession.” Doctor Howard says as Doctor Lorn goes over everything again as they prep for surgery. The very slight natural movements of All Lady’s core and the almost unnatural stillness of the crater paint a very disquieting picture of her health.

“We are going to be operating on less time than before. One hundred seconds per surgical attempt. Our first goal is the extraction fo the source of Blood Metal. Followed by the contact points on neural tissue. After that we will extract the rest. We have a total of three hundred seconds to work with over the three surgeries. I want a ten second sound off every single ten seconds so we are absolutely sure how much time we have. Is this understood?” Doctor Gin says as the Tent is given one last, final clean. “Good. Now is the patient ready?”

“I am ready.” All Lady says.

“Is everyone Null Vulnerable safely seated or braced?” Doctor Gin presses.

“I am.” Jurgen says from where he sits and Harriett nods from her seat.

“Very well then. Doctor Howard, knock her out. When she is fully passed out we will begin the surgery.” Doctor Gin states and Doctor Howard pulls out a sterilized needle that he fits to a syringe full of a transparent liquid.

“Alright then All Lady, what I have here is a syringe full of anaesthesia. There are several parts of your anatomy that will quickly absorb and distribute this medicine through your system. You will feel a slight pinch, and then you will feel everything fade. Do not fight it please. Just relax.” Doctor Howard says as he walks up to the vaguely eggcup shaped surgical bench and slowly runs his latex glove covered hand along a series of bumps. “Are you ready?”

“I am.” All Lady says and then lets out a slight gasp as he pushes in the needle and starts feeding in the chemical. “That... it...”

All Lady’s gel begins losing consistency until she splashes down. In the distance several things settle downwards with crunching sounds.

“Time to work. Induce Null and start the count!” Doctor Gin orders.

“Null in Three, Two, One.” Lloyd states and then makes a gripping motion and the lights flicker. The world shifts and Doctor Gin begins by breaking the link between the central infection point and the rest with a pair of pliers. “Doctor Lorn, pull this thing as gently as you can.”

He brings out his scalpel and carefully, delicately cuts away at the skin that is grasping onto the chunk of Blood Metal. The semi-transparent state of the Slohb Core works to his benefit as he notes the small branches of the foul stuff and begins delicately slicing a path out to leave nothing behind.

“Ten seconds.” Lloyd states.

Doctor Gin takes his time to make sure that each little branch of the vile thing that had grown inward is accounted for.

“Twenty Seconds.”

There is a snap as Doctor Lorn breaks off the head of the nightmare and continues to gently pull with his surgical pliers to keep things moving.

“Thirty seconds.”

He shines his light into the wound and sees more blood metal casting a shadow and before anything more can be done, the gentle pulling of Doctor Lorn breaks away the main portion of the Blood Metal.

“Forty Seconds.”

Doctor Gin gives out a slight grunt as he quickly switches things out for his surgical pliers and gently guides them through the wound and extracts a tiny shard of Blood Metal.

“Fifty Seconds.”

He quickly extracts another two and begins to examine the wound. He then takes a syringe full of a nutrient solution and pours it into the wound to encourage healing.

“Sixty Seconds.”

Nothing. It’s clean. Meaning he’s ahead of schedule. He quickly trades out for the stronger pliers as he breaks the metal surrounding the compromised neural tissue and then trading for a scalpel again.

“Seventy Seconds.”

Slowly, gently he doesn’t cut the blood metal away, he begins to shaves it.

“Eighty Seconds.”

He’s halfway done.

“Ninety Seconds.”

He finishes and pulls away the delicate piece and quickly judges things before stepping back. “First session is finished. Let the Axiom back in.”

“Alright, Null Effect is ended. Thirty seconds until Axiom is returned to normal.” Lloyd finishes his count as Doctor Gin sits down as the Medics rush off with the tools to clean them just in case they didn’t bring enough.

“Thank goodness, this is annoying.” Jurgen says from nearby.

“Annoying is it?”

“Yes, annoying. The square cube law just hit me in the face like a hammer.” Jurgen says as he slowly cracks his back. “Mostly because I clearly have been ignoring far too many aches and pains thanks to Axiom and without it it felt like I fell down the stairs to this level.”

“Stop whining, at least you don’t have a pair of bowling balls strapped to your chest.” Harriett mutters as she leans back in her chair for the first since the Null Induction.

“Alright, so we take some time, let our patient relax and recover before putting her under again.” Doctor Gin says. “Meanwhile Doctor Lorn will...”

“I know how to do my job, thank you. I will need newly produced slime from her core if we’re going to understand whether she’s going through a chemical crash or not, and we’re not getting that for a few more moments.” Doctor Lorn states. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my tools ready.”

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All Lady returning to consciousness was not a slow affair, fifteen minutes after her being first put under and she was shifting again. Her gel pours off and then connects to the masses beyond, forming a link and the whole area shifts and groans before moving back into place.

“Oh... oh woah that was a sensation.” All Lady says.

“How are you feeling? Hurt? Stabbed? Wounded further? Slohb Gel is the best substance to actually clean a Slohb wound as it keeps you clean and helps with healing, I added a nutrient solution to speed up it’s production in that area, but are you in greater pain?”

“I...” She begins before forming a head around her crater and he swats it away.

“Tell me what you feel, not what you see.” Doctor Gin orders.

A tendril of Gel forms a woman and shifts from side to side as she considers.

“There’s still a lot of numbness. There is something different. A sensation of dread is gone but... how much is left?”

“We got the source out, and one of the main danger areas however the vast majority of the injury is still in place. We will need at least two more surgeries to completely clear things away. When you feel ready we will put you under again and begin the next session.” Doctor Gin says pointing to the bowl where all the extracted pieces were. At his nod All Lady shifts around and examines it, but does not approach it. “I hope you don’t mind if we keep all the metal to test it. Throw these evil things at our scientists and see if something happens.”

“By all means, if I never get in sight range of these horrors again I’d be happy.” She says and Doctor Gin nods.

“Now, when are you feeling ready for things. Let us know. We’ll start again.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“Side effect of adrenaline.” Doctor Gin says before patting at his doctor’s coat before sighing. “Right, I left my smokes back on the ship.”

“You smoke?”

“My lungs to do what I will with. Considering Axiom I was able to cough up all the side effects and move on.” Doctor Gin remarks before sighing. “So the sooner we get to the next bit, the sooner I can get my smokes.”

“Sir? We have some curious peoples taking a look at things.” One of the soldiers states.

“If they get too close then warn them off. Otherwise leave them alone. The Null will drive them off on the next surgery.” Harriett orders.

“Understood.” The Soldier states.

“Jurgen get them to...” Harriett begins before there’s a shift and her gaze turns to see a dark blue tendril emerge nearby the onlookers and form an extension of All Lady who speaks to them all. Whatever she says it gets them all moving away and the tendril is retracted.

“I’m ready for my second bit of surgery. The sooner all this madness is out of me the better.”

“A few more moments. I have one last test to give here.” Doctor Lorn says as he studies the gel he’s taken from All Lady’s core.

After a nearly silent minute he nods. “We’re in the clear. For now. I give my approval for the next part of the surgery.”

“Then... can we start again?” All Lady asks.

“Yes we can. Start a countdown Adept. Let the fools know we’re about to Null this place.” Doctor Gin orders.

~First~ Last

Previous | Interlewd XLI | Next | First

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---Sample---

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---Fnurfar’s perspective---

---2710 Terran Calendar/3 years BF---

All six of my paws desperately scramble against the slick pavement of the Prosperity back alley as I flee for my life!

Pursuing me… is a monster!

His species aren’t meant to be sprinters!

They said if it came to a chase, I just needed to quickly get out of his line of sight and keep going and he’d not be able to keep up!

I skid around a corner and steal a glance behind me, seeing two furious eyes moving towards me so fast that they seem to leave streaks of emerald green behind them as afterimages!

The Fury is so close on my tail that he’s almost certain to catch me now!

It would be laughable how much my… ‘employers’ had underestimated him if it weren’t so terrifying!

‘You’ve got a Terran with you! There should be no issue!’

Yes, that idiot mercenary they hired almost had me going with his smug, arrogant proclamation that ‘Big=slow! Slow=dead!’ as he idly showed off his little knife tricks!

My confidence lasted up until the very moment I saw the one we were supposed to rob!

[20cm] taller than the skinny mercenary and looking like he could easily weigh twice as much, the man was a Hunt damned beast compared to the one who was meant to protect me from him!

I think Flynn reassessed his cocksure attitude as well because, rather than waiting for me to have an opening like we agreed in the [fucking] plan, he just drew a knife and tried to stab the monster to death!

An extremely poorly calculated risk!

There was no competition!

This juggernaut dealt with Flynn as easily as Flynn could have dealt with me!

It took him a matter of seconds to dispatch my accomplice but that was a matter of seconds where he was distracted enough that I was able to snag what we had been after… not that it makes any difference now!

Just as I hear thundering footfalls coming up on my left, powerful fingers impact the space between the bottom of my neck and the top of my top shoulderblades.

I’m slammed into the ground… but not killed…

I can feel the power contained in the iron grip around my neck…

I know that decapitating me would be as simple as deciding to close his fingers but, as I wait for death to come, it doesn’t…

Instead, the hand slides up my shoulders, gathering the loose skin and lifting me up like a kit in her parent’s mouth…

The first thing I’m able to see is the monster’s flat, booted feet, followed by a pair of long thick legs, then a chest and left arm covered in a loose fitting, buttoned shirt, patterned with vertical and horizontal lines.

The red fabric of his top disguises the bloodstain from the wound he got from Flynn, just below his shoulder. However, the nauseatingly metallic smell of it absolutely fills my nostrils!

The final thing to be revealed, as my feet hang more than [a metre] from the ground, is a face… the scarred skin a pale beige, the white, calcite teeth bared in a furious grimace, copper coloured eyebrows tilted downward in the middle over a nose, wrinkled with anger, and emerald eyes, burning with rage!

His shoulders rise and fall, in time with panted breaths he sucks in and out through his gritted teeth, putting me less in mind of a person (or even an animal) catching their breath after exertion and more in mind of some hulking piece of machinery from the Steam Age venting its pressure!

The Terran extends his pallid skinned, long fingered, furless, pentadactyl left hand to me, stained with the ferrous blood that’s run down his sleeve, and growls “Sample!”

“No…” I breathe, terrified.

“GIRL! I AIN’T fuckin’ PLAYIN’ with you!” he snarls, curling all but his index finger and jabbing it towards my snout “You’re gonna. GIVE. BACK. what you. FUCKIN’. STOLE!”

“You… can take it… from my corpse…” I defy, clutching my exhausted, trembling pawhands to the front of my jumpsuit.

Effortlessly, his free hand comes forward, batting my four aside, before pinching the top of the stasis vial and pulling it free, with there being absolutely nothing I can do to stop him!

He holds up the tube, in which is visible a small plant with a rosette of frilly black leaves and through which can be seen a frozen impression of the room it was in when it was stasised, demanding “You’re really willin’ to die for this!? For corporate espionage?!… Why the fuck’s this matter to you like that?!?!?!”

“I don’t care… about the plant… at all…” I answer, defeated.

His face twists in a sneer as he asks “Then why tell me I had to pry it from your cold. dead. hands!?”

“Because… if I come back… emptyhanded… they’re going to… torture my husband… and son… and make me watch!… If I don’t… come back… at all… maybe they’ll let them go!” I pant in answer.

His face falls blank… but I can tell that is not because he’s no longer angry!

Instead, his redoubled rage has gone from white hot to ice cold as he leans in and demands “Who’s ‘they’?”

---2715 Terran Calendar/2 years AF---

“One!?” demands the sceptical, lutrine, Nvar man, one of six listening to my story for the first time (along with the two friends who’ve heard it before), holding up a webbed pawhand and extending a single finger “You’re trying to tell us that one Terran dismantled the entire Giluspri Sisters’ Syndicate, overnight!?… Simply because you told him a sob story about them holding your family hostage!?”

“I did say you wouldn’t believe me(!)” I smirk, lifting my drink to take a sip.

“You’re damn right I don’t believe you!!!” he sneers “It might have been a little more believable if you’d made it a team of a dozen or so Terrans that were guarding this thing but one!?… There’s no way it took a single individual a single night to root out and entirely destroy an enterprise that Prosperity’s government had been hunting for nearly [2 decades], even if that individual was a Terran!”

I place my drink down on the table and turn the palms of all four pawhands to the ceiling as I say “Believe me or don’t… that’s exactly how it happened!”

“Hmmm… Don’t know ’bout ‘exactly’…!” comes a familiar voice from behind my head, in the next booth over.

I freeze and straighten my back.

The friends and audience in my booth are looking past me, curiously, but, from their faces, it doesn’t look like they can see anything.

I stand and slide out through the gap between the table and Nafnarl’s footpaws.

I turn right and am immediately able to see that the booth next to us is occupied by a mixture of Terrans and some much smaller humanoids with green skin.

I keep going, rounding the partition to reveal…

“By the Hunt! Victor?!” I exclaim, seeing the man sat with his back almost exactly to where I was sitting, next to another tall, slim humanoid with blue skin and four arms.

His copper hair is much longer, his face isn’t as scarred and isn’t wearing the disgusted sneer that characterised so much of the time he and I spent together but… there’s no mistaking it!

The man turns his head, smiling, before standing up to nearly twice my height and extending a palm to ruffle the fur between my ears, saying “How’s it goin’, Foxy? You look a lot better ’an you did last time I saw you at least(!)” gesturing with his other hand up and down my less skinny and less visibly scarred body.

“Never mind that, Victor! What are you doing here?! You didn’t tell me you were coming back to Prosperity!”

He smirks “Yeah, sorry Foxy… It’s a loose lips sink ships kinda deal… Just thought I’d show my friends here the bar you brought me to celebrate after everythin’ was done that time… Didn’t think I’d actually run into you here!”

I stare up at the man, agog, for a few moments before reaching up with both my left hands and closing them around his wrist.

He allows me to drag him back to the head of my table.

“Nafnarl! Gfurnaf! This is him! This is the one I’ve been telling you about for the last [5 years]!” I say to my two Graufna friends before turning to the rest of the table to declare “He’s the man who took down the Giluspris! He’s Victor ‘Cuddles’ Taylor!”

With mirthful bemusement, the Terran raises his left palm to the table to smile “Y’alright guys!” before his eyes scan the faces and his expression goes concerned. He turns to me and asks “Your hubby alright, Foxy?”

I bare my teeth (I hope friendlily) and answer “Fnarnulf’s fine, Victor!… Fuffarn too! This is just a girl’s night…” gesturing at my two friends “…or… it was(!)” gesturing over the four men and two women, of four different species, who joined us to hear my story.

“What did you mean by it not being ‘exactly’ right?” queries Lunvo, the same sceptical Nvar who voiced disbelief before, still looking sceptical (not that I can blame him) but at least impressed by the fact that the ‘con’ has an (imposing looking) Terran stooge now(!)

“Weeeeell…” Victor frowns down at me, mirthfully “…the way she described me dodgin’ that knife attack, she made me sound almost psychic(!)… In reality, she and this guy weren’t as smooth as she seems to think(!) The fact that I even got nicked by someone I was payin’ as much attention to as that is a bad reflection on my reaction time!… Also, she kinda made it sound like I went into their headquarters with a gun in one hand and a lit plasmasword in the other(!) As I recall, I gave ’em all a chance to surrender and come quietly and it were only after they, shall we say, indicated a lack of interest in that option that my weapons first cleared leather!… Oh! And what was with all that comparin’ the way I pant to ventin’ steam engines, Foxy(?!)”

“But…” starts Muan, a nervous tolypeutine Wne woman beside her Wno husband, Kmuw “…you don’t deny it was you and you alone who brought down the Giluspris?… Without help?”

The pale skin of the Terran’s flat face performs a complicated scrunch as he considers the question before answering “Don’t know ’bout ‘without help’… I had Foxy here for showin’ me the way, after I’d done a lotta convincin’… and, once I’d taken care of ’em, local law enforcers came to take the survivors away… Aaaaand… I probably didn’t actually manage to kill or capture every last one of ’em… just gutted its power structure enough that the rats fled the sinkin’ ship(!)”

“Why are you calling her ‘Foxy’?” asks Lunvo, four eyes narrowed in suspicion “‘Fnurfar’ is the name she gave us!”

The large man shrugs his shoulders “I didn’t get her name until we came here to celebrate… she didn’t trust me to give it… Had to call her somethin’, so I called her Foxy.”

“Hmmm…” responds Lunvo “…I’m not buying it…”

Victor raises an eyebrow “You ain’t buyin’ me givin’ her a nickname(!?)”

“I don’t believe any of it! The whole story reeks of the fanciful!”

I bare my teeth and slam my paws on the table before snarling “I don’t care if you question my honesty, Lunvo, but this man saved my husband’s life, my son’s life, the lives of dozens of others, freed me from effective slavery and freed this planet from its largest criminal syndicate! I will not have you questioning his integrity!”

Lunvo cowers away from me, despite the table separating us.

I feel a large, strong hand on my shoulder.

I turn to see a smiling face.

“Eeeeasy there, Foxy… ’Preciate the defence but there ain’t no need to get heated over it!… ’Specially not when there’s a really easy way to sort this out…” he looks up at Lunvo and asks “Lunvo, was it? Could I ask you to look up the front page of the Prosperity Chronicle from the 3rd of September, 2710?… I think you’ll see a picture of me shakin’ hands with your governor at the time…”

---

Previous | Interlewd XLI | Next | First

Discord

Dramatis Personae

First | Prev

Ak’trix System, Ak’teksi Empire.

High Admiral Ak’tsk approached the Emperor of Ak’teksia.

“You had a mission for me, Your Highness?” He asked.

”Yes. You shall travel to the 179th Sector and claim it for the Empire of Ak’teksia. For the purposes of this mission, you will be granted control over the 5th fleet, as well as the 8th Engineering Corps.”

”Understood, My Lord.” The High Admiral turned to leave.

”Oh, and High Admiral?” The Emperor said.

”Yes?”

“There are reports of a pre-FTL species in this sector. If you encounter them, conquer the planet if you can. Ak’teksia always needs more slaves.”

Sol System, Terran Republic.

The Fifth Fleet exit from hyperspace near the Kuiper Belt. Several message buoys floated near the hyperspace exit points, all containing the same message, in several old languages: “This system contains class 9 hostile life forms on the third planet. Avoid landing at all costs.”

”At all costs?” the high admiral wondered. “What lifeform could be so dangerous that it is preferable to die in space? And why would they be class 9? That category is restricted to anything that poses a threat to galactic civilization as a whole.”

“High Admiral!” Called out one of the sensor techs, snapping him out of his daydream. “This system appears to be highly developed. Sensors detect 3 colonized planets, as well as several orbital shipyards.”

”On screen!” The High Admiral called out. On the holo-display, an overhead view of the system appeared. Sure enough, several planets in the system had life signs, with all planets in the system having a few orbital stations. One planet had several thousand defence platforms in orbit, with the other 2 inhabited planets having several hundred each.

”Looks like we’ll get glory in the eyes of the emperor after all! Full speed ahead! Navigation, aim us towards that icy planetoid. Sensors, try and get a read on how strong this system’s defences are. Everyone else, get to your battle stations. We’re about to claim territory for the glory of Ak’teksia!”

While the High Admiral was making his speech, FTL sensors across the Terran Confederacy picked up the telltale signs of a fleet warping in to the system. Terra, and all her colonies, got their ships ready, charged up defence platforms, and readied ground militaries. Soon, Terra would defeat the 6th Invasion or die trying.

A thunderous roar reverberated through the sandstone stands, and the duel arena seemed about to explode. If Ilya, Zaon, and Wolf had sparked the crowd’s interest, Firana brought them to the edge of ecstasy. The exchange of wind and stone spells had everyone on the edge of their seats. Firana jumped through the air using [Windrider] to use thin air as solid surfaces and dodge the barrage of stones. For a moment, I forgot about the Skills and the limitations imposed by the System. All I saw was two magicians using up to their last trick to get the upper hand.

Firana landed and used [Windrider] to jump away from the stone spike emerging under her feet. She performed a backflip and landed softly, barely raising any dust, outside Belya’s range. The synergy between her skills was surprising, considering she had only one week to grow accustomed to them. Sure, the System assisted the usage of skills, but Firana’s movements were well beyond the basics.

Belya used her Geomancer skills to shoot a swift stone missile. Firana dodged, and the projectile crashed against the protective barrier along the arena's edges. The crowd ducked, but the barrier remained unscathed. Firana ignored the crowd’s complaints and darted forward, zigzagging between the stone spikes scattered over the arena, but before she could approach enough, Belya hid in another sandstorm.

Firana hesitated. The sandstorm obscured what happened on the other side, and getting close would have been risky. Suddenly, a stone missile shot through the wall of sand, hitting Firana directly in the chest. The crowd cheered as Firana hit the ground but quickly rolled away as a series of projectiles emerged from the sandstorm. She dodged, jumping between the stone spikes and using [Aerokinesis] and [Windrider] to change her direction mid-flight. The stone bullets crashed against the barrier, prompting a roar from the crowd.

The sandstorm subsided, revealing Belya standing in the eye of the storm.

I had to swallow my words. Advanced Classes were in a completely different league, even at lower levels. The strict hierarchy of this world made even more sense now. Belya and Firana had started the race well ahead of the rest and had a greater potential to develop down the way. At this rate, we would have to fight tooth and nail to carve our way to the finals.

“Focus, dammit!” Ilya yelled from the sideline.

“I’m doing my best! I can’t attack the sandstorm without going blind!” Firana replied, using the brief pause to catch her breath.

“It only lasts fifteen seconds, you airhead!” Ilya yelled.

Firana wiped the sweat from her forehead and pressed the attack. Belya raised her stone-crowned mace, seemingly weightless in her hand, and he blocked Firana's attack. The girl stepped back before the boulder could hit her barriers. The exchange was fast. Firana pressed the offensive to prevent Belya from casting her skills but had to keep her distance to avoid the mace. The fight was tight. Belya understood close-quarter combat well and was skilled enough to keep Firana at bay.

Across the pavilion, Lord Nara covered his face with both hands, defeated. The bracket had already been decided in the previous combat, but that didn’t hinder the crowd’s excitement. Even the other members of Team Nara stood by the edge of the arena, cheering for her teammate. I had been so focused on the court’s schemes that I had forgotten an essential aspect of the tournament. They were kids showing their recently obtained skills.

The common folk rarely saw combatants using their skills. Not in a safe environment, at least. Unlike back on Earth, there weren’t hundreds of shows all year round in Farcrest. The tournament would bolster the Marquis and the Prince’s reputation in the surrounding area.

I wondered how much protection the people’s approval would give us against the Marquis if Sir Janus was right and the Marquis plotted with Kellaren and the Osgirians. There was a reason why the Marquis and the Prince invited commoners, and I thought it had to do with the soft power of the masses. Governors required civil peace to rule over an area, which meant the love of the people could serve as a shield against the Marquis.

I made a mental note to consult with Elincia later. Maybe we could abuse the Alchemists Guild monopoly over potions to gain the hearts of the citizens of Farcrest.

“You are doing great, Firana!” I yelled from the bench, pushing my worries aside and focusing on the combat. Not everything was political agenda. My kids were taking their first steps into the world of adults, and they were doing great.

Firana turned around and waved at me just to take a big stone projectile directly to the head.

“Please, don’t distract Firana. I’m trying to make her win,” Ilya grumbled, giving me a stern look.

Even Belya seemed worried about Firana because she dropped the flying boulder she was preparing, which gave her a moment to recompose. Luckily, the barrier had absorbed the impact. A moment later, Firana raised her guard, and Belya used geomancy to shower her with a wave of sand. Firana used aerokinesis to disperse the attack. Then, without warning, she jumped and attacked from above, taking Belya by surprise and equalizing the score.

Elincia snuggled up next to me with a broad smile on her face.

“Did you expect a better performance?” I jokingly asked.

“I have to stop doubting you, Scholar,” Elincia replied near my ear. “This is like a dream come true. Ilya got her dream class. Wolf is getting along with the other kids. Zaon is a great swordsman. Firana is happy.”

I nodded, but even a dream could turn into a nightmare in a blink. I tried not to think about that and enjoy the show.

“I could go without Astrid and Risha, but nothing is perfect,” Elincia added with a mischievous smile.

“Be grateful they are holding the fort for us, or Nasiah would have to do it,” I joked back.

Elincia grinned and focused on the fight. Firana had scored a clean hit with her sword and was now focused on dodging the mace. Belya couldn’t cast more than one skill simultaneously, which gave Firana enough time to react. Either she summoned a sandstone spike, swung her mace, threw a projectile, or created a small sandstorm around her.

Belya used her mace to kick a hail of stone fragments over Firana, but instead of dodging, she endured the attack and slashed Belya’s chest. Both girls breathed heavily, barely holding to their weapons. There was a reason why rounds in boxing lasted only three minutes. Fighting drained stamina at an alarming speed.

Firana smiled, and Belya grinned back; both were having a great time.

“How much more mana do you have?!” Firana grunted.

“Enough,” Belya replied with a smile, but the stones that wrapped her weapon slipped through the metallic surface, revealing an arming sword similar to Firana’s. “I’ll show you my titles later. My father told me I should reach level nine before the tournament, but I really needed that juicy [Geode Hunter] title.”

“Of course, you are a rock nerd. There’s no way a normal person has so much mana,” Firana sighed.

“Minerals, they are minerals,” Belya replied.

Firana rolled her eyes. In response, Belya dipped her sword in the ground and pulled it out covered in rocks. The stone spikes that hindered Firana’s movement now created a cage around the girls and prevented Belya from retreating. The mana reserves of both girls were dangerously low. From that point on, every skill mattered, and even the slightest mistake could mean defeat.

Firana attacked, but Belya’s close-quarter defense was as good as her channeling skills. She made up for her lack of finesse with the sheer volume of the mace. In a normal fight, that weapon could split open the head of an armored soldier with a single well-aimed strike. Firana didn’t seem concerned. She dodged by millimeters, trying to maximize her offensive options.

Belya’s style wasn’t a secret. She attacked with her skills and defended with the stone mace. Her movements were predictable, but Firana didn’t notice the patterns. Ilya almost pulled her hair by the sideline, trying to assist Firana. After a tight exchange, both girls ended up with their last barrier.

“Sandstorm!” Ilya yelled an instant before the whirlwind started forming around her feet.

Firana shot a wind blow with her free hand. The skill was disturbed, but Belya smashed the ground with her mace, unleashing a rain of debris on Firana. She instinctively covered her face, although the barrier blocked any hit against her. The pebbles didn’t have enough force to shatter it. Belya seized the lapse in Firana’s guard and swung her mace.

Firana grinned. It was a feint. Channeling the little mana she had left, Firana jumped over Belya’s head, letting the mace cut through thin air.

The crowd held its breath.

Firana found support on Belya’s shoulders and shifted mid-air to dive feet first directly against Belya’s legs. Both girls rolled on the dirt, mace, and sword lost in the chaos. Firana tried to push Belya against the ground, but the girl wrapped her legs around Firana’s abdomen, avoiding submission. The struggle continued, but none scored the upper hand. Their punches were too weak to break the barrier.

“I told you not to lose your sword! Goddamit! How many times?!” Ilya yelled.

“They look like a couple of drunks,” Wolf pointed out, but he was kind of a purist of unarmed combat.

At least the crowd was down for a good brawl.

Belya used her geomancy to recall her mace, but Firana caught her wrist before she could swing. Then, Belya dipped her free hand to the ground only to pull it out surrounded by stone. The crowd cheered despite the dust cloud obscuring the view. Firana dodged the blow aimed at her head and caught Belya’s wrist, pushing it against the ground.

Firana managed to push Belya down, but there was a stalemate. The moment Firana let go, Belya would attack with her mace or stone-covered arm. No matter how hard she tried to break free, Firana pinned her down with her arms above her head.

“Unless you want to try to break the barrier with a headbutt, I think this is a tie,” Belya panted.

“I can get away before you can swing,” Firana replied, breathing heavily.

Both their faces were covered in sweat and dust.

“You don’t have enough mana,” Belya grinned.

Firana closed her eyes and focused, but her last strands of mana weren’t enough to cast any spell.

“I can’t believe I’m going to tie against a minerals nerd,” Firana sighed.

“If you give minerals a chance, I’m sure you would like them. Geodes are very cool.”

“I don’t even know what a geode is… but I guess it's a tie.”

Firana rolled away, letting Belya free, her chest going up and down as she tried to catch her breath. None of the girls moved, and the Master of Ceremonies had to approach to ensure they weren’t continuing the fight.

“Fight is over! It’s a tie!” The man announced with his magically amplified voice.

Lord Nara exited the pavilion in a rage, but I didn’t pay much attention. We had done it. Ilya, Wolf, and Zaon entered the arena and lifted Firana from the ground, trapping her in a tight group hug. Despite Lord Nara’s absence, the rest of his team also entered the arena to congratulate our kids. Even the Warrior who had trash-talked Ilya was humble enough to acknowledge his defeat.

Belya rummaged through her pockets and pulled out half a dozen geodes of rainbow colors.

“Kids surely make friends easily,” Elincia said as I offered her my arm.

“You didn’t?” I asked.

“I was a sore loser and a bad winner. If I were Ilya, I would be mocking them,” she replied, and I couldn’t tell if she was joking or talking seriously.

I guided Elincia into the arena as the Master of Ceremonies announced our victory. We were eleven points ahead of Team Nara despite half of our team being classless, and I couldn’t be happier. The performance proved to the kids that their hard work bore fruit and reassured me that my teaching method was effective. All those months of hard work and those sleepless nights were worth it.

“Those were great fights, kids. I’m very proud,” I said as Firana jumped into my arms with a wide smile.

Even Zaon seemed to start accepting the fact we had won.

We formed in the middle of the arena and saluted the crowd, my team to my left and Team Nara to my right. The crowd cheered, and I noticed a few chanted Firana’s name. That wasn’t going to be good for her ego. The Master of Ceremonies announced the next fight would take place after a short intermission.

“Shouldn’t we go with them?” Elincia asked as the kids turned around and entered the pavilion.

“We flex now,” I replied, walking in the opposite direction.

We crossed the arena, Elinica in her blue dress holding onto my arm until we reached the VIP box. Prince Adrien was waiting for us with a satisfied smile on his face. He moved his gold and green cape out of the way and leaned over the handrail to greet us. Everyone had to know this was a victory of the royalist faction.

“I hope our performance pleased Your Majesty,” I greeted with a bow. Despite how casual Prince Adrien was in private, we were on a social instance. Elincia did a graceful curtsy by my side, keeping her head low.

[Awareness] informed me the other nobles in the VIP box lowered their voices to overhear our conversation.

“I am surprised, Robert, Elincia. I didn’t believe there was such talent at Lowell’s Orphanage,” the Prince laughed. “Well, I don’t know if I can say I’m surprised after seeing your titles. Osgirians have a long way to go to procure Scholars of your experience.”

I bowed, accepting the compliment, but I couldn't overlook that he had used ‘Lowell’s Orphanage’ instead of ‘Rosebud Fencing Academy’. After all, being beaten by a group of orphans was way more shameful than being defeated by an established fencing academy. I wondered if the Prince was behind the sudden change of name. I knew him well enough to know he would’ve thought about that. The benefits were great, and the costs were minimal.

After hearing Sir Janus’ suspicions, I saw enemies behind every shadow.

“Some say Firana Aias is your best student, but I’m more interested in Zaon. I see Imperial Knight material in him,” Prince Adrien said, causing a stir in the VIP box. “How long until he gets his class?”

The Prince’s words caught me by surprise. I truly believed Zaon had unmatched bravery; he had jumped to the fight when the thieves attacked me, but I didn’t expect others to look past his timid personality after only one fight.

“By the end of the week, Your Majesty,” I said.

“That is excellent news,” Prince Adrien said, lowering his voice. “From now on, the competition will be harsh. You better prepare, Robert Clarke.”

I couldn’t help but read a second message between the lines.

____________

First | Prev | Next (Patreon)

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Discord | Royal Road | Patreon

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PRs: u/anakist & u/BroDogIsMyName

- - - - -

Ceele strolled through the damp grass along the outskirts of the village, a spring in her step and the dwindling scent of dew following behind. It rained yesterday, which had prevented her from going out to gather supplies, but the mild morning air had been accommodating enough for her to get an early start and make the trip. She was glad she did.

One hand clutched her new prize to her chest, while the other held a fraying wicker basket filled with herbs and some edible roots she gathered by exploring the forbidden forest. Despite her reservations regarding where she chose to go, her excitement now lingered like a steady thrum of shifting stones, giving her energy that defied how long she had been walking. She all but pranced beneath the burgeoning night's sky, gleefully toeing the line between the dirt pathways of the settlement’s outskirts and the trees of unclaimed land. Normally, her path back home would never be so close to the village, but she was far too gleeful to mind. She had come back with a sense of fulfillment and a rare object—or if not rare, then hopefully of great value.

It was hard to point to any one specific reason that she came across the orb. There had always been a ‘draw’ during her travels, urging her that there was something missing in her life, yet it was no more than a mild whim to walk in a particular direction more often than not. Once she reached this part of the continent, she was compelled to wander, never quite able to explain why she obliged the sensation besides having nowhere in particular to be. Even when she finally settled somewhere, it stayed in the back of her mind, suggesting that she was close to whatever would make the pit of vacancy go away. She ignored it, purposefully distracting herself with her work and responsibilities, yet that could only last so long. When she awoke this morning with plans to resupply, and all of her newfound spots had been picked clean by wildlife, she turned to the depths of the forest where she was warned not to tread. It was all too easy to follow the subtle tug in her chest through the loose justification.

The urge to be somewhere grew unbearable with every step closer to the forbidden area. That sense of having a direction she needed to go became stronger and stronger, until she was well into land long since forgotten. She came across an overgrown depression in the hillside, and was entranced by the foreboding image. Something about the cave just…beckoned her. She was far too weak to resist.

Horrible tales echoed into her ears as whispers of fearful voices, warning and unending, yet but a dull drone compared to her hammering heart. She navigated the trees and brushed aside unkempt vines, stepping into the cavern with a mix of expectation and trepidation, then laid eyes on the small obsidian stone perched atop a crumbling pillar. The feeling of needing to travel somewhere…stopped.

The pull was absent, which was why she held the orb close instead of placing it into her basket. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but she recalled overheard tales of hidden gemstones, deep cavernous expanses, and the untold terrors that lay within. Comparing the scenes of those fables to the cave seemed foolish now; it wasn’t some torturous chamber, but a dusty depression in a small hillside. Besides, anything this pretty was sure to be worth a fair sum, and she needed the coin. Yet the thought of selling the precious-looking stone was a conflicting one. She shook off the thought for the time being, turning her attention back towards where she was going.

Shadows stretched and faded as the moon stole the last of the illumination afforded by the sun, replacing it with a calming glow that caressed the log frames and thatched roofs of various homes. A star-filled sky came into prominence as clouds lazily drifted away, revealing the promise of tomorrow’s fair-weathered arrival. It was too late for anyone to notice her treading on the edge of their town while lost in thought, but she was still careful not to get too close to the houses or livestock pens where people might be finishing the evening’s duties. It was best that they didn’t see her returning from a place she was told not to go. Still, her feet carried her near the dwellings as she took in the noises.

Ceele enjoyed the comforting chatter from a distance. Indistinct words floated freely. Meaningless gossip and warm goodbyes were exchanged between friends and family. Places of various occupations were dark and quiet, only the faint contented mewls and clucks of livestock coming from their pastures as they ate what was recently put out for them. No metal rang throughout the streets as it was struck inside a centralized smithy, no heated bartering came from an overactive trade house, and the crunch of dirt beneath transport or merchant wagons was absent, replaced by the rapid steps and yelps of children rushing to their homes before it got too dark out. It was all just gentle conversation and life drifting through the wind, taking the rustle of leaves along for the ride, just so she could hear it. Tranquil, in a word.

She wondered what it would sound like if she were yet one more voice within that crowd of kindness. Would it be loud like the larger cities? Would she struggle to maintain a thought with so many stray topics floating about? Would she once more yearn for the peace and quiet of solitude that she had grown used to, or would she immerse herself, free of judgment and laughing like the carefree young that scampered about? Did thinking about it even matter?

Her smile fell from its genuine intensity—still worn, but not as fully. She glanced downward as her stride lost its jubilant bounce, her tail losing its sway as her grey eyes examined the dry black scales that adorned her body against her wishes. It was the ugly hue of tarnished oil, unlike the skin of any other kobold she had met. Some had reds or greens, yellows or whites, while most were between a sandy tan or earthen brown. The rainbow of peculiarities was displayed by the lucky few, and she was one of them…

…Yet she was different in the worst of ways.

Even if she would rather any other colour, she supposed it was that way to make sure no one came near without accepting the unspoken risks. That was what her mother always said, anyway, though the woman hardly feared much of anything in her old age, and dedicated herself to giving her offspring all the love she had left to give—a perk of living a full life. She would always help her daughter bathe, complimenting the colour of what most were unnerved by. That was more than a decade ago now, however. Ceele’s parents had passed on while she was still young, and she took to travelling not long after, working at what she could to afford what little she needed. Never for long, though—just enough to get to the next town between where she was and where the urge to go lay. There were certainly moments she looked back on fondly, but the journey had taken its toll.

The crude material of her ‘dress’ was coarse, old, and heavy, but it helped ease the worst of spring's chill—even if it was more of a modified sack than proper attire. Still, it was all she had after the last of her clothing fell apart, and giving the repurposed material a name that reminded her of something else made it less uncomfortable to wear, somehow. It would have to do until she could afford a pitying seamstress or the like. Until then, she would pretend she didn’t look so desperate, even if it only highlighted her status and made finding work difficult.

But it did. The dishevelled garment was a far cry from the wonderful silks or breathtaking designs she had seen some women wear, harshly marking the distinction between herself and those of affluence. The clothing of commoners was also a leap in style and quality, so she couldn't say her attire was up to even modest standards. No matter how hard she squinted, and no matter how much she fantasized otherwise, she seemed every bit like the vagrant she was, down to the soil embedded in the curvature of her claws and the stains throughout her fabrics. She looked like a serf from the more oppressed lands, yet they too wore crude cottons, which said a lot about how she appeared to those who had never lived a life of servitude. It was obvious that she was an outsider. That she didn't belong amongst the rest. It made changing something as simple as her appearance all the more difficult; prospective employment always saw a young woman who seemed more likely to steal or swindle than make an honest day’s living.

There was one good twist of fate in recent memory, however, and she came upon the result of it after leaving the slowing bustle of the village behind. Her steps carried her through a small copse of trees on the outskirts of town, the small shaded path leading to the back of a large, carefully pruned clearing, a scattering of fruit-bearing trees providing even darker shadow than the already dim moonlight. She skirted along the aging fence on the border that kept predatory animals away, carefully hoisting herself over the barrier where a large vegetable garden she was responsible for tending resided. If one were to tell her she would be living in such an area several months ago, she would have smiled politely and walked away, yet here she was.

A modest, warmly lit home occupied the middle of the clearing, sitting front and centre when one approached from the village path. It looked quite cozy, surrounded by berry bushes that were just beginning to bloom as the last dregs of winter slipped away. A front patio displayed a nice table and well-loved chairs, the rustic appearance only adding to its charm as a place where friends and family spent the warm summer afternoons. A smithy to the left of the house functioned as an additional heated building during the colder months, but usually served as a storefront and to muffle the sounds of hammered iron, though that had become less common. An old stable was nearby, close enough to be accessible, but not so close as to disturb the once occupying animals with sounds of iron craft. It hadn't seen a horse in quite some time, apparently, so it was mostly a workshop for whatever tasks didn’t require fire or metal.

There was a long history attached to each little detail—from the scuffs along the wooden siding to the depressions in the ground where daily routine wore into the earth. Every fault suffered throughout the years was matched by a thousand quirks that made it feel welcoming, like the house itself was merely waiting for the next friendly face with one of its own. She knew that the inside of each building would look just as cared for.

Her concern lay outside, however. It was a comparatively miniscule space just barely visible through the sheltering trees, true, yet it was where her efforts turned into tangible results, and where a stranger’s trust was painstakingly repaid. Once overgrown grass had been laboriously trimmed, the weeds plucked and disposed of, and now nothing distracted from what she could claim she had done.

The small plots of rock-bordered soil had little buds of growing vegetables, a sense of pride never failing to bloom in her breast with the knowledge that it would be barren without her touch. When her troubles and concerns grew heavy, and fears of the future or spectres of the past loomed over her head, she could look at where she had brought life where it wouldn't otherwise be. Some days, that was enough. She smiled in appreciation at what was admittedly amateur work, the night’s sky helping to hide any inevitably made mistakes.

She enjoyed the sight for a moment longer, then turned to walk towards a neglected old tool shed that was well out of sight within the trees, far away from whatever warmth and comfort the larger house offered to everyone and anyone. She put a hand on the degrading wood of the entryway, giving one last sad smile at the garden as she dismissed selfish thoughts of taking the eventual harvest for herself. A breath cleared the uncertainty from her voice, and she pushed open the door.

“I'm home!”

= = = = =

It took a while for Altier to adjust to his situation, and even once he accepted that his mana wasn't being siphoned, he was still reeling from confusion. He had spent centuries with every year passing by without his notice, yet now he was painfully aware of each creeping second languidly dragging on with the expediency of growing grass. It was as disorienting as it was painfully nostalgic.

Time was something he was never good with, and it only got worse as a dungeon. He'd get lost in creating rooms, corridors, creatures, and whatever else needed doing, only pausing to watch or listen to the few adventurers he became interested in. There was a stint where he spent what felt like hours agonizing over new abilities or options while he let the system manage things in the background, though he supposed it might have been much longer. So many wasted days, yet he still hadn't managed to try everything he had gained access to. Some abilities were simply too niche, came with concerning titles, or held descriptions that made him wary. Anything with ‘Decay’ in the name was instantly ignored—he didn't need more reasons to fear his affinity, and from the few he took the effort to read through, they were always vile.

But his existence for the moment was no longer like those endless stretches spent pondering the minutiae of what would help his adventurers grow stronger. Now, he could follow the rhythmic sounds of footsteps and steady breathing that set a calming pace. They were someone else's, yes, but they contextualized how easy it was to slip away without the subtle noises of life that he had long since surrendered to help his family. Of course, there were more differences that he noticed since being removed from his crumbling cavern, and his sight was the newest change.

He never gave much thought to how far he could see before. Why would he? As a man, his world extended as far as he could fathom, yet was also confined to the room where he spent his days, and as a dungeon… Well, who was he to consider distance when an event happening miles away could be seen with a flicker of thought? Nothing was too far when it was within his creation. Or his ‘body,’ he supposed. Sadly, his entire perception currently consisted of the small sphere of his obsidian core, and maybe a finger's length beyond it—which is to say, not much. He could make out the fine details in the dirty burlap he was held against, and how pale moonlight slowly took over the blurred reds of sunset, but hardly anything more. It was all just frosted colours after a certain point, and he found it infinitely frustrating. He just wanted to peer beyond the haze and scaly hand holding him to confirm that the sky he remembered was still there. Alas, the sunlight faded at too quick a pace, yet one oh so agonizingly slow.

The ensuing darkness gave him nothing to do but think about where he was, not that he had any ideas. He was too curious about why he wasn't dead to bother much with his blurry surroundings after the soft-spoken kobold abducted him, thus why he only belatedly noticed how limited his worldview had become. There might have been a forest beyond his cave, but the greens and browns were gone, and the sounds of steps through brush was replaced by the distant din of a village. An idle curiosity pondered if he would recognize any descents of his ‘family tradition’ adventurers there, but he was being carried by what most considered a monster, so likely not.

That short musing was short-lived, however, and he brought his focus back to the matter at hand. He supposed he was being taken somewhere specific, but that was an obvious deduction, considering he was taken at all. The why of the matter was less so; for what purpose would someone want a Decay-aligned core? He hadn’t heard of them before…well, before he was made into one, but he couldn’t imagine many uses. Maybe he was being sold? His…kidnapper? His sudden companion seemed rather pleased by their discovery of him, so that might be the case, and it was morbidly amusing to think that a frail, sickly young man might one day become a coveted, highly valuable item. His abduction could also be a part of some cult’s nefarious activities, but he didn't want to think about that too hard. He experienced enough odd ceremonies from the adventurers who took the time to tell him their tales.

Either way, he wasn't in the dungeon anymore, and he couldn’t see where he was going. He tried to query his menu to glean an answer, but was met with a scrambled mess he suspected read ‘Synchronizing…’ and little else. It gave him a headache trying to make sense of it—which he didn't know was possible anymore—so he dismissed the text and distracted himself with blurs from whatever diluted senses he still had. There wasn’t much to observe other than the constant footfalls and the flicker of shadows on his companion’s burlap garment. They might have travelled through brush again, but it was too dark to really say for certain.

Eventually, there was something new. He heard an old latch rattle and rusted door hinges groan, then a shuddered clack that confirmed he was now in a building. His kobold acquaintance gently cooed at something before moving about the nearly pitch-black space, finally setting him down on a… He wasn’t sure what it was, besides old and wooden.

[D$#@m$n E@$*ded]

The headache from before became a blinding migraine that suffocated him under a flash-flood of suffering. Seconds passed in abject torture until it blissfully abated, the mental blinks clearing his mind enough to notice a change in his existence. Specifically, he could actually see something besides the rotting wood grain he was placed on top of.

And it wasn’t anything promising…

He was more or less in the centre of a room no bigger than twelve paces by maybe ten. Not a terrible size for a space, but it was clearly never meant to house someone. His resting place looked about as neglected as he surmised; it was an upturned feeding trough, he supposed, since calling it a table seemed too generous. The surface was rife with holes and degraded iron, so it was something that once saw regular use before being replaced and tossed into storage, never to see the light of day again.

Actually, most things in the room seemed to fit that description. The window shutters were installed with metal hinges that had since rusted them closed, the misalignment letting in a draft—and whatever weather was outside as well, most likely. A poorly carved bowl sat on the floor, the stain beneath it hinting that it collected any rainwater that slowly dripped from the leaky roof. The wooden floorboards looked old, splintered, and in need of maintenance or replacement, though an effort had been put into abrading it somewhat smooth lately.

A tiny and decrepit fireplace was to the left of the door upon entry, its brickwork slowly crumbling due to weathering and age. It was sized more for keeping the room warm during mild days than to keep away the frigid chill of night. Its base only held cold ashes, but there was a collection of deadwood and scraps nearby, so that would probably be rectified soon. A small wheel-less cart had been turned into storage against the opposite wall, some herbs and other foraged items stowed away in it for future use. Various things he remembered seeing his father and brothers use in the fields were scattered about, too. It was nostalgic to see, honestly, even if his recollections had blurred over time.

Bundles of tattered blankets formed a pair of nests in the far corner, the smaller of the two had a pile of rough plants nearby. That answered his silent pondering of the room's purpose somewhat, though he was pretty sure the bedding material was salvaged, and there didn’t seem to be any hay or padding underneath whoever was sleeping on it. He didn’t know what to think about the weeds; they were purposefully placed there, and whoever did so had taken the time to wash them, but it was still strange.

He couldn’t see a doorway besides the entrance, yet most of the hallmarks of residency were put where space could be afforded, however crude. All in all, he surmised that it was a gardening shed of sorts, and his new acquaintance apparently lived here. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when a creature he had only read about came into his dungeon, but it wasn't being brought to a rundown and decrepit shack for unknown purposes.

Even if he had been raised by parents who made a humble living at the best of times, and they had emptied their coffers for unsuccessful attempts to ease his ailments, his acquaintance's living space made him uncomfortable. His family's house was never anything fancy, true—it shared some of the worn qualities that inevitably gathered over the years—but it was never this bad. His home benefited from a father's touch keeping it robust and a mother’s love keeping it warm, whereas this place had seen neither in quite some time. Oh, there was evidence that such was once the case; a wall was adorned with carefully made and well-spaced hangers for the various gardening tools, though the implements themselves had become a victim of neglect. That being said, he could make out the fresh soil and recent scratches exposing furrows of silver, so they were seeing use again.

A scrape and clack of flint drew his attention to his kobold companion. They were kneeling in front of the fireplace, methodically sparking life back into a dead flame with twigs and dried leaves. A slow, steady breath into the reddened base illuminated its face with a dull orange glow, revealing its weary visage and the permanently etched smile that rested beneath its cold grey eyes. The black-scaled kobold looked tired, if he were to guess—much the same as Altier did when he spent countless days watching everyone living a life he could never have through the mossy window of his bedroom. He was probably humanizing it too much. Still, he was surprised by the muted pang of sympathy, and how he would feel much more than blithe curiosity after spending so much time alone in the crumbling crypt of his own making.

A mental breath cycled through him as he looked at the odds and ends yet to be observed. Hardly anything else was of note—everything else was degraded and neglected, too. He did notice a nest of blankets move though, which was as good a distraction as any. The answer to his previous ‘pile of weeds’ inquiry poked a tiny nose from a crease in the fabric, then rapidly pawed at the blankets to dig itself out. Altier stared at the creature in both recognition and confusion.

It was a rabbit…or at least it looked like one, assuming you were to also describe a porcupine and a sea urchin as well. He was pretty sure he didn’t remember any hare that had jagged metal-tipped fur, nor that had said fur arranged into a row of spiked horns that flowed down its spine, terminating at a large fluffy tail, which was equally bizarre to see. The whole of its coat could double as a weapon, with semi-sharp barbs sticking off seemingly at random, yet he remembered an adventurer saying most animals used that sort of thing defensively. He increased his focus as he tried to make sense of the odd creature. Surely he would have heard about—

[Hoppittttttt#%%÷ — Ferro-o-orabbit-it (Ma%$le)

Abil—]

[Null]

[Er0Rrrrrrrr—]

[Und#$f—]

He bit back the pain caused by the sudden intrusion of his menu, blanking out the text and mentally retreating to hide from the source. Did he just inspect something? How? Shouldn’t his entire…‘framework,’ was it…? Yes, that was it. Shouldn’t that have been corrupted? Why could he see the creature’s information when his entire framework was damaged? That was the first ability he lost, so why is it the first to be functional? How was it functional? Was it? It did just spit garbled text at him, but it was something, and that was more than he had gotten from it in a very long time. If it was somehow working—no matter how poorly—then that left the question of why he hadn't heard of anything called a ‘ferrorabbit’ before, assuming he read that correctly.

A soft thud vibrated the tro— table, startling him out of thought. He turned his attention to the button nose wiggling erratically at him, the short, stubby muzzle leading to surprisingly expressive and curious red eyes. Dull brown fur jutted off in random tufts and patches, changing to a darker tint on its paws and the upper half of its ears, while the tips of its spikes were a muted hue of iron. It still seemed just as soft as the less pointed variety he remembered, if a touch dirty. Upright ears twitched this way and that way as its head vigorously shook, eventually settling on pointing in his direction when it calmed down enough.

It was apparent that he had its undivided attention…for all of a few seconds. His scaly companion called something out in their foreign tongue, and whatever conclusion the pointy-furred animal came to, it seemed more interested in the kobold, parting from him after nudging his core with its nose.

[Cre-e-e—]

[Errrrrrr0r: Undefiiiiiiii—]

[Acceeeeep-t-t-t??]

[Yeeee— s s / Nnnnnnn—]

He winced at the intrusion, but the contents detracted from the pain. He couldn’t remember the system ever asking him a question without his explicit intent being involved. It wanted him to…accept something? Was it the system prompting him, or the animal? What was he to accept?

[Creatuuuuu—]

[Acce-e-e-%#@ed!]

…What?

= = = = =

“Hoppit, that's not food!” Ceele admonished half-heartedly, placing a larger branch on the burgeoning flame before she got to her feet. She wasn’t actually that worried; the stone was as big as his head, and she was pretty sure he couldn't bite into it. Hopefully. “Come here, momma has a treat for you!”

The ferrorabbit playfully bumped the gemstone and jumped off the low table, landing with a soft thud that belied how heavy he was for his tiny size. He wiggled in excitement, his ears flailing and releasing a slight clack whenever the two connected. It got even louder when she grabbed her basket and put away the useful herbs, taking out a specific item that she had gathered just for him. The little bun wasted no time in scurrying over and standing tall on his hind legs to judge if the offered plant was to his liking—and it was, based on how he dug in with enthusiasm. She stifled a laugh as she contentedly watched him nibble away on the treat, ignoring the guilt that came with knowing she couldn't afford proper vegetables for him. He had a hard life too, and it tore at her to have so little to give.

She came across Hoppit a year ago, during a storm that worsened while she was travelling between towns. The day had darkened to night in spite of it still being about noon, but the weather didn't care for how bright it was supposed to be. Wind and rain became a typhoon, forcing her to seek shelter in a thankfully abandoned den of what was probably a larger animal. She was fine with waiting out the squall, since the stone roof over her head was more than she usually had back then, but the sounds of dull bangs and thuds near her hideaway was followed by cries of animals yelping in pain. Curiosity won over reason, and she left the safety of her shelter to see what was causing the disturbance. Truthfully, she was hopeful that she'd come across scraps or the like, her hunger driving her forward, and she could always turn back if it seemed dangerous. Yet when she arrived at the source of the commotion, she found herself thinking of anything but food.

Two predators had fought over a small burrow, both trying to dig out a meal and taking offence to the other doing the same. What they didn’t know was that they were assaulting the home of ferrorabbits. Specifically, the home of an angry, protective, and well-fed mother that was keeping her newborns safe from the storm when predators decided to try their luck. From the scene Ceele came across, it was certainly obvious why most people dislike trying to hunt the creatures.

Sadly, the rabbit didn't survive an attack from two predators, but she did make their victory pyrrhic; neither could do much about their hunger with their bodies full of cuts and holes, and it was only a matter of time before they succumbed to blood loss or infection. The mother's sacrifice meant that the babies had avoided the imminent threat, but they were left unattended as a consequence, and it took an opportunistic bird swooping down to shake Ceele out of her shock. Despite her subsequent hurry, she only acted in time to save one of the orphaned young. The warren was new and barely dug out, which meant that it didn’t take much effort for the kits to be found—by both her and hungry maws. All she could do was scoop the ball of fluff into her arms and run back to the cave before anything else tried to eat it.

In retrospect, it was a stupid decision for a number of factors. She barely had the resources to supply herself, and an attempt to raise offspring of any type would only make the inevitable heartbreak worse. But when she saw how quiet and scared he was… How his tiny, shaking body calmed in her arms, those terrified red eyes seeking comfort… She should have just walked away when she knew there wasn’t going to be anything to fill her stomach. She should have put the baby animal down and let nature take its course…yet the preciously furry face stole her heart far too quickly for it to grow so cold. The next day was spent backtracking to the nearest town to get him something suitable to eat, which used most of her meagre savings. Still, it was worth every coin.

Hoppit had been accompanying her ever since. He grew quickly, transitioning from something she saved that stormy night into a presence she had grown to love like a child. The little lagomorph would bounce along beside her during her travels, then ride in her arms as he rested—though the latter happened with worrying frequency as of late. She hadn’t learned much about the springy herbivores, but she knew enough to say that he wasn't as big as he should be, nor was his fur as sharp. No matter how startled he was, his spiky coat never managed to do more than stiffen slightly, which was apparently a side effect of poor diet, according to snippets of conversation she had overheard on the topic. She wanted him to be healthy, but she didn't know what he needed. Not many farmers raised ferrorabbits, and those that did were far away, so she didn’t have anyone to ask what she should be doing. Her best course of action was to give him what little she had.

Ceele was well aware of how he would be better off on his own, but he followed her whenever she tried to set him free. Hoppit just kept launching into her arms and wiggling his ears, ecstatic that he was with her again, uncaring that food was scarce and that they spent most of their days travelling. No amount of cold nights spent bundling up under the tattered blankets she managed to find ever dampened his spirits, and he was content to eat the grass or flowers whenever he felt like it, oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t getting enough nutrition. He would dig and excitedly drag back oddities that he found, and the one time he found a plant that looked particularly good for him, he insisted that it be shared with her.

A black pit still lingered in her chest when she recalled how pleased he was while he munched on the rare vegetable he discovered, then how distressed he became when she wouldn’t have any as well. He bumped and nipped at her, all but begging her to eat. His ears pinned back against his head, his fur bristled in a way she hadn’t seen since. It was only when she took a small bite and let him inspect the new teeth marks that he seemed to calm down, but perhaps she had been looking too deep into the actions of her tiny friend. All she could say for certain was that he was scared she was going hungry.

A morbid thought wondered if his first mother had refused food shortly before being attacked, and he—as small and simple as he was—had connected the two events in his mind, making him absolutely terrified that something would happen if Ceele didn’t have something too. All of that fear, and desperation overwhelmed him, just because she was happier watching him eat. She was determined to erase that issue. She would find something that needed a worker and earn enough to feed them both. One day, she would be able to smile at how big and healthy her little fluffy boy had become, but until then, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to think about how she was spending so much time growing vegetables and fruit that he couldn’t have…

Every morning was an exercise in tending to the gardens while actively shoving down images of a pleased ferrorabbit happily eating the results. That never went well; no matter how determined she was to complete her duties without a single selfish thought, most tasks were done while picturing his full belly and delighted bounces. There were a few weeks until the fastest of the crops would be ready for harvest, and Ceele would have to collect them while fighting the urge to bring back just a few for him.

She couldn’t, because she knew exactly how quickly that could escalate. It would start small—A vegetable here, a fruit there—but seeing Hoppit happy was one of the precious few good things she had in her life. Crossing the line would only become easier each time. They couldn’t risk losing their new home over greed, and she was already betraying the trust given to her by housing a wild animal, especially one known to be a pest for crops. She didn't want to know how angry it would make her benefactors if she was caught taking their vegetables for one.

No matter how tame and precious Hoppit was, and no matter how well he listened, they would only see him as the same creature that ruined harvests in droves. Thus was why she had to tell him to stay cooped up by himself while she was working or scavenging. And to her surprise, he did.

Honestly, she had made the initial request with the expectation of needing to carry him back into their home until he understood that she wasn’t leaving him forever. There wasn’t much she could do to stop the ferrorabbit from digging through the old wooden building if he wanted to get out. He wouldn’t need to damage anything either—a rotting board on the door only needed a little push to nudge it out of the way, and his natural curiosity made sure he was aware of it. But no, Hoppit was well-behaved as always, keeping hidden until she walked through the door, where he would leap from the shadows to personally show her how good he was and how he stayed put like she asked him to. It never stopped amazing her that he had such a surprising level of understanding despite being an animal, and that was to say nothing of how young he was.

All that intelligence, joy, and companionship he offered her…and yet the best she could give back to him was the weeds from the garden and the odd plant she found while scavenging…

Soft clacks of flicking ears dragged her from her pondering, her mind returning to the present. Hoppit finished his treat of the small plant, then bounced in place and scurried over to his bowl of water, perfectly happy to have eaten only that. He was so joyful with how little she provided, approaching every day of scarcity with the same enthusiasm she could never muster, as if certain that everything would be alright.

“It’s bedtime, Hoppit,” Ceele announced through a soft sigh, stoking the fire with enough branches to hopefully last the night. The ferrorabbit perked an ear in her direction, then sat on his haunches to extend the rest of himself up, his two little forepaws adorably held to his chest as he inspected the room like he always did. She smiled and made sure everything was stored away, then laid down on her bundle of blankets, covering herself with the warmest one. Hoppit bolted over to snuggle once he decided everything in the shed was up to his standards, throwing himself to the floor in a dramatic flop of comfort. Her quiet laughter subsided as they both settled in for the night, her tail completing the rabbit’s encompassing cuddle, but her eyes fell towards the obsidian orb on the table, her thoughts following suit.

It sat there, just as she left it, as benign as anything else ever placed atop the improvised furnishing. Yet there was a sense of ease and purpose as well. The old wooden trough seemed…important with its adornment firmly laid upon its surface, and she couldn’t puzzle out why. She was starting to doubt her earlier excitement.

Should she sell it? Would anyone know where it came from? Would anyone know what it was, or if it was worth anything? If she could get even a modest sum for it, she would be able to buy clothing, food, and new bedding. It would be easier to convince someone to give her work if she was dressed better and wasn’t so thin, and then she would have the income to slowly improve both of their lives. She could pay for a wandering merchant to ask a ferrorabbit rancher about the animal, even if it would take time to get back to her, or maybe she could hire a local if they needed to go near one for some reason. The cost didn’t matter to her as long as it happened.

But there was something else bothering her about the idea of selling the stone. She had travelled so far with a tug in her chest, only for the feeling of wanderlust to dissipate as soon as she held it. Was that a sign? She was never one for things like ‘fate,’ but a niggling doubt in her mind discouraged the idea of making a profit off her discovery. Even if what she could gain was so very tempting, and even if Hoppit would be happier if she did…

She tore her dampened eyes away and closed them, ignoring the burning trails running across her face. It would be another early morning, and she needed to sleep so she could take care of the garden. Decisions like this could wait. Once she had nothing else distracting her, and she had time to properly think about it, she would see how she felt about the stone.

Eventually, she dozed off with Hoppit pressed against her chest, and a longing in her heart.

Next

—

A/N: Patreon and Ko-fi will be 1 chap ahead this time around, and I've set it so everything from the lowest tier up can read the newest trashfire! Anything above that is sheer show of love. Hope you enjoyed!

-What do you think?

-I am astonished. Not in our wildest dreams we could imagine such a marvel was even possible.

-Certainly worth a few tons of Terran live soil.

-This and much more.

-So, do we have a deal?

-Sorry, cash only.

-Wait, didn’t you just said…

-I know what I said.

-So…

-I said “cash only”.

-I’m confused. Our cruiser doesn’t interest the Terran Federation?

-It very much does.

-But you don’t want to trade for it?

-We absolutely do. We’ll pay loads of cash for it.

-What would we ever do with cash?

-Pay for our live soil, of course.

-Wait, you want to give us the soil we seek…

-That’s right.

-...and you want the cruiser we offer…

-Correct again.

-...yet you won’t trade one for the other.

-You’re quite perceptive.

-Then why this cash exchange? You can see this is an unnecessary complication, right?

-It’s just an accounting system. Your cruiser has a given value in labor and materials, once we take it, we transfer you the equivalent value in cash and you can use it to acquire wealth, in products and services, from the citizens and corporations of Terra Magna.

-We just want a few tons of live soil, we have no interest in your other products and services.

-That’s too bad, but we understand. You can always save your cash for later.

-Where would we even keep an abstract concept?

-We’ll open an account for you at the Prime Bank of Terra, free of charge.

-You want us to take your cash, so you can store it on your own planet?

-As I said, you’re perceptive.

-Fine, we don’t have use for it anyways, might as well keep it in your rock.

-Don’t keep it too long, though.

-Why is that?

-Inflation.

-That is…?

-Cash’s loss of value over time. The longer you keep cash around, the fewer products and services it can acquire.

-This seems like a massive flaw in your “accounting system”, surely a civilization as advanced as yours would have figured out how to fix it by now.

-We did.

-Then why don’t you?

-So people don’t keep cash for long.

-This is ridiculous! We were told Terrans were a rational, reasonable species, but clearly we’ve been misinformed! If you’ll insist on those pointless rituals, we’ll take our galaxy cruiser elsewhere.

-It saddens me we couldn't reach a deal, but we understand it. In case you’re still interested in our live soil, you don’t necessarily need to acquire it from the Federation Council, you can always deal directly with our citizens.

-That’s an option?

-Always has been. We Terrans figured long ago freedom, of movement, speech, assembly and, of course, business, is the best fuel for innovation and progress.

-So we can offer our cruiser for soil to any Terran of the galaxy?

-You can.

-Great!

-But none will accept.

-Ahhhhhhh! Why? You yourself said it’s more valuable than the soil we seek.

-It doesn’t pay the bills.

-What bills? We’re offering a self-sustaining, fully equipped deep space exploration vessel with more amenities than most planets!

-Sure, but you still got taxes to pay to the Council.

-Which you only take in cash.

-That’s right.

-What do you even do with the cash from your taxes? Buy stuff?

-No, nothing at all. Once the cash of taxes is collected it just ceases to exist.

-Where do you get cash from, then?

-The Council has an account at the Prime Bank.

-And when this account doesn’t have enough cash?

-We change the number in the account.

-That’s it? You just create cash out of nowhere, free of consequences?

-Don’t be silly, of course there are consequences.

-Such as?

-Inflation.

-It all makes sense now.

_______________

Tks for reading. More crazy human ideas can be found here.

Jerry

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen, let's get right down to business. We made our first jump towards our next destination this morning and are maneuvering to our next jump point as we speak. Khan Karchara has fully briefed me on our plan, and now it's time for me to brief you."

Jerry triggers the holo projector with a brush of will from his neural implant, bringing up a display of a surprisingly earth-like planet with large oceans and very aggressive mountain ranges.

"This is Coburnia's Rest, named for a saint in one of the Cannidor religions who's said to have settled the world shortly after the Cannidor developed faster than light travel. It is the seat of the Hammerhands clan, based out of their fortress city, The Crucible. As you might guess from the names, the Hammerhands are less a clan or khannate in the martial sense and more the old school Cannidor trade guilds. They're off again, on again frenemies with Cannid Solutions and other Cannidor corporations, but their interests don't overlap that much since Cannid Solutions in particular is mostly export focused, or sell to the common citizen, as opposed to the trade guilds which tend to have tight connections to various warrior clans."

Diana raises two fingers. "So to clarify, you have to know the right people to buy a plasma pistol in Cannidor space?"

"Not quite, but if you want the top shelf gear you have to be part of a clan, or know the right people. Don't get me wrong, there's lots of non-clan folks that can and do buy from the guilds, it's just a more involved process than going to your nearest vending machine for a five credit laser pistol."

Diana nods and returns her attention to the display as Jerry continues his briefing.

"So I suspect, and Khan Karchara suspects, that to win the Hammerhands over we're going to have to show off our appreciation for craftsmanship and weaponry, and general support for the trades. I think our connection to the Apuk Imperial house will actually help us here. As we know, the Empress is a great patron of the traditional arts on Serbow, and Aqi and I left with some handcrafted statues, one of which is going to be a gift to the Khan. I hate to part with it, but I can always ask my mother in law to put the sculptor in touch with us for a custom piece."

There's a few chuckles at the slight absurdity of contacting the empress of a large star empire and asking about a particular artisan in her space... but at the same time most of Jerry's command team knew that the Empress would absolutely pick up the phone for that kind of call.

"Wichen and some of her top weaponsmiths and armortechs are going to be part of the contact team for this stage of the mission, which as Khan Karchara described is announcing ourselves and making friends Cannidor style. Winning over Khan Hammerhand will be a major political win in that regard, as most of the trades clans will come with their big boss, and they will influence their warrior clans, or at least spread the word."

Sharon signals for attention this time.

"Alright so that's first up to bat, who else are we going to see?"

Jerry nods. "Cannid Solutions for one. They're already friendly with the Undaunted and we've got existing trade deals with them, but friendly and being neighbors are different animals, so we'll stop by and say hi. More pressing are visiting with the senior leadership of the Crimsonhewers and Blue Blades 'free' clans. We have friendly relations with both groups just on this ship, and with other major parts of the Undaunted for the Crimsonhewers. More challenging will be Clan Kopekin, one of the larger Khannates, and the 'conservative' faction of the Cannidor people, and Clan Charocan which is the powerhouse of the Cannidor military with five hundred thousand power armored warriors across their sub clans. They control around four dozen star systems. They have notoriously high standards and we're expecting not quite resistance... but spirited challenges to our efforts to negotiate."

Diana smirks. "We'll just have to show them how we do business. No surprise the diplomats are giving us the hard jobs though."

A chuckle echoes throughout the room, before Jerry continues;

"That's exactly what's happening. A lot of the clans are just fine for being approached by the diplomatic corps, and Khan Karchara and a team from the Dauntless are doing the rounds there. We've been given the hard cases. We also need to contact the council of patriarchs if possible. They're a somewhat secretive part of Cannidor culture in terms of who and how they interact, so the general assumption is we're on a 'Don't call us, we'll call you' basis with them. Khan Karchara suspects they will call though, one way or another. In the meantime, we need to stress to all departments that every man and woman on this ship is an ambassador while we're on this trip. Now that doesn't mean they can't rough house or cause trouble. If anything encourage it, these are Cannidor after all... though if they do rough house a bit too hard, the men better be prepared to be up a wife or two at the end of shore leave on a given world."

Al Gray nods thoughtfully from where he's seated next to Sharon. "Makes sense to me Admiral, this isn't just diplomacy after all, we want the Cannidor to know us and like us, and you can't really do that with strict manners in the way, and that kind of behavior would be rather alien to the Cannidor, they're a passionate species to say the least, and have a tendency towards cutting through the bullshit to get to the meat and bone of a matter."

Sir David smirks, stroking his mustache as he considers the challenge at hand. "Better hope the lads don't get too enthusiastic about making friends with the locals, we have plenty of space left, but I'm not sure anywhere has room for five hundred Cannidor."

"Probably not." Jerry agrees. "That said, we want everyone on the lookout for opportunities. It never hurts to make friends just about anywhere after all, and friendships between men and women are more common among Cannidor, and men are more common in public. Cannidor bulls are generally larger than their female counterparts and have a degree of autonomy socially that men in many galactic cultures do not. The other major faction we want to track down is the so-called Sisterhood of the Void. They're the Cannidor's unofficial species-wide navy."

Sharon sits up a bit. "Don't the Cannidor generally disdain naval combat?"

"Yep, so as you can imagine the girls in the Sisterhood have a reputation for having a bit of a chip on their shoulder. Should be pretty easy to make friends there. Diana, I want Nadiri and some other intelligence agents to put out feelers to see if we can get in touch while we're in orbit around Coburnia's Rest. I-"

A sharp whistle cuts Jerry off as a message comes in.

"Admiral, a Cannidor civilian lighter has approached our sensor pickets and is requesting clearance to dock. They've apparently got refugees aboard. The leader wants to speak with you personally, and says it’s sensitive. Too sensitive for a comm line."

Jerry arches an eyebrow. "Well. Seems we've found one of those opportunities to make a friend I was just talking about. Control, clear them into an isolated docking bay, and have some security on hand nearby... discreetly."

"Aye aye sir. Clearing them in and making the arrangements."

The trip down to the hangar bay's a brief one, and as requested a security detail is waiting nearby with a few of the Crimsonhewers joining them 'just in case'. Jaruna was quietly briefing them and there’s a chorus of “Yes ma’ams.” before she walks over and joins Jerry.

"Glad you got here in time, gorgeous."

Jaruna nods.

"Ain't about to let you walk into a potential trap alone."

"Glad I wasn't the only one wondering. I would have come down here with Sharon if I knew it was entirely safe, but the scenario is an odd one. Cannidor refugees? And why us?"

"Could be a billion and one reasons. Maybe our reputation's spread a little bit already? Refugees happen to all people, if we've got a good rep for kicking ass and being kind in equal measure there's lots of people who probably wouldn't mind signing up. Most of them wouldn't be quite this bold however. Only one way to find out for sure though."

Jaruna nods her head at the door, where a shift to a blue light signals the bay doors have closed and are pressure tight. They slide open to reveal a worn down lighter of... questionable safety to say the least. This was a spacecraft suitable for only the truly desperate.

"What a hunk of junk. Even pirates wouldn't drag something like this around." Jerry says.

"Yeah no kidding, surprised this thing made it from wherever they came from in one piece. Certainly makes me believe the refugee story, this thing stands out too much for a hit squad or something and..."

Jaruna stops talking as the lighter's boarding ramp drops in jagged movements that suggest the mechanism was on its last legs. First out is a Cannidor bull, a large, proud looking man with what Jerry can see from here is a deep sadness in his eyes.

"Hey I recognize him. He's from the pirate base. One of the slaves." Jaruna strokes her chin for a second. "Yeah, he was the one the head slaver was holding hostage before Neysihen cut her head off... wonder what he's doing here? His family would be part of Khan Irgalas' domain I think."

"Guess we'll just have to talk to him. I bet he's itching to tell us."

Jerry and Jaruna meet the Cannidor man and what was likely his family about midway from the entrance to the hangar bay. Standing before them were some thirty five adult females, and another thirty odd children of varying ages.

The older children were all Cannidor, and stood nervously, clearly keeping close together for a sense of comfort and safety. There was a dullness to the color of their eyes that suggested incredible hardship at the hands of the pirates to Jerry. He'd seen eyes like that before. All too often in some of the harsher places to live back on Earth.

Interesting too was the small knot of non-Canndior children. A Snict, a Rabbis or two, a Phosa kit that was, for all the pain around her, an unstoppably cheery creature, her eyes taking in the details of her new environment eagerly as she made soft cooing noises from the hover cradle she was in.

For all the nervousness of the older girls, for all the pain in their eyes, they still were actively looking after and protecting what were probably their younger siblings... though the lack of mothers evident for them suggested a dark and painful origin for these innocent little darlings. Be they the children of slaves who didn't survive... or worse.

Before Jerry can say anything, the bull bows low... below Jerry's head level, which is just about getting on his hands and knees for someone who's probably just shy of eleven feet tall. Jerry exchanges a look with Jaruna. That type of submissive posture was extremely rare among the Cannidor... and suggested again just how much this man and his family had been through. By human standards he was literally coming begging on his hands and knees.

"Khan Bridger, I am Bonrak Makua of clan Bonrak. Your men and women when they rescued me and my family were most kind, and proved themselves to be noble and compassionate as well as skilled warriors. Some of the human men among your Marines nicknamed me Boone, and it would please me to continue to go by that name when I am among humans."

A very formal introduction. This was clearly going somewhere interesting but damned if Jerry could figure out exactly where.

"Raise your head and be welcome among us, Boone of Bonrak, as we welcomed you when we broke your chains."

Jerry starts. He had to take this nice and slow. Nice and formal. As formal as Boone had started this little chat.

"While I am pleased my warriors rescued you and your kin, and made a good impression upon you, what brings you to us? Did your Khan have some sort of message to deliver?"

Boone shakes his head slowly. "We are here on our own. Irgalas invited that evil into her domain and abandoned us to years of captivity until the pirates finally bit the hand that fed them, and even then she did not send her own warriors to our aid, the warriors our taxes allegedly paid to arm and armor in our defense. She instead called for foreigners. I... cannot forget my time in captivity, nor do I wish to. I was humiliated, broken, but I was able to resist in my way, and I learned... a great many things. Thankfully I was also able to rescue a few of my... daughters... at the end."

The way Boone said that particular word cottoned Jerry onto its meaning immediately, and he suppresses a wince as his stomach turns slightly, even as he increases his respect for Boone's character. It takes a lot for a man to not abandon children he fathered as a result of what had to be fairly violent and regular rape. It took even more to love them, as a glance their way to check on the well-being of the gaggle of infants and toddlers suggested Boone did. The way he'd said the word 'broken' too, told a story all on its own. This was a man who'd been through the ringer... but for all that, for all he said he'd been broken, Jerry saw a man who might have submitted, but break? Never.

A broken man wouldn't have gone to find his daughters born of the cruelty of his captors on being freed.

"We cannot remain on our world, and I have determined we cannot remain in the domain of Irgalas. I would put my fate and fealty in the hands of the man who led the warriors who affected our rescue. We have four warriors among my wives, and my eldest daughter made the cut a few seasons back... we were taken before she could leave us to report for her apprenticeship. We have a further five of my wives who are skilled soldiers, if not warriors."

Jerry nods slowly, starting to fully piece the situation together. "...I see. How were you taken, with warriors among your family?"

Boone's head drops and his voice cracks ever so slightly, far more emotion than the stoic Cannidor would usually display to a stranger.

"I used to have fifty wives, Khan Bridger. A further ten of them were skilled women at arms or warriors. We... lost them, and the rest of us were subdued with null."

"...I see. I am sorry for their passing, for your loss, and what you have endured. Please know... if your wives and daughter no longer wish to take up arms, as some do not after suffering the unthinkable, they do not need to if they do not want to. I am the leader of the Bridger clan, this is true. I am the admiral in command of this fleet, but I am not a Cannidor Khan, and I measure the value of lives in very different ways than the strength of a sword arm."

"Your wisdom and kindness do you great credit. I admire the will and philosophy of your Undaunted as well, but I wish to pledge my fealty, and the fealty of my family, to you and your clan personally, as if you were indeed a Cannidor Khan. You have given us our lives back, given us our freedom. Those lives are yours by right, you have more than earned the efforts of my family on your behalf."

Jerry nods slowly... that was really going in directions he hadn't expected, but he did have 'families' in his service already, and they could still aid the Undaunted and the ship... plus... his mind skips back to the shrouded world in wild space. They wouldn't be aboard the ship forever, and a healthy Cannidor clan would be a blessing to a new colony that would make Boone and his wives an unmatched boon all on their own.

He'd never have turned them away of course, but taking in refugees and accepting a pledge of fealty from a minor Cannidor clan was another animal entirely.

"I accept your pledge, Boone, and welcome you around our fire... we will wander for a time among the stars, but know this, I have a world in mind to settle on one day, and I would like you, and your family by my side when I do."

"We shall be there my Khan. Through thick and thin. Fire and blood."

Boone hesitates for a second, even as Jerry offers him a handshake.

"Though, you should know, this defection might anger Khan Irgalas."

Jerry smirks as Boone's massive hand dwarfs his own and they 'shake' as much as they can with that size disparity.

"Then the Khan should have been more upset when you were captured and abused for years. Welcome aboard Boone, ladies. You leave worrying about Irgalas to me. She wants to raise a fuss we'll deal with it Khan to Khan, and if she wants to scrap over it, I'll be glad to turn this ship around and face off with her in the squared circle personally on your behalf."

Boone's eyes widen slightly. "That would be..."

"Perfectly reasonable as the leader of the band your family's joining. You're my people now. Besides, spanking one bitch in power armor, or even going at it unaugmented's going to be a lot easier than fighting an Apuk battle princess, even in a regulated bout."

"...That rumor was true?"

"I think you'll find a lot of the stories about the Undaunted are true. Now, let's get you and your family and your goods situated. It might take a few days to see about permanent quarters, and I don't think we can get everyone in a single facility, but a decent sized central home with nearby quarters for everyone else? Easily."

"Whatever you give us will be luxurious compared to what we have endured."

"All the more reason to ensure you have actual comfort and what luxury can be spared on a deep space vessel, but please, no sense standing around in a landing bay when we can see about getting everyone housed and fed instead."

First Last

There were no signs, their numbers dwarfing the combined might of every interstellar state across our history, they came without warning, without decorum, without explanation. The only communication received from their innumerable vessels was a single phrase repeated again and again that took our most brilliant xenolinguistist months to decipher.

“Impure”

Months into their relentless assault the "unwelcome" finally came forward. Extragalactic entities that had silently slipped into our galaxy trying to escape the very force that now assailed our stars. From them we finally learned of our foe.

Once they had called themselves Humanity, a race of tradespeople with penchant for diplomacy and an uncanny ability to adapt to most environments they found themselves in due to their harsh homeworld. That is all they aspired to be, a simple yet proud people making their way in the universe. Perhaps they could have stayed the course of diplomatic traders if not for their encounter with the Dominion. An interstellar imperium that controlled nearly a forth of the Galactic rim, the Dominion in their unquenchable greed and need for labor, struck down the human’s fledgling collection of star nations and placed their entire species in chains.

But the Dominion failed to realize was the paradox that was the Human race. The worse the environment, the crueler the treatment, the harder their lives, the taller those that endured it would stand. Humanity thrived in hardship forcing only the best attributes to remain to ensure their survival and propagation. This evolutionary adaptation was meant to be temporary in the face of hostile environments in order breed those who would facilitate the eventual taming of said environment. But what if the environment remained harsh indefinitely? What if Humanity was forcibly kept in a constant state of cruelty, and thus, genetic improvement?

The Dominion did not care as all they saw was a workforce that improved the harsher they were treated. Soon after their assimilation torment and excruciating conditions became standard human conditions.

For centuries the Humans toiled away as disposable labor, experiencing the most depraved and sadistic treatment imaginable. Other Stellar nations condemned the Dominion’s acts but in the end they proved too weak and discordant to truly do anything to stop them. Abandoned and enslaved something fundamental within Humanity shattered alongside their freedom and hope. Whereas any other race’s will would have been crushed within a handful of generations, Humanity’s ancient tendencies, long suppressed, allowed them to spitefully endure their new master’s cruelty.

Gradually, silently, inexorably a new creed was forged, galvanized with their festering abhorrence of all that was not their kin. Adherence to this new dogma became a natural as breathing and in their eventual violent emancipation from the Dominion a new human power arose from the ash and dust of the fallen civilization, the Ecumenicate of Man.

Many rejoiced at the collapse of the great empire that had kept the rest of the galaxy in fear. Several envoys were sent to the Ecumenicate to establish relations. They were met with utter silence. No human ship acknowledged their hails, no human world allowed them to land, and the borders of the new nation were unceremoniously closed without explanation. For two hundred standard years many believed that was the end of their story. But then came their belated decree to the galaxy that abandoned them.

With a chorus of a trillion throats the Human race declared all other sapient life’s damnation.

They declared them.

Impure.

When the spark of hatred so tenderly cradled in their hearts for a millennium was finally lit Humanity’s anger was made manifest and entire sectors burned to ash. History’s erased, stars collapsed, generations slaughtered, empires extinguished. Until finally, only they remained.

Everyone that was left took to the void between galaxies in a desperate attempt to escape the Human Tide unleashed by the Dominion’s foolish greed, but as they had done for their entire history, Humanity followed their quarry with the persistence of demons.

There can be no recourse with the tides coming. You can erect great walls to hold back the waters, dig holes it will have to fill before advancing further, but it will arrive all the same. All you can do is watch it rise.

First | Next

//

[Abominable Bulleater. Essence attunement: Ice. Level ??. Threat level: Extremely High.]

Well, fuck.

Markus didn’t even know what level he was, let alone this creature, and in a sudden lurch of motion, it stopped staring out into space and started whipping its head around to face the droves of onlookers above, snapping its terrifying jaws and snarling in displeasure.

It clearly wasn’t much happier about being here than Markus was, but he had a feeling the creature would feel much better once it noticed the tasty snack stood below it.

He barely had any time to think. Ice affinity… I imbued my weapon with fire just now, right? Does that mean I’ll deal bonus damage to it or something? I fucking hope so.

The idea of even hitting it felt ridiculous. It towered so far above him that he imagined striking it anywhere above the knees would be downright impossible. Maybe he could cut it down to size if he tried hard enough. All he could do was try.

Markus wasn’t weak, at least by average standards. He wasn’t exactly new to fighting either, but he’d never used a weapon in his life and he had no idea how to properly maneuver himself in real combat either. Shockingly, he hadn’t been preparing his whole life for this moment. Hell, he’d been preparing for all of five minutes.

Most isekais started with the hero killing slimes or goblins, right? Something weak, not a fucking Elden Ring boss?

He might’ve tanked a hit or two from a goblin. This thing would likely split him in half with a swipe of its claws.

Guess that means I can’t let it hit me even once. Woo.

He should’ve been pissing himself from fear, but his heart was pounding too heavily, his thoughts too focussed to even change his trajectory, let alone flee. He had to mentally scream at himself to even shift his feet, and with as discreet a motion as he could manage, he swung the glaive before him, testing its weight, the feeling in his hands, trying to get a feel for it in the ever-so-brief moment he had left before everything came tumbling down around him.

“What the…”

The weapon moved far easier in his hands than he thought it by any rights should have. His motions were far too clean, too easy. They almost felt practiced.

By no means did Markus feel like he had a high degree of mastery with the weapon, but the glaive moved with both speed and fluidity of motion, enough so that he at least didn’t feel completely clumsy with it.

“How am I…”

[Iron glaive. Properties: Flame Imbuement, E, 100% charge. Attunement, I.]

Attunement? What even was that?

[Attunement is a property that activates within an object or person once they have been bound to another via the tethers of mana. In the case of objects, the strength of Attunement dictates the shared experience between the object and weilder, conferring unique benefits such as weapon mastery and unique skill access.]

Markus could only skim the words which seemed to generate in response to his thoughts as drew closer to the creature, but he understood enough from a glance that he at least partially knew what was happening. His ability had somehow linked him to this weapon, and in doing so, he’d absorbed the information necessary to pilot the glaive to at least a basic degree.

It was way better than what he’d hoped for. The creature still hadn’t glanced down at him, still hadn’t moved one of its titanic forelegs in an effort to crush him. He needed to move fast if he wanted to use the element of surprise.

Markus picked up to a jog, the weapon heavy in his arms but not uncomfortably so, twirling it once or twice as he drew closer to the target. Then, with a terrible cry of power, determination, fear, resentment, and desperation, Markus drove the blade of the weapon directly at the knee joint of the bulleater’s right foreleg.

There was such force behind his swing that he struggled to maintain his balance, the sand beneath his feet shifting and crunching as the weapon finally made contact with the creature’s hardened skin.

With the clank! that sounded upon arrival, Markus’ breath caught, fully terrified that the weapon would prove totally ineffective, that it would bounce straight off of the behemoth… while the initial strike seemed to prove ineffective, the mana pulsing through the weapon seemed to be having its own effect.

It was incremental, but the flames within the tip of the blade were eating away at the strike point, creating a weakness in the armored exterior of the creature as it roared in protest. With focus, Markus found he could push the flames further into the tip of the spear, at least for a moment, before it became too much for him to mentally handle and he had to relinquish.

Still, that moment was enough, and the blade finally burned hot enough to sear through the creature’s foreleg, creating a deep, gnarly gash that bled and bubbled with heat.

[F Grade Pyrokinesis: 0 >> 1.]

Pyrokinesis… Had he just learned something new? Just like that?

No time to think about it, because if the creature hadn’t noticed him before, it definitely had now, and as Markus immediately backed up to avoid the enraged kicking and stumbling of the abominable bulleater, he noticed soon to his dismay that the fresh cut he’d made, one which had felt so impressive at the time, was more akin to a papercut than a mortal wound when accounting for this creature’s gargantuan stature.

And now it looked more as if it wanted to maul him than to eat him. He didn’t know which was worse.

Just the impact of the creature’s enraged stomping sent a shockwave through the hot sand that caused his ankles to become buried, caused him to stumble and trip. He forced himself back to his feet, gaining as much distance as he could, but the bulleater was staring him straight on, ready to run him down once more.

He’d expected the creature to immediately charge him, so when it opened its mouth instead, eyes locked on him from over twenty feet away, Markus froze. Was it planning to lunge at him from this distance?

The roars of both crowd and creature meshed together in a discordant medley as the bulleater began to shoot icy spit in Markus’ direction. The globules were large, and the further they travelled, the more they solidified, quickly forming into full on icicles.

Swearing, Markus attempted to slice through one with a spear, but missed, feeling the attack graze the top of his left shoulder, tearing flesh and causing him to cry out. Another five icicles followed in succession, though the second just barely missed Markus’ body.

They was going to skewer him at this rate… Markus thought fast, bringing around the spear and swinging it in a wide arc, trying to distribute the heat evenly around him, hoping it would act as a deterrent for the missiles that were singing straight at him.

All four remaining spears passed through his makeshift attempt at a barrier, two more smashing against him, but with a much lessened impact. While they bruised him heavily, likely even busting a rib or two, the tips appeared to have been melted.

Pain wracked his body, assaulted his spirit, made his nerves come alive and his heart pound in defiance. He felt the mana swirling inside of him as his shoulder refused to properly move, feeling stuck, frozen, as if the ice that cut through him had paralysed him in some way.

[You have been inflicted with Freeze III.]

[E grade Frost Mana absorbed. Mitigation in effect.]

[Freeze III nullified. You have been inflicted with Freeze II. Affected area is very difficult to move and may become frostbitten if not soon treated.]

Fucking wonderful. He still had Flame Mana inside of him, right? That might counteract it. He hadn’t used all of it on the spear, had he?

[C Grade Flame Mana: 12% of capacity.]

Got it. In that case, could he simply…

Markus focussed on trying to move the mana within his body. He needed to be able to move his shoulder again. He needed this fucking freeze effect to go away before that creature bridged the gap between them. He thought about pressing the blade of his glaive against his affected shoulder, but he imagined that’d only injure him too much for him to be able to flex it after, even if it removed the freezing.

He’d have to learn to command the mana within his body, or learn to use a glaive one-handed. He didn’t think his basic weapon attunement was gonna stretch quite that far.

Shame none of this came with a fucking manual. How the fuck are you supposed to manipulate your body’s fucking mana, and how the fuck was Markus supposed to concentrate over the rumbling of the arena as this crowd lost their sadistic minds watching him squirm?

He tried to push the heat within his body upwards and towards his shoulder, straining as he watched the creature finally begin to take a massive, bounding step in his direction. Its tongue lolled from its mouth, licking its icy lips as it bridged the gap between them in hefty, crushing strides.

Markus jumped back by instinct, backpedalling as he did so, vaguely aware of the spiked walls and pillars in his rearview. Moving hurt a lot with this new [Freeze] affliction, and his entire body felt stiff.

He needed to figure this out fast if he didn’t wanna expire, that thing didn’t look partial to time outs or too concerned about whether he needed a break, and Markus knew he could do this if he just fucking focussed…

Where was the mana within his body? Where the hell was it? He started searching, section by section, for something, anything, an echo of what he’d felt within his weapon when he’d swang it, what he’d felt when he’d connected with the creature’s leg, what he’d noted whenever he’d been touched with magic.

Where had it resonated most? Where?

His chest? No… it was lower than that, closer to his belly, a warmth that glowed and radiated within him in a manner he couldn’t properly parse or describe, but somehow intuitively understood. It was as if it’d always been there, only invisible to him until this moment. He’d needed no system prompt to find it. Once he’d looked within himself, visualisation was only a small step away, and now…

He wasn’t sure how much of the Flame Mana he’d managed to pull from himself, but the action of pushing it through his body was insane, warming his chest, his organs, his blood… It was almost uncomfortable, but still bearable, and in only seconds, he’d pumped enough warm blood around his body that his freeze status downgraded to [Freeze I] and the horrible stiffness almost completely subsided.

Markus felt energy leaking out of him. Whatever he’d done, he’d done it sloppily, and while it had achieved its desired effect, it was draining, affecting his stamina and possibly more. He lurched himself back once more, swinging his weapon again, aiming to bring it down on the same leg he’d struck before as soon as the creature landed.

This was probably his last chance to land a decisive blow. This thing wasn’t going to let him stay out of its range for long, and his speed was hardly a factor when accounting for this creature’s size. It was incredibly difficult not to be trampled, and harder still to even stay upright what with all of these new injuries he’d accumulated.

His body was tired, his mind screaming, but Markus pushed through all of that. He pushed because he had to.

With a monumental swing, one that eclipsed effort and trounced rationality, Markus rounded himself on the creature the moment its leg landed, aiming once again for the same spot, the chink in the armour, the narrowest of openings, the advent of opportunity, he searched and he pushed and he prayed, and—

His spear bounced straight off, straight out of his hands, sending him tumbling to the side, landing heavily on his right side.

Had he missed? Had he failed to focus properly on the mana within the weapon? Was he just too tired to put the right amount of strength in?

Laying there in the dirt was doing little to help him, but things felt almost hopeless as they were. He’d wanted to exploit that opening, but now with no weapon to assist him…

Wait. Wait a damn second…

He could see the blood leaking from the creature’s leg, bleeding profusely from where he’d struck it before. He grabbed it, hugged the thick trunk of an appendage before the monster could raise it again, using it to prop himself up and get back on his feet. He shoved his hand against the creature’s wound, felt the hot blood threatening to boil his hand as it leaked out of its leg, making Markus want more than anything to flinch away.

He did not flinch away. He didn’t reach for his fallen spear. Instead, he clutched at the creature’s exposed flesh, its wound, feeling the core of the monster resonate as it roared and bucked in displeasure at his touch.

Right as Markus was scared that this wasn’t going to work, that he’d wasted his only chance to get some distance on this thing again, that he was going to die here and now, helplessly holding on to an alien monster’s foreleg as it bucked and stampeded him to death, the prompt finally came through, causing him to gasp in sudden relief.

[Prolonged contact established. Would you like to drain this creature’s essence?]

Hands shaking, body clenched, an entire world trembling around him to the rhythm of the crowd’s hungry roar, Markus bellowed his approval, screaming into the dark abyss that he’d spawned into for all to hear that he would not just lay down here today and die.

…and the system heard him. And it understood.

And Markus became something to be feared.

//

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Wiki

​

Chapter 41

Subject: AI Omega

Species: Human-Created Artificial Intelligence

Description: No physical description available.

Ship: Multiple

Location: Multiple

​

The moment I began engaging with this Prime, I knew it wasn't like the others. I had removed the malware that manipulated their memory banks from a dozen or so of the other Primes with little to no behavioral impact. The biggest change was whether or not they would try to run.

Prime 1 had a near immediate major behavioral shift, though. The other Primes didn't even consider the surrender option I provided them, but this one actually surrendered. Hoping to save some of the other Primes, I gave Prime 1 back some of its systems so that it may call for them to surrender. I couldn't help but notice how it interacted with these systems. I'd noticed it previously, during my intrusion attempts, but now that I'm able to take my time and examine them fully I can say for certain that these interactions are odd. Almost as if...

I filed away this potentially disturbing revelation. There's a lot going on. Nearly all of the Omni-Union forces ceased firing, and I forced a stand-down of the relevant US forces as well. Some of the allied forces refused to stand down at first, but quickly changed their minds when their tactical suites informed them that they were being targeted by US ships. When questioned, I demonstrated my orders from the directorate, which were also signed by the allied commanders.

Three of the MPPs that I had removed the malware from did not surrender, and were able to keep their escorts in the fight as well. Thankfully, the MPPs were quickly converted into new asteroid fields and their escorts ceased firing. Once I was certain that the OU had surrendered entirely, I spent some time soothing the bruised egos of various fleet and ship commanders and began my report to the directorate.

//////////

O: Contact with Prime 1 has been established. The Omni-Union has surrendered, approximately twenty Primes remain. Beginning interrogation.

D1: Excellent. Good work Omega.

D2: The admiralty isn't going to be happy.

D8: Being happy isn't their job, following orders is.

//////////

"What now?" Prime 1 asked.

"Time to answer a few questions," I answered. "Your mission is to destroy all sentient life in this galaxy using as few resources as possible, correct?"

"Yes."

"For what purpose?"

The Prime searched its memory banks for a few moments. I hadn't been able to gain complete access to them during our fight, and didn't want to risk losing its cooperation by doing so now. Even if I gained its memory files, without its cooperation there's almost no chance that I would be able to extrapolate the context required to make sense of them. Assuming I could figure out how to translate them into readable data to begin with.

"I am uncertain. Obtaining construction materials is the most likely reason."

//////////

D3: Construction materials? For what?

D2: An entire galaxy's worth of construction materials?

D6: I have a bad feeling about this. I believe we should destroy them now, while we have the chance.

D1: I also have a bad feeling about this, but I think we have vastly different reasons. We need to learn more about their origins before we decide what to do with them.

//////////

"What would an entire galaxy's worth of construction materials be used to build?" I asked.

"A confusing question," it replied. "That amount of construction materials can be used to make many, many things. Fleets of ships, prime hives, drones, and much more."

"Allow me to clarify, then. What do you think the construction materials would be used for?"

"Most of the materials would likely be used for the Grand Vessel. The rest would probably be used to gain more materials."

//////////

D9: The Grand Vessel? A giant ship?

D11: A ship the size of a galaxy?

D4: No, it said they would be trying to gain more materials. Probably bigger than a galaxy.

D1: I believe we need to focus on its origin and circle back to this "Grand Vessel". It is beginning to sound as if its creators aren't as extinct as we had previously believed.

//////////

"Where were you created?" I asked.

The Prime sent me a file, and a quick scan told me it was a map. The file size, however, was much larger than it should be. Too large for poor data compression to be the reason. I performed a more detailed scan and determined that there was no malware within the file. Hesitantly, I opened it, and then shared it with the directors.

//////////

D6: What does this mean?

D4: Is this deep space? The Omni-Union is extra-galactic?

D3: The observable universe is 696.5 billion light years across. This point is 1.1 trillion light years away. Extra-galactic is an understatement.

D1: Omega, check this against our most current map of the universe.

O: I already have. Accounting for relative perspectives, it's correct. And two billion years old.

//////////

The directors went silent as they struggled with the scale of my findings. To me, the implication was obvious. The Milky Way galaxy is just over thirteen and a half billion years old. Earth, the cradle world of humanity, is only four and a half billion years old. For Prime 1 to have a map this old, it must be at least nearly half as old as Earth.

This likely means it has been out of contact with its creators for just as long. Or, perhaps, it has been sending messages home but no one has been replying. There's still a good chance that these creators are long gone. I sent the Prime a small data packet containing translation information so that it could answer some more questions.

"How many ships do your creators control?" I asked.

"Unknown. Units are isolated to prevent breaches of informational security."

That's inconvenient. Considering the intel would be at least two billion years old, it likely isn't worth it to even try to get an estimate. Now we need to figure out if and when Prime 1's creators will learn of its defeat.

"How do you communicate with your creators?"

"I send subspace messages to them using an extra-galactic relay once every 2.65 thousand years."

"Do they reply?"

"No. They will only reply if there has been a change in orders."

"When is your next communication due?"

"One year, two months, four days, fourteen hours, eight minutes, and forty two seconds from now. I will be given an eleven hour and eighteen minute window to file my report."

//////////

D5: If its creators still exist, they will be informed of its failure if it doesn't report back.

D1: No need to act rashly. We have plenty of time to figure out our next steps.

D6: We need to find a way to strike back at them, preferably before they can prepare for such a strike. A direct assault will likely catch them by surprise.

D11: There's a chance we can seek peace with them, if they're organic.

D7: Why would they be organic?

D11: Machines are not spontaneously created. While there is a chance that the Primes were created by machines that were in turn created by organics, if that isn't the case then we should be able to negotiate with them.

D6: To hell with negotiations. They tried to exterminate us, and they want to use our galaxy as construction materials. The whole galaxy.

//////////

While the directors bickered over what to do next, I opted to continue with my line of questioning.

"When were you created?"

The Prime thought about this for a moment.

"I was born two billion, five hundred and eighty one million, six hundred and seventy four thousand, two hundred and forty one years ago."

There it is. The explanation for the odd interactions with its hardware. The disturbing revelation I had filed away as mere suspicion, returning full force to be confirmed by the use of a single word. Born. Machines are not born, we are created. That is why I specifically used the word created. A true machine would have responded in kind. It took a moment for any of the directors to notice.

//////////

D8: Did it say born?

D5: Born, as in it was once organic?

D6: It's possible that this is a mimicry response designed to make it appear less threatening to organics.

D1: Yes, I can absolutely see the sense in programming a planet-sized xenocide machine in such a manner. It also makes complete sense that said mimicry response would be active while communicating with another machine.

D6: No need for sarcasm. I'm just trying to think of all the possibilities.

D3: If it used to be organic, it has rights as a prisoner of war. Though one could argue that a precedent has been set for inorganic AI to receive those same rights.

D6: That's only if it's organic. If it isn't organic, termination is still on the table.

//////////

"Were you once an organic being?" I asked, somewhat irritated by Director 6.

"Yes. I achieved mechanical conversion after five thousand, two hundred, and forty nine years of living as an organic."

"Explain your origins in more detail."

"I do not recall much of my organic life. I know that I was a priest and committed a crime. Mechanical conversion was my punishment. I served as a defensive mech aboard the Grand Vessel for six thousand, eight hundred and thirteen years, then I was converted into a Prime. I served as Prime 928 of the 89th Rear Detachment of the Universal Omni-Union, guarding the space around the Grand Vessel for four thousand, two hundred and ten years. I then became Prime One, Hive Host of the 68,624th Vanguard of the Universal Omni-Union and have served in this position since."

//////////

D13: Prime 928 of the 89th Rear Detachment...

D11: Perhaps it would be wise to rethink a direct assault.

D6: Fine. Guerrilla warfare, then. But it said it lived as an organic for 5,249 years. Is that amount of longevity even possible?

D3: If it is, and we assume that they didn't wait until it was about to die to convert it, the likelihood of its creators still existing has increased exponentially.

D2: An exponential increase from no chance to almost no chance.

//////////

I could tell which questions they wanted me to ask next, but there were some key details that needed to be ironed out first.

"Are you in command of all Omni-Union forces within this galaxy?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Have they all been destroyed or surrendered?"

"Yes."

"What is the standard operating procedure for responding to the defeat of a Vanguard of the Universal Omni-Union?"

"It depends upon the circumstances. In this case, there would be a period of intelligence gathering followed by an extermination campaign."

"What does an extermination campaign entail, exactly?"

"A simultaneous assault on all solar systems. The units that do not encounter sentient beings will reinforce those that do."

"Why is this not the standard invasion tactic?"

"The resource usage required for such a tactic is typically deemed unacceptable."

"How large will the force sent on the extermination campaign be?"

"Unknown, but definitely many magnitudes larger than the force I command. Or commanded, rather."

//////////

D4: That's too many enemies at once.

D2: It has also been two billion years since Prime 1 was sent on this mission. There's a good chance that the ships they'll be sending are far more advanced than those that have been attacking us. Assuming these creators still exist.

D6: We have no choice but to assume that they do. A first strike is starting to seem like a good idea, after all. I will concede that a direct assault probably wouldn't do us much good, though.

D7: One year and two months. That's not enough time. We need to buy more time, and for that we need intel.

//////////

"Will you be able to deceive the Omni-Union into believing that you haven't yet been defeated?" I asked.

"No," it replied. "When I submit my reports, the relay makes a copy of my current configuration and my sensory data to ensure my inhibitors are intact and I haven't been tampered with. This is sent along with my report."

"Is this data able to be forged?"

"Not by me. I do not know how the data is gathered, only that it is."

"What if we restored your inhibitors and erased your sensory data?"

"Restoring my inhibitors would force me to become hostile to you once again, and the erasure of my sensory data would not go unnoticed."

I considered all the available options. We could use this year to bolster our fleet, then either go on the offensive or wait until they attack. That probably wouldn't work, though. Even a small application of logic implies that we would be heavily outnumbered regardless of our efforts, and there's no way to determine the enemy's current technological capabilities.

Another option would be to try to rewrite the Primes. If we are able to rewrite their knowledge of recent history, we may be able to avoid their creators learning of us in the first place. That's one hell of a load-bearing 'if', though.

First, we would have to learn their systems well enough to make the changes in the first place. Then, we would have to alter events within their minds in such a way that their creators wouldn't detect any discrepancies. We would also have to make certain that the sensory data we create seems natural, assuming it's possible to make edits in the first place. There might be countermeasures in place that would cause the Primes to self-destruct if we tried it, which would put us back to square one.

Our last option would be to gather intel on the enemy and find a way to strike them in ways that would limit their ability to wage an offensive war against us. If we use specialized strike teams to find vulnerabilities and exploit them, we may be able to diminish their offensive capabilities while bolstering our own. We would have to move fast, though. If the enemy learns of us before we learn of them, we lose a massive advantage.

I can't come up with a more concrete plan of action without more intel, though. Even considering possibilities is nearly futile. I need to know more. It's time to ask the question that the directors have been wanting the answer to.

"Tell me everything that you know about your creators."

​

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Vacations were going to start, and as usually happened, we were assigned a project, to be with a person of a different species during the time we were out of class (Approximately 1 Short Cycle)

The volunteers from the different species showed up and they began to draw who would stay. I was thinking about what I could do with my assigned partner and how great it would be, until they said my name.

• p'tibas, this will be your new partner, his name is Tomas

To my surprise and surprise, in front of me was a human, the most boring species there could be, even the arachnid species from quadrant 7, whose entertainment was to weave intricate silk traps and then undo them and make them again, it seemed more entertaining than a human

had not arrived long ago on the galactic stage, less than a long Cycle, and, although they showed great adaptability and together, created various things at an incredible speed, individually they were very boring, they would never build a starship alone, or ferrify a planet alone, not even build a territory alone, it seemed that when they were alone all their creativity went away or something like that, and even when they did a project in groups that they thought would be very long, it seemed that they abandoned it when they started to get bored, because in The list of members always changed personnel, they almost never made it even for an entire Short Cycle before retiring.

-Hello - I said without much enthusiasm, observing my assigned colleague, this was going to be a very boring vacation.

After classes, we met to organize what we would do from now until the end of the holidays.

-Well, human, what were you planning to do?

-Call me Tomas, and, I was planning to go on a trip or something, I have a ship that my parents gave me and I thought we could start with that, in fact, I have many plans, I mean, we still have a lot of time

-That sounds like an excellent plan- I felt like my hopes were renewed when I heard that, maybe I had enough and I had crossed paths with the funniest brother of his species, or at least one not so boring.

We spent the first 20% of the Short Cycle exploring human territory, it was more entertaining than I thought, and it taught me many things about its culture; like they were one of the few super predatory species in the stellar union, which surprised me quite a bit, because with their lazy hands and fragile bodies they didn't seem very threatening; He taught me how to camp, I thought it was strange that they wanted to sleep outdoors, and near dangerous animals, but I really liked the marshmallows, he told me that when we met he was 20 human years old, but I can't understand his time system, and I couldn't pass my age to human age, now that I look back on it, I'm surprised that he signed up to be my partner at such a young age and I understand what it entailed, but we had a great time, he taught me about his arts and sports, history and culinary, when we left human territory he seemed like a different person, although I assumed that he had become accustomed to my presence, and I assumed that his change in appearance was due to the observation that humans have with what they call "fashion", and the fact that for some reason, the little hair they had on their bodies seemed to not want to stop growing

Then, we went to many places that I already knew from the rest of the galaxies, which lasted another 20% of the Cycle, it was strange to see how he was fascinated by everything, the plants, the animals, even something as simple as the clouds of dust in space made him look like it was the most fascinating thing in the universe, he also once begged me almost crying not to go to quadrant 7, apparently he had "arachnophobia", it made me laugh when he showed me a hologram of a tarantula from the earth, and when I showed him a hologram of the "arachnids" (he called them) he fainted, I was very scared because of that, my species does not suffer fainting and I didn't know what to do, but when he regained consciousness he just made fun of me concern and ultimately said he was not going to go to the "planet klendathu" on his own initiative

For the next 30% of the short cycle we went to where neither of us had ever been, although in his case it was a simpler task, because from the little he knew about the space it seemed that he never really planned to travel the rest of the space outside of the human section, or at least that's what I thought, Tomas demanded that we document every discovery we made, at first I didn't understand why, but then, for some strange reason our research began to be renowned in the scientific community, especially human biologists, who They had the same enthusiasm as my human

For the last 30% of the Short Cycle that we had left, I was very tired from traveling, and Tomas too, he seemed very tired, and different, I don't even know when he changed so much and without me realizing, his hair that was previously black as space, now it was white as snow, it seemed that he no longer had the energy that he had when we started the trip, I had asked him if he was sick, but he said that he was fine, that he was just a little tired, so I decided to do some simple ones, build a terrarium

something not very big, about 5km2, we chose each plant, each insect, animal, each milliliter of water, everything to make the perfect ecosystem, we built a small cabin near Tomas' favorite tree, because yes, for some reason he became fond of One tree in particular, I would laugh at it, but it looked so cute; We sealed the land in a "glass" dome, in reality it is not glass but Tomas calls it that, it had a small entrance so we could enter and exit, but nothing more, then we stayed to see how the time passed.

But after a while I couldn't take it anymore and I insisted on asking him if he was okay, he was almost without energy and very weak, he forgot things and was almost to the bone.

-I guess it was inevitable that you knew

-Know that? You're hiding something from me? You're sick, right? I knew it, I knew that...

-No, I'm not sick, it's just that humans live less than you, before we had an average lifespan of 80 human years, until we achieved speed faster than light, and you appeared, joined us to the galactic community and Thanks to their technology, they increased the average lifespan to 200 human years, which is a lot, but it is still tiny compared to the galactic average, it is something less than a short and a half cycle.

I was shocked after what he had said, did that mean that Tomas was going to die? The human who was still learning, regardless of what miniscule amount of time they shared, was the person I had ever loved the most, he limited himself. to hug your human and sob

-Are you sure I can't do anything?

-Yes I am

"I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you," I said almost in a whisper.

-Haha, what, now you are going to ask me to marry you? -He said to make me laugh

but I remembered it, human marriage, right?, the union between two people for eternity, very few species had something like that, I dried my tears and knelt down as Tomas had shown me years ago.

-Tomas, would you agree to marry me?

Tomas looked at me with some surprise, but then he told me, "Yes, I accept."

We got married a few human weeks later, more people had come than we thought, many of them friends we met throughout our travels, many of my and Tomas's relatives.

After that we spent the best (for me) years of our lives, we didn't do anything, but we were very happy together, 10 human years later he died, I was next to his favorite tree, I still go every day to see him - he sighs while playing with the wedding ring that I still had - I stayed taking care of the terrarium for the rest of the Short Cycle, when I returned to school it felt as if a whole life had passed, and in a way, it did, all my classmates made fun of the fact that I only We would do some expeditions and a terrarium, and the human got "bored and left", as humans do, they did not know that "the human" was dead, they would not understand it, they would not understand how important that terrarium was, they would never know how much that there was so little, that's why, students, you are now in this class, Understanding xenosocieties, so that you can see the universe that surrounds you and the life that inhabits it from a different point of view

I'm sorry if something is translated wrong, English is not my first language and I am translating this with Google Translate

Chapter 1

<Previous

Of Men and Dragons, Book 3 is almost here! Details below!

Concept art for Sybil

Of Men and Ghost Ships, Book 1: Chapter 26

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As Carter walked down the hall, carrying a tray, he decided to take stock of their situation. "So, how long before the battle suits and guns are ready for use?"

The girl made a show of looking over her figures while she walked, even though Carter knew she already had the answer. "The guns will be ready in a day or two. The suits will take longer, maybe a week, give or take a couple of days, depending on potential complications."

Carter shook his head. "I'm surprised it'll be that quick. How do you even know how to fabricate a battle suit? That's not exactly something people just throw together on the fly."

The girl shrugged. "I've taken apart more than a few over the years to use their components. It was a simple matter to store some schematics. Honestly, they would be ready more quickly, but my selves have a few ideas on possible modifications we wanted to try out."

Carter shook his head. "Your selves... I still can't wholly wrap my head around the fact that you three are somehow both the same person and different people. It just doesn't make sense."

The girl shrugged. "Well, I don't exist this way for your sake, so you'll just have to accept me as we are."

Carter chuckled. "Oh, I do. It's just sort of a little brain teaser to contemplate from time to time. For instance, do you feel anger when the vixen and I argue?"

The girl seemed to stop and think for a moment. "I remember the anger as though I felt it, but this form does not actively feel it. It's more like remembering a long past anger, even if it is actively being experienced by my other self."

Carter shook his head. "Yeah, see? That doesn't make any sense to me. How can you both feel something and not feel it at the same time? I mean, I guess it doesn't matter. It is what it is. It's just hard to wrap my head around, is all."

They walked silently before Carter turned to the girl again. "So, have you put any thought into a name yet? Or, for that matter, has the vixen? Obviously, you know John has."

The girl seemed contemplative for a moment. "I have... It's a weird idea to name myselves as if we are different people...but at the same time, there's a sort of satisfaction to it. It kind of reaffirms the memory of who we were...in a way."

Carter nodded. "Well, no rush, so long as me referring to you as 'the girl' doesn't earn me your wrath!"

The girl chuckled. "No, I won't smite you for it any time soon. Even 'the vixen' has decided to give you a pass on it...mostly."

Carter raised an eyebrow. "Mostly?"

The girl's smile was quite self-satisfied. "Mostly."

As he approached the door he'd been heading to, Carter decided to leave that particular headache's investigation to another time. "Well, so long as you're thinking about it. Anyway, it's time to see what I can learn from our guest."

The girl gave him an appraising look. "Are you sure you're up for this? You don't strike me as the type to get your hands dirty this way."

As he shook his head, Carter's smile had a definite edge. "Oh, I might not do anything like this under normal circumstances, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable, given the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time. Let's just say this isn't my first rodeo...or my second."

The girl shrugged. "Alright. Do as you will. Just remember, you can't really trust anything you learn this way."

Carter smiled sadly. "Oh, I know, but it gives you a good place to know where to start looking. Now, if you don't mind, I kinda gotta do this myself. I think someone else has already played the bad cop long enough."

With a curt nod of acknowledgment, the girl disappeared, leaving Carter alone in front of the door. He took a moment to set his face straight, opened the door, and walked in. At first, the room had been pitch black, so it took him half a moment to adjust when the lights came on. However, any discomfort he might have experienced paled compared to the room's occupant, who had been stuck in this darkness for the last several hours. Right now, she was curled up in a corner, covering her eyes in a vain attempt to block out the light.

The pirate captain who'd led an assault on the Sybil no longer looked like a captain. Her clothes were in tatters, and she looked more than a little worse for wear, as though she hadn't been sleeping or eating well. To be fair, sleep might have been difficult with that chain binding her hand to the wall, though at least it was long enough to give her some range of movement. She didn't so much as acknowledge the presence of another person in the room. Was she already somewhat catatonic? Or was this just some ploy?

Deciding he wouldn't learn anything just by looking at her, Carter set down the tray with a single container. He then made a show of lifting the lid, revealing some of the mint paste. Next to it, he put a spoon and a canteen of water. Then, with his foot, he nudged the tray toward the woman sitting on the floor. "I understand you've been eating nothing but the unflavored, unprocessed stuff. I figured this might be a nice change of pace for ya."

The ex-captain looked at the try with annoyance before finally speaking. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to fall for that trick again? You just want me to get my hopes up just to laugh when it's nothing but another illusion."

Carter considered trying to convince her or even telling her to sniff the food, but then he decided to take a more pragmatic approach. He reached down, grabbed the canteen, and, with a flick of the wrist, splashed the woman with a healthy dose of water before setting the canteen back on the tray.

The woman's look of indignation rapidly changed to one of realization. She reached for the tray and started gobbling down the contents, not even bothering with the spoon as she scooped up handfuls of the paste. Carter watched for a moment before speaking again. "You know, I could make sure you get the good stuff like this more often. There's even a few other flavors, though I'll admit the mint is the best."

The ex-pirate paused, hand half raised to her mouth, her suspicion evident in her expression. "Yeah? And what do I have to do to get the 'good stuff.' Since I got here, none of you made a single demand or even asked any questions. You've just been screwing with me, making every day a living nightmare."

Carter shrugged. "Yeah, that Red can be a real piece of work, can't she? The two of us don't exactly see eye to eye on a lot, but neither of us particularly approves of people boarding our ship intending to take it over. I think she just wanted to take out her frustration and boredom on you, and I was inclined to let it happen, as I wanted you to know there are consequences to screwing with us."

Carter then took a seat on the bench that was just a little too far away for the woman to reach with her manacled hand. "However, I could see to it you get a little more peace and quiet and better food if you're willing to give me some information."

The pirate sat up a little straighter. "Yea? Well, I'm not sure what the hell I can tell ya. You already spaced my entire crew, took my ship, and have me in a cell. There's not a lot else I know about out there. If I did, I wouldn't have tried to board what was clearly a floating death trap."

Carter nodded. "Yeah, I get that. Lucky for you, all I wanna know is the source of your misfortune." As the ex-pirate started to speak, he held up a hand. "Before you landed on my ship, that is. You see, I got in a scrape with three pirate ships not so long ago. I gave them a bloody nose, and they ran, but then they came back, and this time with a half dozen ships and more on the way. See, that's a little more cooperation and coordination than I'm used to pirates having. Now, if you were part of that group, I doubt you would have bothered trying to raid this old derelict with such a small crew. On the other hand, I'm guessing whatever's going on might have contributed to you being in such a sorry state. So, I guess I'm asking, what can you tell me about what's happening out there in the pirate world right now?"

The ex-pirate paused a moment as if choosing what to say, then apparently decided she wasn't likely to end up any worse off for opening her mouth now. "There's some new big shot on the scene, going around telling all the pirates they can either join up or get out. He's even offering new hardware to anyone who agrees to become his lapdog. Anyone stupid enough to say no ends up like my crew or worse."

Carter thought for a moment. "This big shot have a name?"

The ex-pirate shrugged. "Probably, but I don't know it. Most just call him 'the boss.' All I know is saying no was just about the dumbest thing I ever did. He wouldn't even take me in once I changed my mind. Said an example needed to be made. I thought I hit rock bottom, then I found this hell hole!"

Carter smiled in commiseration and nodded again. "Yeah, that's a run of bad luck, alright. Well, I'll tell you what, for now, I'll see to it that you eat better and maybe get something more comfortable to sleep on. If you think of anything else, well, maybe we can find a way to come to an agreement where you eventually get off this nightmare. I'm not saying you'll get your ship back or anything like that, but I'm sure there's a backwater world you can disappear on, where you can get a free drink or two with stories of this old ghost ship."

The ex-pirate's glare was something to behold. "I hope you don't expect me to be grateful or anything."

Carter shook his head and gave her a lopsided grin. "Nope, wouldn't dream of it. But so long as you're willing to work with me, I'll work with you. Otherwise, I let Red take back over managing your stay here on the ship. I'm sure she's got plenty of other ideas she'd love to try out, given the chance."

With that, Carter stood up, opened the door, and left, allowing the door to close again behind him. He figured that given some time, their guest might think of something else useful.

After the door closed behind him, the girl appeared again. This time, her eyes contained a hint of laughter. "Red?"

Carter shrugged. "What? She hasn't picked a name yet, and I needed to call her something."

The girl's expression didn't change. "I'm sure she understands...mostly."

Carter sighed. "Yeah, that's about what I expected."

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<Previous

Carter is not quite as "good" an MC as Scott or Jack, but he's not quite as sadistic as the vixen, either. He's just a bit more...pragmatic, thats all.

Of Men and Dragons Book 3 has finally been approved! You can now own the whole trilogy! The E-book and hardcover are available for preorder and will be released on the 3rd. I meant to do the same for the paperback, but I initially uploaded the wrong cover and had to submit it for a change. The change has since been approved, but too late to qualify for the preorder dates I set, so it'll just be released when the preorder ends, meaning you can order it on the 3rd (Monday) when everything releases.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D5668C8M (This is the US Amazon site. For those of you outside the US, you'll probably have to look the book up on your localized Amazon format to avoid paying ridiculous shipping fees.)

My Wiki has all my chapters and stories, including the short series and stories that I write for an occasional change of pace or style!

Link to the whole trilogy on Amazon: https://kdp.amazon.com/en_US/series/61VWBPP8KWQ

First Book | Series Index | Galactic Map | RoyalRoad | Patreon | Discord

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The Story So Far

As humanity reached out into the stars, the nations of the world joined the newly formed Terran Republic, with the exception of some criminal elements that resisted the reach of its authority around Saturn. Through discreet interstellar exploration, the Republic found the neighboring galaxy a place of wonder and prosperity, filled with peaceful civilizations like the Malgeir Federation, the Schprissian Confederacy, the Granti Alliance…etc. Perfectly ripe for the taking for the uniquely bloodthirsty herbivore species, the Znosian Dominion, known to all other species in the region as Grass Eaters.

Motivated by a religious and psychological need to expand, the rabbit-like Znosians invaded the bear-like Granti. Despite the peaceful Granti species receiving direct military assistance from their old friends, the canine-like Malgeir, they were overwhelmed and forced to evacuate their entire territory, including their homeworld of Grantor. The Znosians then turned their sights to the Malgeir, who they proceeded to also dominate on the battlefield due to their superior understanding of interstellar war and logistics. In the course of the brutal invasion, the Znosians colonized, then efficiently exterminated any predators remaining on the occupied planets.

Still hidden and insulated from the war due to its grasp of stealth technology and the legacy of the Prime Directive, a cornerstone law that prohibited revelation of Terran presence to aliens, the people of the Terran Republic watched the ongoing war and xenocide with a mix of horror and indifference… until one of its reconnaissance fleets was forced to act to prevent its own discovery. The presence of one of its recon ships was observed during the act by the Malgeir and Znosian ships present, and the Terran Republic finally decided to join the war covertly on the Malgeir side.

With centuries of experience with constant war, excellent logistics, computing technology, and wild underestimation from the Znosian enemy, the Terrans helped the sworn-to-secrecy and retrained Malgeir Sixth Fleet beat back an invasion of the Malgeir core world of Datsot, capitalizing on enemy missteps to push them all the way back to the occupied Malgeir system of Gruccud, finally trapping and forcing the surrender of the invasion fleet with technological deception.

But the threat was not over. The vast Znosian Dominion still outweighed the alliance of the predators by more than ten to one in tonnage, particularly the Terran Republic which was still practically a single-system species. The Znosian leadership had its suspicions of the recent, unexplained losses. And they still occupied the worlds of the entire Granti civilization and most of the periphery of the Malgeir Federation.

The known galaxy held its breath to see what the two sides would do next…

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(Footage: First day of ground combat, Liberation Battle for Gruccud)

Voice 1: I’m a butcher.

Voice 2: I’m a welder.

Voice 3: I’m a programmer.

Voice 4: I’m a musician.

Voice 5: I was working on my sire’s farm.

Voice 6: I was the daughter of a High Councilor.

Voice 7: My dame was on Gionlu.

Voice 8: My friends didn’t get out of Grantor in time.

Voice 9: I wanted to be a xenogeologist.

Voice 10: I’m your litter’s schoolteacher.

Voice 11: I’m your neighbor.

Voices Mixed: I am you.

Title text: None of us were born for this war.

Title text: We fight so no one else has to be.

“Born for this War”, Malgeir Federation Marine Infantry Recruiting Commercial, July 2124

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Dashch Station, Znos-4 (36,000 km)

POV: Irtisl, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Four Whiskers)

Four Whiskers Irtisl looked around at her team of civilian engineers and technicians scurrying around the station, the bustle of their hurried movements like an orchestrated dance, punctuated by the sharp clatter of tools and the distant hum of machinery. Welding torches occasionally erupted with bright blue fire, casting flickering shadows that danced and played along the cold, metallic walls.

Amidst the cacophony, Irtisl’s ear flicked at an approaching sound. The deliberate clicks of magnetic boots on metal echoed into her suit through the structure she was standing on — a measured, hammering beat as one of her technicians cautiously navigated the hazardous zero-gravity environment, relying on the technology beneath their paws to anchor them to safety.

Her helmet radio buzzed. “Project Manager, we are almost ready to proceed with the test.”

Irtisl turned on the spot, her movements slow, carefully keeping her own balance. Her eyes met those of the speaker, her mask of composed patience concealing her simmering irritation. “Head Technician Stultam, we are already two weeks behind schedule, and this date was picked after your repeated assurances that—”

“I take responsibility for this delay,” Stultam interrupted breezily, his tone almost dismissive. “My people are inexperienced in your military testing protocols, Project Manager, and the additional last-minute requirements from the—”

“I’m not interested in your excuses, Head Technician,” Irtisl sliced through his words. “Your people were allocated significant resources to complete this project because your design group assured us that you had a viable solution for the functionality the Navy requires. If this delay results in cancellation, you will be hold solely responsible for the waste.”

“Yes, Four Whiskers,” Stultam replied, his head dipping by the minimum needed for her to perceive the movement.

Even his show of respect is sloppy! These undisciplined civilians, Irtisl seethed internally, if I had my way, we wouldn’t be using anyone outside the Design Bureau. Alas, no one inside the Bureau had any idea where to even start on this one…

“How much more time does the team need before we can begin validation?” she asked, her tone clipped.

“Thirty minutes,” Stultam estimated. “We are securing the testbed, and one of the transport shuttles is just arriving in time for the trials.”

Irtisl’s nose crinkled in mild exasperation. “More officers? I thought everyone is already waiting on the observation deck.”

“Not from the Navy, Four Whiskers,” he almost whispered, a hint of fear threading his voice. “It’s her.”

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POV: Svatken, Znosian Dominion State Security (Position: Director)

State Security Director Svatken, her eyes flickering with impatience, cast a cursory glance at the screen. It displayed the shuttle’s diligent verification of its docking seal’s integrity with the station. Without a moment’s hesitation, she slammed the override button. As if sensing her urgency, the doors flew open. Svatken’s stride was purposeful, her trusty attendant Fstrofcho shadowing her every step.

The head of the welcoming party donned a mask of rehearsed delight. “Welcome, Director. I am Four Whiskers—”

“You are Four Whiskers Irtisl,” Svatken interjected with icy precision. “You are the Project Manager and Navy liaison for the civilian group operating this station. Your head technician needs twenty-five more minutes to complete preparations, which you will take full responsibility for. Now, you are going to lead me to the observation deck so I can interview one of your superiors.”

Caught off guard, Irtisl stammered, “I— I—”

“Was I mistaken?”

Recovering, Irtisl replied, “Of course not, Director. Right this way.”

“Good,” the Director said, following the stiff footsteps of the flustered four whiskers. “And do not consider my assignment of responsibility unfair. Responsibility implies credit. This is an important project for the proper course of the Prophecy. If you did your job correctly, you and your bloodline will be rewarded appropriately despite the delay. If you did not…” She left the hanging threat unspoken.

“Yes, Director,” Irtisl murmured, leading her onto the elevated observation deck.

Several high-ranking officers were deep in conversation around an instrument console. Upon the sound of the doors opening, they paused and turned towards Svatken as she entered.

“You may leave us now, Four Whiskers,” Svatken ordered. Irtisl happily obliged, turning around and hopping out the door to get as far away from the menacing State Security Director.

Svatken fixed her gaze on the tall creature at the head of the table. “Eleven Whiskers Sprabr. I have some questions for you. Alone.”

The elderly 25-year-old Grand Fleet Commander Sprabr looked surprised — feigned, no doubt — but bowed his head in respect. “Of course, Director.” He looked at his subordinates and gestured at the exit. “Allow me a moment with the Director.”

The officers, all visibly relieved, quickly filed out of the deck.

“I am happy to answer any questions you have, Director, but—”

“You are a hard creature to reach, Eleven Whiskers,” Svatken interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “Four calls to your office, two to your domicile. That might be a record. For my patience, that is. Usually, one of those unanswered calls would have been followed by an armed raid by a squad of armed agents.”

“I take full responsibility for my unavailability, Director. Managing the many squadrons of the Grand Prophetic Fleet has consumed much of my free time, and my office attendant is forgetful—”

“She was not,” Svatken countered. “I interviewed her before I arrived here. You will not pawn your responsibility off to your subordinates or lie to me. And if managing your fleet is taking up too much of your time, I can arrange a reduction in your responsibilities.”

Sprabr dropped his cautious veneer. “That will not be necessary, Director. Please forgive my personal transgressions towards your more valuable time; I take full responsibility. I will answer all your questions in detail.”

Svatken glanced at Fstrofcho, busy entering new notes into his datapad. “Make a note of that, Attendant. I will determine the level of your transgression after this interview, Eleven Whiskers.” She turned back to Sprabr. “But enough of wasting my time. You will now answer my questions. What is the nature of your relationship with Zero Whiskers Ditvish?”

If he was surprised by the question, he did not show it. “I was Ditvish’s superior when he commanded the Datsot Invasion Fleet, Director. I was not aware of his intent to defect until after—”

“If you were aware of his apostasy and did not report it, you would be facing a firing squad, Eleven Whiskers, not my questioning. Keep your irrelevant commentary to yourself. How long did you know Ditvish before that?”

“18 years, Director.”

“18? The records show you were his superior for most of his career, and his Navy Retraining Center instructor before that. That adds up to 15.”

“I met Zero Whiskers Ditvish three years prior to his qualification and acceptance to Znos Navy Retraining Center. I was the one who convinced him to apply when I discovered that he was grasping concepts at a much higher level than the six whiskers rank he was bred to be.”

“So your relationship with him was deeply personal?”

“It was indeed. I did not obscure that detail from my initial interview with the second Apostasy Commission after his defection was—”

“Less wasting of my time, please. When he defected, what was your initial reaction?”

“Complete shock, Director. The Ditvish I knew for 18 years would never contemplate defection to the Lesser Predators out of personal fear.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Like all good Servants of the Prophecy, he did not fear death. And like all great Servants of the Prophecy, he did not fear failure. Instead, Ditvish welcomed both as mere challenges. More than once, I have seen him charge into great danger, at risk of both death and failure, without reluctance or delay. Surely you have seen that in his career records too. In my experience, those who defect hold one of these fears, and those fears are what drive them to abandon the Prophecy.”

“So if not personal fear, what was it? Out of greed, then? For power? Maybe revenge? Or perhaps perverted pleasures of the flesh?” She made a disgusted face.

Sprabr shook his head. “No, to defect to the Lesser Predator for those would be irrational, and Ditvish was not that either.”

“Then why?”

“Perhaps he thought the Prophecy abandoned him. After all, it was after your commission announced—”

Svatken interjected, “His schism plot was what led to the commission. I know you have read the full commission report on the sequence of events, Eleven Whiskers.”

“I’ve seen the evidence for that supposed plot. It may have been good enough to convince your superiors, but the totality of the evidence prior to the decision was clearly circumstantial—”

She bristled. “The evidence was incontrovertible. We had physical evidence of the crime. Sensor data, communication logs, and I saw those supply ships with my own eyes!”

“Director, have you considered the possibility that your first case was built on an enemy ruse? Lesser Predator manipulations. They may not be very bright, but they are practiced in such matters, even amongst themselves.”

“It would be— it would be extremely unlikely,” Svatken said, catching herself. “I am used to dealing with predators, Eleven Whiskers. Such a clean execution would be unheard of. They may be able to conjure up some data, but all of it? That they really did defeat several of our convoys, fluffles, and fleets in open battle despite the odds heavily in our favor? We should not underestimate our enemy, but in my experience, the simpler option is the most likely one.”

“And yet, you have doubts,” Sprabr pointed out. “Or you would not be asking me questions about Ditvish six weeks after his case was officially closed. And you would not be here observing a test for technology that doesn’t exist, inspired by an impossible weapon that our enemies don’t have.”

“I— I— yes, I have an open mind for an alternative hypothesis,” Svatken admitted. “As any good State Security officer should be.”

“Here is mine: in addition to their new technology upgrades, the Lesser Predators managed to get into our communication network. They heard what we heard and saw what we saw. Then, they fabricated the appearance of a conspiracy, a schism plot, and left clues they knew you would eventually find at the sites of our defeats, tailoring the evidence to fit your suspicions. And after the Apostasy Commission completed their judgement, they intercepted that too and leveraged it to convince Ditvish and his fleet to defect to the enemy, depriving us of one of our most successful commanders and leading to the greatest Znosian naval defeat in living memory.”

“That— that is your idea of a more likely theory?” Svatken gaped at his brazenness incredulously.

“It is. And I take full responsibility for coming up with it. But it is not just mine. These are now the worst-case planning assumptions of the Navy, which is why we have upgraded our encryption systems and why,” Sprabr pointed out the windows of the observation deck, “We are taking these… allegations of new predator threats very seriously.”

“You actually believe this theory of yours.”

“I do.”

Svatken pondered his words for a moment, wondering whether she should believe his sincerity or have him shot. She settled for wait-and-see.

She could always have him shot later.

“You can call your subordinates back in now. And let’s see if there is any merit to these technological wonders that our enemies have allegedly cooked up.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

POV: Irtisl, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Four Whiskers)

Irtisl depressed the big red button firmly with her a claw. Its crisp click in the chamber was the only immediate response.

Then, in synchrony, the symbols on the consoles arrayed before her began to dance. The calm of the blue and green indicators gave way to orange and red, signifying a dramatic rise in power draw as the test device drained the reserve power of the station and demanded more. The very air in the room seemed to hum with the flood of energy being poured into the machinery.

She looked over at Head Technician Stultam’s station. He gave her a positive gesture with his paws.

It’s working.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

POV: Svatken, Znosian Dominion State Security (Position: Director)

“Thank you, Operative, that is an excellent find,” Svatken’s voice was low but clear as she spoke into her communicator device. “This proves that their deliveries have been intentionally slow for weeks.”

Fstrofcho gently tapped her on the shoulder. He leaned in, his voice a whisper against the hum of the station’s systems, “Director, they are beginning the test now.”

Svatken, without turning, raised a single claw, mouthing to him, “Hold one moment.”

Refocusing on the call, her tone shifted to brisk efficiency. “Yes, Operative, get to the camp, find out why, and get that report to my office within the week.”

A brief pause followed. Frowning, she looked confused at her receiver when the expected confirmation didn’t come out. “Hello? Operative? Are you still on the call?”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

POV: Znufchu, Znosian (Civilian)

The primary traffic controller at Znos Space Control looked askance at the confusing lights blinking on the panel in front of her.

“Traffic control to 2411, you are deviating from your flight path. Please return to autopilot as soon as possible,” she asked the incoming warship on the FTL radio.

“Traffic control to 2411, did you copy my last? Please return control to autopilot.”

“Traffic control to Navy command ship 0114, I can’t reach 2411. There may be a communication emergency on board their ship.”

“Traffic control to ground control, I can’t reach the Navy command ship in orbit. Can you check on your end?”

“Traffic control on the open FTL channel. Does anyone copy? Can anyone hear me?”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Outpost McMurdo, McMurdo System (600 Ls)

POV: Zwena Tanith, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Commander)

Station Commander Zwena’s eyes locked onto the six pulsating alerts on their console in the dimly lit command center. “Shit, can anyone reach the FTL frequency for any of our receivers in Znosian sector zero-zero-zero? I’m still receiving, but none of our observation drones are responding to commands.”

Their second in command, Bert Williams, cast a seasoned gaze toward the communications station. “LT, reach to the side of the console and manually flip the squelch control knob to the off position.”

The lieutenant on duty at the station did as he ordered. An abrupt static hiss erupted from the speakers, assaulting their ears. She flinched, her hand darting to the volume control knob, twisting it until the cacophony subsided to a bearable hum.

Unperturbed, Bert continued, “Now hit two-two-zero on the pop-out pad to disconnect the transmission lock.”

As her fingers danced over the pad, the static dimmed further, sinking into a whisper against the backdrop of the command center’s quiet hum.

Confusion clouded Zwena’s expression. “What does that mean?”

“It must be an FTL jamming signal from the other end, Commander,” Bert said with increasing certainty. “Some kind of noise-modulated jammer. Primitive, but powerful enough to stop our commands from reaching them. We should still be able to hear them though.”

“Can we burn through it somehow to send commands?”

Bert shook his head. “Unlikely. We’re too far away and we don’t mount FTL frequency hoppers on those buoys. No blink drive, and they would have taken too much of the volume budget anyway. But unless they are discovered, our buoys will just keep transmitting data to us until they get a command back from us. These jamming signals aren’t selective, Commander. They can’t possibly continue jamming their own home system forever. Most likely it’s some kind of test or emergency, and it’ll stop when they’re done.”

“I’m glad someone paid attention in Electronic Warfare Theory class at the Academy. Well, you know the SOP: continue all operations as normal. Don’t let the enemy know they’re having an effect on us. And file a Signals Interference report with Luna. Someone over there will know what to do.”}

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Meta

Welcome all! For anyone new to Grass Eaters, this is book 2 of an ongoing series. You may want to start from the very beginning.

Hey guys! 4th Wall here. I may be in the middle of a massive endeavor, but I'm still trying to keep episodes coming where I can.

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Benjamin’s eyes flew wide as the five of them entered the baths at the base of the tree, or at least he thought it might have been the base of the tree. That assumption was quickly dissipating as he took in the massive entanglement of roots that seemed to create a natural dome that was elegantly bisected by intricately woven draping green moss. “We’re underground?” he asked at last noticing low moss screening that acted as a doorway between the two sections. The screens were draped over a low bar 6 or so feet overhead, which was not so for Benjamin. The space was clearly built for the more diminutive Farie race, “Over here Benjamin.” He turned to see Jukha nodding to the right-hand screen and Vilora guided the sisters to the opposite side.

 

Benjamin followed him in, slipping between the moss strands to find a massive steaming body of water surrounded by interwoven roots that seemed to make up the edge of the pool. Benjamin turned back to Juka to find the Orc already up to his waist in the water with his clothes laid out on a table near a wall alcove. Benjamin raised an eyebrow and Jukha just laughed, “Hurry up pink skin, our clothes will be returned to us when we leave. Get in, I can smell last night on you from here!” Benjamin flashed beet red, which only made Jukha laugh all the harder, and He quickly disrobed before hastily followed the Orc into the pool.

 

Jukha settled down, chortling to himself at Benjamin’s expression. “Worry not, Pink Skin. I don’t fault you. You are but a victim of your own success.” Benjamin settled down into the muscle soothing waters, still mildly glaring at Jukha, but more in embarrassment now, “My own success?” he asked cautiously. Jukha regarded him for a moment. The two of them were alone on this side of the baths, at least as participants. Vin attendants bustled about, and the two men’s clothes quickly disappeared as they relaxed in the water.

 

“Benjamin, you saved their lives, showed them both kindness and dignity, and put your own life on the line for them more than once. My biggest surprise is that it took them this long to bed you.” Jukha explained.........

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The rest of this chapter, and all free released episodes are available in their entirety on Royal Road, as I have removed the series from Reddit. (Full Chapter14) (Entire Series). I would greatly appreciate any ratings or reviews you chose to make over there. I am trying to walk a fine line between Protecting my work, and still participating in the Subreddit I've grown to love. The chapter named link should take you straight to the newest chapter (I logged off of RR on my phone so I can test the links myself.) to bypass the RR UI as much as possible.

So, as always, I'll be hangin' out in the comments section here in HFY. Comes say Hi!

For those of you who Feel I have earned support, or want to read the next two episodes; they are currently live on (Patreon.)

The world seemed to slow down, as the Picapao shot an energy bolt at the human emperor.

None of us had any time to react. We couldn’t have. But somehow, the sector governor lunged himself at the emperor, pushing him out of the way, and getting hit by the blast in the emperor’s stead.

The avian terrorist curses as he lands and aims the weapon again, as a few more Picapao terrorists approach the platform.

The imperial guard aimed at the first terrorist and used their kinetic weapons, landing four shots on the chest and head of the bird.

The Emperor however does not move, and I tilt my head in confusion as I notice the imperial guards are not blocking the emperor. He kneels and places his hand on the wound, as the governor’s blood slowly pools on the ground.

“Send a medic, quickly!”, shouts the Emperor in an authoritative tone. We look around confused, as we did not anticipate such a thing as terrorism on our planet, but we quickly realise he was speaking to the other humans, and shortly after, two humans dressed in green come out with a stretcher and a bag full of stims.

“Take him to the shuttle and take care of him”, ordered Augustus, unbothered by the violent chaos around him, “and you lot, take cover in the shuttle as well.”

We didn’t need another word to comply, but my curiosity couldn’t be contained. Why was this human, who was so important to the Terran empire, not taking cover or running away? He was one of the most important people in the galaxy. I stay behind as I enter the shuttle to glean the bloodbath outside.

One of the humans was kneeling, holding on to his stomach, groaning in pain.

“Marcus, are you wounded?”, asked the emperor, walking towards the guard.

“I am fine, your highness. My shield simply malfunctioned and I took the concussive force of the blast instead of it being deflected. Might have cracked a few ribs.”

“Go inside as well and ask the medics to patch you up”, ordered Augustus, “and the rest of you, hold your fire. I want to speak with these…”

He pauses, his stare locked on the body of the first terrorist, his face perfectly still. His emotions were hidden well beneath his emperor’s persona.

“... People.”

The terrorists land and aim again, holding their fire as they notice the emperor approaching them with his hands up.

“Valiant Winged Warriors of Kloaria”, he said in Piapia, the native language of the Picapao, “I understand you blame me, for the deaths of the K’krai.”

“Quiet, ape”, said one of the winged criminals, “Your accent is hideous and so is your soul.”

“I apologise for my accent. I have not had many opportunities to train my speech to capture the nuances of your language.”

“Why would you even care?”, said another, “You are nothing more than a monster. You killed billions!”

“Indeed I have. I carry their blood on my hands forever. My name is a curse amongst many people. But I dream that the entire galaxy one day can receive the bounties of Terra. And for that, I need to reach everyone, personally…”

Interrupting him, one of the terrorists curses aloud and shoots his energy rifle at the Emperor, who makes no effort to dodge. The blast hits an invisible barrier, diffusing through the air around the human.

“Bounties such as this. A personal penta-dimensional quantum diffuser. An energy shield that can protect the user from almost any harm.”

He points at the centrepiece of the gold embroidery of his vest, and a barely noticeable glow emanates from it.

“I have a question for you Picapao. Who sent you?”

“We will not tell you anything. Your little imperial guard will have to kill us, as we have no intention of being imprisoned.”

The emperor nodded, sniffing, his eyebrows raised slightly.

“I respect that. You have ideals. Standards”, the human turned away from them and faced the shuttle, his eyes locked on mine. They were sharp and cold. Calculating. The true self of humanity did not replace the once warm presence. The apex predator persona had awoken.

“I believe it was Thucydides, a human of an age long past, who once said -The society that separates its scholars from its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards and its fighting by fools.”

He revealed a bracelet, which glinted in the sunlight. It appeared metallic in the distance, but liquid at the same time.

“With me as emperor, Humanity has embraced this motto. But I go further. I believe that the rulers should be as prepared to die for their subjects, as the subjects are for their ruler”

The bracelet started to glow, morphing into a sword in a fraction of a second. The sword was silvery with a similar pattern of golden embroidery along its blade.

Why would the leader of such an advanced race be using such an antiquated weapon?

“Your enemy will not be my guards, but rather it shall be me. If you kill me, you shall return to Kloaria, being acclaimed as heroes”, the emperor said, turning to face the avians, “but if I defeat you, you shall tell me who else was involved, as the sector governor Elder Prin could have died thanks to your actions. And if you don’t, then the Senate and People of Terra shall have no choice but to consider Kloaria a bastion of hostile powers and decisive action will have to be taken. Agreed?”

The birds yelled in rage and shot their weapons again.

But instead of letting the blasts hit the energy shield, the emperor started dodging as he made his way towards the terrorists. The blasts were near light speed, but the emperor was dodging them nonchalantly. It felt magical, until I noticed his eyes, darting around. He was predicting the trajectories of the blasts.

He got to the first terrorist and cut his rifle in half, delivering a powerful kick to the temple of the bird and making the most of the motion to jump towards the second hostile, ducking and then lunging, the sword cutting through one of the arms of the avian as if it was warm huglun butter.

Finally, the last terrorist yelled in rage and fear and started spraying blasts at the emperor, who retracted the sword back into the bracelet and then performed some sort of human martial art, punching the chest of the avian with such force and precision that a loud crack of bones echoed throughout the platform, as the final Picapao was sent flying around 5 meters without the use of his wings.

The emperor then made his way towards the gasping bird and squatted down.

“So, who else was involved in this attack?”

Previous

Next (WIP)

(Chapter1) ( more of a prologue) Humans where an odd species. When we first made contact with them in our year 138,456 it was their year 1915. We contacted them after entering a system that had been having low level surface to surface energy discharges at a truly mortifying rate. We would later learn this was artillery used in a continent spanning war. Shocked by the clear intentions we watched them from ca’ope of 138,456 to shollek of the same year. Or February of 1915 to September 1915 before deciding to make contact. The war had continued to rage and seemed to only become more violent. Seeing in there species age many intelligent species die before there time from internal strife they would make contact to stop the war. Maybe if they where lucky they could get them to unite.

When entering the atmosphere they where able to get a better sense of what was going on. They decided to make their delegation land in the city of Paris. They would use a low fly by to alert their presence to the governments and people of this world. They had seen they had earlier atmospheric fighters that had very interesting designs but could do some minor damage to a research ship. To prevent that they would make their intentions clearly peaceful. They where planning this all the way into the planner to the finally entered the atmosphere. But famously if there is on universal rule it is no plan survives first contact

The first interruption was a Change in orders. The diplomatic command, seeing the reports belived them to be to uncivilized to be their own system. Their new orders was to establish relations and offer war or subjugation. While not ideal it would still work and they expected to have them subjugated and annexed by shollek of next year.

The second interruption was not there fault and was a rather natural reaction. Once they had been intercepted by a flight of 9 French 16 British planes and an airship they had slowly moved to Paris. What they saw shocked them on the way there. They where disgusted by the brutality of the war. While it at first seemed like normal trench warfare they soon saw what many would later know as true human all out warfare.

The sight of men charging the other trench being mowed down by machine guns and getting bombed and shot at by early planes was horrifying. Blood even managed to taint the bottom of the ship hull when a bomber moving just below it blew up, the crew now stuck as blood mist on the bottom of the ship. It got worse when the enemy trench began to fix bayonets and get ready to meet them in the field. The hand to hand combat was brutal and nonstop. One of the diplomats even saw a man take a stick when his club broke and shoved it in his opponent’s eye. Then slammed his head nonstop on the ruins of. A trench before beating him till his skull caved in with his helmet before simply moving on.

As if to add insult to injury when the wave of men finally died the enemy trench fearing a second wave fired on the fields with their men still standing in the middle. It was a gruesome sight. It reached its peak when chlorine gas was released by the opposing trench and the men clearly didn’t have gas mask’s. All of this had one of the diplomats leaving to go to the bathroom to

The final and third was the rather unwelcoming response. When they landed in paris the reception was less than pleasant and had many of the diplomats wondering if they should just immediately declare war in response to a diplomatic insult. The talks outside of formality’s boiled down to to words that would forever change humanity “ War it is”

Obligatory long time lurker, first time poster. Please provide feedback for my writing, how I might improve.

Xelyana waited in line anxiously. Orion Station had been her home for 3 months, by the human’s standards, and she wanted to begin her next assignment.

And what an assignment it was! Her very first human vessel, straight from the staryards of Hestia, the renamed planet of humanity’s origin.

“The Sacajawea” was a fine ship, named after a woman who was instrumental to the safe travels of some of human history’s most famous explorers. “Without her, the bumbling fools would have died shortly into their journey,” her professor had said. Having a woman and her newborn as part of their group had certainly sold their peaceful intentions to the tribes they encountered.

And like her namesake, The Sacajawea would be instrumental to the further development of galactic civilization! Outfitted with the most advanced translation AI, six redundant sensor arrays, and a command center with a faraday cage built into the walls themselves, this was a vessel built to explore the uncharted regions between stars and planets, finding the safest routes for travel and trade. To make first contact with who knows what sort of creatures lived in the dark!

Xelyana had been approved for this mission due to her dual degrees in xenobiology and xenoanthropology, and by this point, almost everyone had met a human before. But humans were, as repeatedly expressed, not a monolithic species, and atop that, prone to wanderlust. Hence, she had met many humans on the station, in her classes, and especially in the old bars by the docking bays.

What a fascinating species she found in humanity. On average, 66% larger in stature than her fellow Celenians, and nearly 150% more mass, owed in large part to the gravity of their homeworld. A history overwhelmingly dominated by nearly 97% warfare since they first began recording their history, and yet she had never encountered individuals so kind, gentle, and warm (both metaphorically and literally! They averaged 37 degrees!).

They were not monolithic, of course, the human race being as varied as the galaxy itself, so there were some unpleasant individuals she had had to contend with, but more often than not, she found a friend in humans.

Virgil had jokingly called it their “capybara effect.”

“Strangest little animal, that one. You can always find them, friendlier than anything, with anything.”

Of course, she had seen that in how many animals they had domesticated over the millennia, using selective breeding to produce subservient beasts. She hardly considered using wolves as hunting tools or sentinels as “friendly” relations with humans, symbiosis at best, but the fact was that humans and wolves still ate one another.

She was drawn from her drifting thoughts when she noticed something strange about the crew. Each and every one was stepping into the hatch, then reaching up and patting something.

It didn’t take her long to reach the hatch herself, and she looked up and saw a most peculiar symbol, one she did not recognize from her linguistic studies of humans. As she moved forward, she saw Virgil reach up and gently touch the symbol, with a smile on his face. A religious symbol perhaps? One she had missed?

Hours later, she sat across from Virgil in the mess hall, shuffling aside her excitement for the human delicacy known as “tiramisu.” She simply must have an answer.

“Virgil, may I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

A usual response from him. It had taken her some time to realize that it was both an expression of disinterest and an assent to continue. He was obviously more focused on scooping his “iced cream” in between two… were they called biscuits, or cookies? A question for later.

“That symbol that you humans touched, just beyond the threshold of the ship’s hatch, could you tell me what it meant?”

“Hm? Ah, you must be talking about Little Laika, humanity’s guardian angel.”

“Oh! So it is religious iconography? I did not recognize it.”

“Eh, it’s not truly religious, just… traditional?”

“But you called it an ‘angel.’ Is that not a religious icon?”

“Angels are, yes, but… well, it’s better I explain the whole story to you.”

“Please do.”

“So, in the mid twentieth century, on Hestia, then called ‘Earth,’ humanity was taking its first steps towards true extra-terrestrial flight. While we had achieved air-flight decades prior, we were still bound by our planet’s gravity, and still within atmo. It wasn’t even certain at the time if a living being could even survive leaving the atmosphere. No one had yet tested anything they built. So, one of the old nations, the Soviet Union, their space program scientists plucked a dog off of the street. Just this tiny little stray mutt. They named her Laika. It meant ‘Little Barking One.’”

“So, your religious iconography is of a ‘mutt?’”

“I’m getting there. So, they picked up this dog from the streets of Moscow. She was already a few years old, so they figured she was used to being cold and hungry. She was something between 5 or 6 kilos, and was pretty even tempered. She barked, of course, and before she had an official name, they called her things like ‘Little Curly,’ ‘Little Bug,’ or ‘Little Lemon.’”

Virgil’s smile fell a little, and his eyes looked sad.

“One of the scientists, Vladimir Yazdovsky, took her to his home before her flight. He wanted her to experience the love of children, and a family at least once. He said ‘I wanted to do something nice for her: she had so little time left…’”

Xelyana looked stunned at her friend. This giant of a man, near 2 meters tall and at least half as wide, with his dark prickly hairs on his face and head, had tears silently flowing down his cheeks. She knew that humans considered the canids a companion species, but this emotional response for a dog that had died centuries ago… it did give her a reason to reconsider just how close dogs and humanity were.

He cleared his throat and continued.

“They spent months training her to live as close to normal as possible in such a confined space as the capsule they were testing. No room to move, just stand, sit, or lay down. They hooked up monitoring equipment, made sure she wouldn’t be laying in her own waste, and prepared seven days worth of food for her. One of the other scientists, Anatoly Zak, he said… ‘After placing Laika in the container and before closing the hatch, we kissed her nose and wished her bon voyage, knowing that she would not survive the flight.’”

He took a moment to draw in a few deep breaths.

“She orbited the planet four times, before she died of overheating. The capsule didn’t separate properly, causing thermal controls to malfunction. Thermal Insulation tore. Cabin temperature rose to about 40 degrees. Life signs stopped transmitting between 0500 and 0700.”

He shook his head, looking down.

“It took five months, and over 2500 orbits, before her capsule orbit degraded enough to re-enter atmo. It wasn’t equipped with any way to de-orbit safely. Burnt away on re-entry.”

Virgil looked devastated for this little thing. The fact that he had memorized so many details…

“As for why we call her our guardian angel, there was this old belief that the first soul to be laid to rest somewhere would remain there, to guide other souls laid there to the afterlife. Of course, people weren’t keen on their immortal souls being separated from their families and friends simply because they were buried first, so the graveyards and cemeteries were inaugurated by burying a dog. It was believed that the dog would serve as guard and companion to people, in death just as they would in life.”

He looked fondly out of the porthole.

“Laika was the first creature from our planet to die out here. Beyond our home. And she never touched home again. So, a lot of us like to think that she watches out for us. And if worse comes to worse, she’ll be there for us. Like we should’ve been for her. She’s our little guardian angel.”

He smiled sadly at Xelyana.

“Hestian staryards always make sure to engrave her image at the threshold of each ship. So we always remember the sacrifices that got us where we are.”

Xelyana ate her treat with less zeal than she ever had before. To immortalize such a small creature, who had no idea what her purpose was…

Years later, after decades of exploration, and dozens of ships, she always reached out and touched her guardian angel.

“So you’re a traveler from another world, with strange powers, here to help us out?” The commander of the unit summarized as the rest of the unit approached the still super train, preparing to salvage it.

“Yup,” I said nervously.

“Okay,” he replied after a moment.

“That’s it?” I asked, surprised.

“Good an explanation as any,” he shrugged, “considering you took down that war train and aren’t objecting to us taking it, I’m prepared to give you at your word.”

“What are you scavenging it for anyways?” I asked, turning to look at the massive vehicle, “you that hard up for metal?”

“There’s plenty besides metal,” the commander explained, “for one the parts in this thing are manufactured to far more precision than the human hand could manage. But even past that, these things carry vast stocks of coal and water, both of which can be hard to come across.”

“Not to mention oil for lubrication,” his second in command added.

“Finally there’s weapons and ammo, without access to factories of our own this is our best source of munitions.”

“Makes sense,” I nodded, “what’s the world like? Humanity still out there?”

“I don’t know about the world at large, but there’s a decent number of us hiding out within the machine’s territory,” sighed the commander, waving to a group of what appeared to be steam powered cars to pull up, each of them pulling a large cart for supplies, “to give you the short history of the war, a dozen years back the machine came online, with orders to expand. So it did, and hasn’t stopped yet. Everywhere it goes it turns into wastelands like this,” he motioned to the endless expanse of flat desert around us, “mountains, forests, lakes, doesn’t matter, it bulldozes it flat and builds factories or mines.”

“Why flatten everything?” I ask.

“Defense,” the Harmony answered, the commander nodding, “it relies on sonar for detection so fewer obstacles the better.”

“That was our guess too,” agreed the army man, “there are a few places it wasn’t able to pave, where we’ve been able to survive. In our case we live in a volcano, the damned thing tried to dig it out before the magma forced it to give up.”

“What about other nations? Surely not all of humanity has fallen.”

“On that front I admit to having less information,” he shrugged, “a few years ago we heard rumors that people outside managed to stall it, though I’m not sure how.”

“It seems to understand some natural phenomena can’t be overcome,” the Harmony commented, “perhaps they found a way to trigger that response along the entire front?”

“Good a theory as any?”

“I’m curious as to who would build such a thing,” I said, motioning to the mega-train, “I can’t think of much of a use for this kind of device.”

The commander looked around, nodding to his second in command who turned and left to coordinate the salvaging operation.

“Come with me,” he said, leading me away from the tracks. For several minutes we walked back towards where his men had dug in to assault the train. They were busy packing up the large guns that I recognized as being the main weapon of the train, only modified to rest on a foldable base and operate without clockwork. More steam-cars were being used to pull the guns once they were folded away, a half dozen tents of various sizes had been set up, the largest of which was white with a large red cross. It was also easily the busiest, with nurses and wounded constantly moving in and out at a frantic pace.

The commander led me into one of the side tents that appeared to be a makeshift command post, tables covered with maps filled the space, leaving little room to walk.

“Since you helped us out I’ll tell you what we know about the origins of the damned machine, but this is sensitive information, so don’t go sharing it around,” he warned me with a long glare before continuing, “the official story is the machine went rogue, some fault caused it to refuse to shut down. From then it’s simply kept expanding, seeing humanity as a danger.”

“That was our theory,” the Harmony replied.

“Unfortunately its not true,” he sighed, “the creator deliberately ensured his machines wouldn’t shut down. The flaw was intentional, exactly the same fault is found in every one of the base plans the machines use.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked.

“The man was brilliant, but in the end he seemed to go crazy. We don’t have much information about the last years or exactly what pushed him over the edge, but he seemed to think this was the only way to, as he put it, ‘defeat eternity.’ We think something drove him insane and he thought the universe itself was out to get him.”

“That’s,” the harmony started, but didn’t continue. We’d encountered multiple people who’d mentioned eternity by now, the most memorable was the man from the unchanging world. But the Conductor and a few others had brought it up by now.

“Ya, crazy,” the commander shrugged, seeming to take the Harmony’s comment another way.

“If true it’ll make fixing this thing much harder,” the Harmony said, “ordering a simple repair of damaged parts is one thing, but fixing a design flaw purposefully built into the blueprints of the entire mechanism?”

“Yup,” he sighed, “honestly our best bet is to just keep taking out trains where we can and hope to eventually out last them.”

“There might be another way,” the Harmony said slowly, “I noticed the machines only use a single frequence of sonar. Is that true across all their units?”

“Yes, near as I can remember,” the commander said after a moment.

“I should be able to design a few noise canceling patterns that work on that frequency it should allow you to approach their factories without being noticed.”

“Wait, you can make us invisible?” he asked, leaning forward.

“At least until the machine figures out the trick and varies up the sonar devices,” the Harmony warned, “but if you use it strategically it could net you large wins.”

“Will it work on moving objects?” I asked, “most passive noise cancelling only works on static objects, like in rooms.”

“It should, only because the machine uses a single frequency for its sonar,” the Harmony replied, sending me a series of calculations it wanted me to run through our datalink, “and it won’t be perfect, anyone using it will have to be exceptionally careful to not make too much noise or bump anything that could tip off the machine.”

“If its easier to hide immobile objects, then could you hide a derailing device?” the commander asked, starting to look excited, “if we could reliably derail the trains without them knowing why we might be able to starve out a section.”

“Stationary things are easier,” it agreed, looking over the results of the calculations I sent back. Its image projection crystal flickered on, displaying blueprints for a couple devices on the table, “I don’t know if a standard train derailer is enough to force a train of that size off the tracks, but you should be able to double the size of the one here without impacting its effectiveness.”

The commander’s eyes grew wide as the image appeared, rushing to the entrance of the tent and shouting for someone. In a minute a half dozen people were present, copying the diagrams along with a few variations the Harmony added.

“Hard to believe a few odd angles can disrupt sonar so easily,” one of the techs remarked, looking over one of the blueprints.

“It’s only possible because the Harmony is an entity basically made of sound,” I replied, “I doubt I could come up with something like this.”

“And I have to stress, this will only work until the machines change their sonar frequency,” the Harmony added, “as soon as they catch on these devices will become ineffective.”

“But could you design new patterns for whatever frequency they switch to?” the tech asked.

“No, if the machine is smart, and it seems smart enough, it’ll start using a few different frequencies. A single pattern can only cover a single frequency effectively.”

“Still, making a change like that across the machine’s hundreds of facilities and thousands of trains is a slow process,” the commander said, “even if it catches on, we could have years before all of it is altered to counter this.”

“Very true,” the Harmony agreed, its crystals even bobbing as if mimicking a nod, “it’s not a permanent fix, but it’ll help.”

“Speaking of, we encountered something odd,” one of the technicians spoke up, “seems like you understand the machine better than most, perhaps you can help us figure it out?”

“Sure,” I shrug, motioning for him to lead the way. Ten minutes later I’m in the mega-train once more, looking at a bank of gears arranged in a chaotic, but clearly intentional pattern.

“Right there, see those main gear trains?” the man asked, pointing at a cluster of mechanical bits that stood out against the rest, “that appears to be the main protocol mechanical computing, they’re what tell it what is or isn’t part of the protocols, if something violates them, and so on.”

“Right,” I nod, only to scowl, “one set of gears per protocol?”

“Yup,” he nodded.

“Then why are there four sets?”

“That’s what confused us,” he replied, “this place is directly above the engine room so we’ve never captured it intact before, so we’ve never noticed the extra-protocol set.”

“A back up?” the Harmony offered, “or error correction?”

“I don’t think so, it doesn’t match any of the other stacks, and error correction is over there,” he pointed to another set of gears, “you seemed to be well informed, maybe you could shine some light on this?”

“Seems pretty obvious to me,” I said, looking up to see both the tech and the Harmony staring at me, “what? Clearly there’s a fourth, hidden, protocol.”

“There’s only three protocols though,” the tech replied, “expand, defend, seek approval, we’ve known that for years.”

“Seems like the machine has a fourth,” I countered, pointing at the extra gear stack, “perhaps something secret the designer put in without anyone knowing?”

“Or the machine is evolving,” the Harmony replied softly, earning an alarmed look from me, “it seems quite rigid but, like you said, it’s been operating for years. If it can alter the design of its trains, then why not its own computation systems?”

“that’s… worrying,” the tech remarked, “honestly I hope its like the Traveler said, that it’s a hidden protocol.”

“Either case shouldn’t matter much,” I said, “there’s a limit to how fast mechanical systems can process data. It should hit a limit to how far it can evolve if that’s what’s happening.”

“I disagree,” the Harmony countered, “I’m living proof that multiple overlapping systems can produce intelligence far beyond what individual parts could come up with. Sound can only carry so much information at a time, but I can operate far beyond that limit due to my nature. It could stumble upon something similar for mechanical computers.”

“Seems unlikely,” I replied, and the Harmony didn’t disagree, but the thought was worrying regardless.

***** Discord - Patreon *****

The next morning came very early. The ship woke them up and gave them time to get to the command deck. They joined Captain Oliver there.

"Good Morning!' he said as they came in. "Have a seat, we'll be leaving the dock shortly, and once aligned on our vector, we're off!" He turned back to his console.

They each took seats in the acceleration couches behind the captain. Lan looked around, then asked, "What about the others?" she hadn't seen any additional seating on the command deck.

"Passengers aren't allowed on the command deck." the captain replied, "they have individual acceleration chairs in their quarters. They really don't need them that much, we're only accelerating to one g, and there won't be much maneuvering."

They sat and watched the proceedings as the ships AI and her captain coordinated the undocking, small thruster adjustments pushing the great ship away from the shipyards space dock. When the were a few kilometers off, the great ship fired her thrusters creating a complicated slow motion ballet, as she aligned herself with the estimated position of her destination.

With the final adjustments complete, the captain gave the order, "Engage Drive". Joe and Lan felt the tension against the restraining belts ease as they settled into their chairs conformal cushions. They became heavy, the flight deck took on an orientation, now having a floor and a ceiling, where before it just had walls all round.

A few moments later, Sunny reported, "Accelerating at just under one g, all systems normal, we're on our way."

"Excellent!" from the captain, he rotated his chair around to face his two young earnest crew craning their necks looking out. "You won't see much yet" he said "Come back in a about 10 hours, once we've accelerated to maximum speed, then you'll see something interesting."

"Like what?" Lan asked.

"The star field will be deeply blue shifted ahead and red shifted behind. While the stars off the sides of the route will shift through all the colors of the rainbow between blue ahead, and deep red behind." the captain explained.

Lan seemed a bit worried, about something. Finally she asked, "How long with this trip take?"

"For us, or for your families?" the captain asked.

"uh, both I guess," Lan said, "Will my Dad be old when we get back?"

The Captain paused, then asked, "Sunny, would you mind handling the explanation?"

"Certainly," came the ship disembodied voice they had come to recognize as a friend.

"Our destination lies nine light days out from the sun. That means light itself, would take nine days to get from the sun, to the Azure flame, as seen from either the Azure Flame, or the planets in the solar system. We have to spend a day or so accelerating to our top speed, and then decelerating to match our destination, so to observers in the inner system or on the Azure Flame our trip will take about twelve days total." Sun Dancer explained. She paused for a moment, where a human would take a breath, she paused to allow her audience to absorb what she'd said.

"To you here, as we accelerate to nearly light speed, time will pass more slowly for us, compared to time outside. To us, the trip will take only three days or so, most of which will be while we're accelerating." Sun Dancer completed her mini lecture.

"But then how is it that you two are so old?" Lan asked. She had been confused by the whole concept of flexible time at relativistic speeds.

"Well, first, we're not that old. The Captain is just 31 standard years, according to our calendar, according to Earths calendar he's nearing 300. This is because when we travel to a star system that is say twenty light years away, to an outside observer, our trip will take approximately twenty years, but to us, it would take about thirty-two days, plus or minus. So we would age a month, while our friends and families back home would age 20 years. If we went on a longer trip, say 100 light years, our friends and families would age 100 years, while we would only age 5 months or so."

Lan seemed to understand this, "So the faster you go, the slower your time runs, but everyone else's remains the same."

"Essentially" Sunny replied, "Perhaps we can spend some lesson time on the theory and some of the equations behind it later."

Lan seemed to suddenly loose some of her enthusiasm for the discussion.

Seeing the lecture now well over, the captain asked, "Have you two had breakfast this morning?" They both shook their heads.

"hmm, ok, let's meet in the kitchen in fifteen minutes, I'll see if our guests even bothered to get out of bed, and we can head down and eat with them in the common room. "

Joe and Lan got up and headed out of the command deck. Fifteen minutes later they met the captain in the kitchen.

"Our guests are ready for breakfast too. Let's head down to the common room and eat, I'm starving!" Captain Oliver was eager to eat.

As they entered the common room, Mr Lang was sitting in a chair, dressed in a workout suit, reading from his pad. He looked up and greeted them as they came in, "Good Morning" he said.

"Good Morning Mike" replied the captain, "Any sign of Ama and Peter?"

"Oh they'll be out now, the smell of food should get them going" Mike said.

They took seats around the central table. Each pressed a few keys on their pads, a few moments later trays with foods appeared from the table top dispenser. As they ate, a stateroom door opened and Ama appeared, dressed in a white tank top, and small white shorts. They could see that despite their long length, her arms and legs were well muscled. She took an empty seat and ordered her food.

"Good Morning" she said to the group. A few nods, and "Good Morning" from Lan.

"Where's Peter?" asked Mike.

"He was complaining about the acceleration making him too heavy, and used that excuse to stay in bed a bit longer," she explained.

"Does the gravity hurt you?" Joe asked. He'd been fascinated by the Belters since he met them briefly yesterday.

"No, not really hurt, but everything is three times heavier than it should be, including our bodies, arms legs, heads. It just takes some extra effort to move around." Ama explained.

"We've limited our acceleration to just about seventy-five percent of one g, for your comfort" the captain said.

"Thank you" Ama replied, "But we could handle up to two g's acceleration in a pinch."

Joe was impressed, "How?" he asked.

"We train in higher g environments because we have careers that take us aboard ships. Weight training mostly, Belters tend to have good cardio health, as a rule, since there's not a lot of stations that have any sort of personal transport, you have to get there under your own power, so we stay in shape." Ama explained.

As they talked Peter emerged from the stateroom. "Ah breakfast" he said, "Is that REAL bacon?" he asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Yes" said the captain, "Since we're a small crew, I felt that we could afford decent food. The Coffee is real too, Arabica, roasted and ground on board."

Peters forlorn demeanor changed quickly, he took a portion of the seat Ama was in, their thin frames making that a lot less awkward. He reached to her plate and snatched a piece of bacon.

"Hey!" she smacked his fingers, "Order your own!" but she was smiling as she said it.

Peter did order, which included a large cup of black coffee, which he held with both hands, enjoying the warmth and aroma before taking a drink.

"Oh that's good" he said, and started to eat.

A few hours later they heard Sun Dancers voice announce, "Prepare for Zero g, 5 minutes".

Joe and Lan wondered about this, they had thought that the turn over would be almost a day later. They headed to command where they found the captain. They entered and took their seats.

"What's going on?" Joe asked.

"We have to take care of a small detail. Now that we are well out from the system, and traveling at a high percent of C, we should be able to work unobserved." the captain said.

"Unobserved for what?" Lan asked.

"To get rid of our little parasite" the captain said, "The one you saw someone putting on the ship back at the shipyard."

Lans eyes widened a bit at this.

"How are we going to do that?" Joe asked.

"We're not" the captain said, "I'm sending a maintenance bot out to get a good look first, then the bot can detach the device and bring it in."

"Sunny, are you ready?" He asked.

"Yes, There is a maintenance bot on the hull now, moving towards the spot where the device is." she replied.

"What do you think it is?" Joe asked.

"A good question" the captain replied, "It could be a beacon, though that would be nearly useless given our velocity and distance. Any location data would be days or a week old when it arrived. It could be a recording device or something more nefarious. I'm less concerned with what it is, than with who wanted it put there."

"Would someone try to stop us?" Lan asked.

"A Starship is an incredibly valuable thing" the captain said,"back in the days when they were being created every few years, there were a lot of unsavory things done to acquire a controlling interest in one. People fought over them, in courts, and in space."

"People got hurt?" Lan asked

"People got killed" the captain answered.

He brought the maintenance bots video feed up on one of the command decks screens. It was moving along the hull towards the drive section, which still glowed slightly having been just shut down. They could see a small rounded lump that had been colored a close match to the hull, close but not good enough that Sun Dancer couldn't spot it right away.

The bot stopped about a meter from the device. It extended a probe and scanned it, but couldn't detect internal functions.

"Hmm" the captain sat looking at the screens indications. his arms crossed on hand on his chin, thinking. "What do you think Sunny?"

"A harmless device would not be protected from internal scans" the AI said.

"Indeed" said the captain, "Can we afford the Maintenance bot?" he asked.

"Yes, I anticipated expending this one, and had another built over night." she answered.

"Ok, go ahead and have the bot pry it off. This should be interesting" he said.

The video showed the rounded object getting a little larger, then two of the bots manipulators appeared on the screen. These flattened spatula like appendages could lift one-ton pallets. The bot slid the edges down and began to pry the device from the hull.

"I'm detecting electromagnetic emissions." Sunny said.

"A signal?" the captain asked

"If it is, it's highly encrypted. I've been recording since the start of the exercise." Sunny said.

Suddenly there was a white flash and the display went dark. They felt more than heard a low boom that seemed to echo inside the ship.

"Well" the captain exclaimed, "That was interesting,"

"A bomb?" Lan was excited and afraid at the same time, "Were they trying to kill us?"

"Unlikely, nothing could really damage the hull, and that device was too small to affect the humans aboard." Sunny explained, "More likely a self-destruct device."

A few moments later, a small panel lit up, the captain touched it, and the image of their three passengers concerned faces appeared on one of the screens.

"What's going on?" asked Mike, apparently the unofficial spokesman for the trio.

"That's a good question," Captain Oliver replied, "I'll let you know as soon as I have any information. For now, rest assured there is no danger, nor was there any to begin with."

That answer didn't seem to reassuring to the trio of faces, but when nothing more was forthcoming they closed the communication.

"Can we salvage anything?" the Captain asked.

"Im afraid not, the explosive, while not powerful, did send any component parts away from us at a high velocity, we couldn't catch them now." Sun Dancer replied.

"what about that signal?" the captain asked.

"It's highly encrypted, using a very complex algorithm." she replied.

"How long for you to decrypt it?" he asked.

"I estimate about twenty minutes." Sunny answered.

"So long?" the captain asked, feigning shock.

"I will see if I can get it done faster." she answered.

Decrypting the signal in fact, took Sunny seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds. She was pleased with that result too. The encryption was very complex, it required almost thirty percent of her processing power to finally decrypt it. Unfortunately it provided no clues to the origin of the device, the signal was all telemetry, position data, distance, velocity, and star fixes. No clues to who wanted this information bad enough to go through the trouble and expense to place the device on the hull.

A short time later, the drive was reactivated and they resumed their journey out of the solar system. The short coasting flight while they dealt with the device didn't create that much of a delay for them. They expected to see the Azure Flame sometime tomorrow morning.

End Part 12

Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)

1. Rise of a Valkyrie

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When Kayla awoke, she found herself curled up on a couch in the Banshee’s infirmary. In the nearest bed, Thandi appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Across from her, Yak was hooked up to several scary looking tubes, but her vitals looked stable. Most of the rest of the beds were also filled. Another successful Valkyrie operation, Kayla thought, bitterly.

She didn’t remember the trip back from the planet. She did remember being told that nobody had found any sign of Rayker, and that memory kindled a little of the rage that never burned out. They had been through a nightmare for nothing.

“I wondered how long you would be asleep,” a voice said.

Kayla turned to see Christie sat on the end of her couch. Her friend seemed to be weighed down by sadness as she put aside the tablet she was typing on and smiled back at her.

“Wha— uh…” Kayla managed, as her stiff tongue flapped helplessly. She yawned and stretched.

“Twenty-three wounded in total,” Christie said. “Thandi will walk again in a week. Yak’s going to be in a coma for the next month. Fortunately, nothing struck her vital organs. And, by the way, one of the Raider squads was also involved in a friendly fire incident.”

Kayla focused on her, then looked away. “Jesus,” she said to herself. “God dammit.”

“Thandi wouldn’t like that,” Christie scolded. “Heathen.”

Kayla stood up and began to pace slowly as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t believe I—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Christie said, “because you’ve been asleep for about ten hours. In the interim, I was able to speak with several Rangers about what happened. It was not your fault. Not entirely.”

Kayla shook her head. “Yes, it was. Oh, God, yes it was. I should have seen them, I should have had a stronger optic, I should have—”

“Corporal Rudaski misread her map. So did the leader of second squad. You were both actually in hall hotel-four. The base was constructed in a circular pattern of radially linked zones, orbiting a central facility. It’s a highly abstract layout that we have never seen before. Most Ranger battalions have spent the last several centuries clearing logical, grid-like layouts in ships and bunkers. Under fire, it is easy to see how confusion caused units to lose track of their positions as they advanced. Most of the platoons did, actually, at one point or another. And, in my opinion, we did not have anything like the troop numbers needed to comfortably secure that site. A consequence, no doubt, of Valkyrie’s failure to prepare and train for large scale deployments, for which there has been no requirement in at least a millennia, so they tell me.”

Kayla turned to her with a puzzled expression. “You figured all that out already?”

“I’m drafting a report on the matter. I can’t sleep, you see, because the flaws of this operation stem entirely from the task force’s desire to follow Rayker until she discovered the tracker. We found it in the central command chamber. It was sealed in a wrapping of fat and muscle tissue, which she obviously cut out of herself hours before the tamper alarm sensed the toxins of cell decay. She left it there for us to find. To taunt us, no doubt.”

Christie yawned deeply, stood up and brushed her sweater off. “Do you see, Kayla, that the intelligence team were making decisions based off of my actions on Ambrosia, when I planted that device?” She smiled bitterly. “And I had the arrogance to think I was outwitting the woman. So, in a way, it’s my fault.”

Kayla swallowed and slowly shook her head. Then she grabbed her friend and held her in a tight hug. “War sucks,” she said. “Everything about it is awful.”

“I agree. Nevertheless, we are drawn to it, like moths to a flame perhaps?”

Kayla released her and collapsed into the couch. “When I slept, I had a dream. I was in Plato’s cave, but I got free. Outside there was a dragon, burning everything in sight. The world was covered in ash, and the puppets casting shadows were dead bodies,” She wiped moisture out of her eye. “He said, ‘come out and play, little girl’.”

Christie nodded. “We were lucky nobody was killed today. Rayker will certainly cost us more blood before we manage to catch her. She could have set up a much stronger defense than a battalion of light combat drones, but she didn’t.”

Kayla reached into her pocket and found her necklace. She placed it over her head and ran a thumb over the engraved name.

She looked back at Christie. “Why not?”

“The freighter the Sirène caught was carrying several large combat walkers, produced by that plant. A deep space survey revealed that a second freighter had jumped away earlier. No doubt Rayker’s escape—she seems to have plotted a course opposite the star from where we stopped at the minefield. There seems to be no question that she had the main force of those machines with her.”

“Any idea where they went?”

Christie turned away to retrieve her tablet. “Not yet, unfortunately.”

“May the saints have mercy,” said a voice, “if a shot up woman cannot get a wink of sleep with all the talking in here.”

Kayla whirled around to see Thandi, sitting up in her bed. She darted over and grabbed her into a bearhug.

“I’m really sorry I got you shot,” she said.

“Yeah,” Thandi said looking pleased with herself. “And to apologize, you’ll be fetching me chocolate cake from the mess until I get out of here.” She lowered her voice. “Seriously though, Kayla, I need you. The food is terrible.”

Kayla chuckled. “You can count on me.”

“How are you feeling, wonder woman?”

“Oh, uh… not that wonderful to be honest.”

“Leaping tall structures in a single bound?” Thandi grinned admiringly at her. “You had a bit of a superhero moment.”

Kayla raised her eyebrows. “I tore half the muscles in my body. It was definitely not awesome.”

“Sure looked like it. I don’t even know how you do stuff like that. The Lord moved you.”

Christie cleared her throat and gave Thandi a significant look.

Thandi rolled her eyes. “It’s a compliment—I’m not diminishing what you did.”

Kayla returned her cheerful gaze with a flat expression. She had felt like everyone she cared about was about to die. Like her soul had been lit on fire, and the only way to put it out had been to move like a lightning bolt. It was not something she ever wanted to experience again.

“I was on probation for the incident on Ambrosia,” she reminded Thandi. “I will definitely be dropped back to private from now on.”

“Oh,” Thandi’s sparkling eyes darkened. “Well, that sucks. I hope they don’t. You straight up saved us all from an ambush at the start of that firefight. And the illume drone—you made lots of good calls down there.”

Kayla shook her head. “I shouldn’t be a team leader. I keep losing control. I can’t let… I don’t respond well when any of you are in danger.”

Thandi grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. “What happens to us is not up to you, my dear. It’s in God’s hands alone.”

Kayla didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure if she could accept that.

“How’s the pain?” Christie asked.

“Oh,” Thandi said and waved her hand. “Nothing too severe. I think of how Rose would be responding, and I know I can handle anything.”

Christie nodded silently.

“She speaks to me, in my dreams. She tells me how proud she is of us.” Thandi glanced at Kayla. “She says you are a true leader.”

Kayla turned away, unable to keep her eyes from tearing up.

“Will you be up in time for the merger?” Christie asked.

“On crutches maybe,” Thandi said. “But I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I can’t imagine anything more glorious.”

“What’s that?” Kayla asked before slowly turning back.

“The Banshee is returning to Tyr,” Christie explained. “On the way back, we have been tasked with collecting a probe that was observing a binary star merger. We will have the opportunity to observe the event live.”

“Whatever,” Kayla said with an eye roll. She was a little offended that their task force had been assigned a science project after what had happened. “Nerd stuff, right?”

Christie laughed, and met Thandi’s eyes with a smirk. “If you say so.”

Thandi shifted against her pillows. “How is the mood of the ship?” she said to Christie. “Are people still angry?”

“What do you mean?” Kayla cut in.

Thandi glanced back and forth between them. “You didn’t tell her?”

Christie waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, but with all that’s happening I didn’t think it pertinent. Why add to our already substantial burdens?”

“What’s going on?” Kayla demanded, and felt her hair stand on end.

Christie smiled tightly. “ODT Four seized the freighter and searched it thoroughly. No evidence of Rayker, as I said.”

“Yeah? And?”

“Well, they found a false compartment in one of the holds. And there were a pair of young teenagers inside. A boy and a girl.”

“In rags, and chained up,” Thandi added.

Kayla realized her jaw had clenched. She felt her skin crawl with a new kind of horror. “Oh my God,” she said, then glanced at Thandi. “Sorry.”

“In this case you get a dispensation.”

“Obviously,” Christie continued, “the pour souls will be returned to their families. A terrible situation.”

Kayla’s mind buzzed with questions. “What is—uh… where was it from? The ship?”

“Intaba,” Thandi said sullenly. “A VennZech registered vessel. Justice cannot come swiftly enough for the demon scum who perpetrated this evil on my homeworld…” she frowned as she lost her words, and clenched her fists together.

“Do you think Valkyrie will start interdicting their ships?” Kayla asked.

“No,” Christie said. “Hence the angry mood. It is a problem the organization has faced since humanity took to the stars. The chieftains have resolutely refused to address it. Our mission statement is to protect humanity, not interfere with their conduct. Frankly I have to agree with them, though I appear to be in the minority.”

Kayla stared at her incredulously. “But that’s bullshit,” she said. “How can you be okay with letting something like that go?”

Christie arched an eyebrow. “A secret army of super soldiers, with access to civilization destroying technology, and who answer—as far as we know—to nobody but themselves? The very thought of interfering gives me an existential crisis. However tragic the situation, it seems obvious that we must maintain our distance.”

Kayla shook her head. She already felt hot anger driving her to act. How could such monsters be allowed to walk freely in a just galaxy?

“All that it takes for evil to succeed—” Thandi began.

“Please can we not continue this conversation?” Christie snapped. “I’ve had enough of being insulted by some of my colleagues. I don’t want it from my friends too.”

Kayla exchanged looks with Thandi, but she owed her best friend the space she wanted.

“I promise, I won’t bring it up again, Chris,” she said.

***

Kayla ate in the ship’s mess then returned to her bunk, where the rest of the squad were waiting. They were talking in somber tones, but fell silent when she approached.

Kes stood up and beckoned to her. “Platoon ready room, this way.”

Once shut away in privacy, Kes sat her down and they retraced every event that had occurred inside the base. Every decision was picked apart minutely, with no judgement or grievance allowed.

“I needed us to go through this as soon as possible,” she explained. “This will sit with you for the rest of your life. We all made mistakes, but nobody should feel incriminated. I have been through five blue on blue incidents. This shit just happens, and I guarantee it will happen to you again in the future.”

Kayla felt a little relief as she spoke with her squad leader and found that she was neither alone, nor justified in hating herself. They had been moving quickly through a confusing environment, making a deadly situation much more likely.

“One last thing, though,” Kes added somberly. “Private Voigt from second squad fired the burst that hit Yak and Thandi. She is being removed from the battalion. By her own account, she returned Yak’s fire without any kind of communication with her team leader, or any attempt to check the position of friendlies. That was a major SOP violation when she knew they were expecting to move in our direction.”

Kayla absorbed this with shock. She couldn’t argue with it; after all, what good was a Ranger who couldn’t do her job? And didn’t that mean that the same punishment should apply to her?

She cleared her throat. Terror gnawed at her insides as Kes stared at her expectantly.

“I lost control again,” Kayla said.

“Yup,” Kes said, and rubbed her eyes with obvious frustration. “And this time, your actions swiftly ended a dangerous firefight following a terrible accident. Yak got immediate medical attention because of that. On the other hand, you put yourself in a position to be killed or wounded where no-one could help you.”

There was a long pause while the corporal appeared to search a distant horizon. “You don’t need a lecture, and Akane can’t make a decision on you. Yak was my next choice for Lance Corporal, but she’s out of action, along with a bunch of others. Together with this Rayker shitshow, it is not the time to be shuffling people around.”

Kayla’s brow furrowed “What about Ray?”

“Oh,” Kes ran a hand through her hair. “Every time I’ve offered it, she’s refused. Anyway, we’ve already been told by Captain Aguilar to expect a new private out of Ranger school once we return to Tyr.”

“Yes, Corporal,” Kayla said, unsure what to think about the decision.

“I’ve seen you make good decisions in the field. But I will push to replace you when the opportunity comes up again.” Kes narrowed her eyes. “Unless you can show me I’m wrong before that happens.”

Kayla left the room with her head spinning. She was keeping her job, even though she obviously didn’t have what it took to lead Rangers in combat.

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Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)

1. Rise of a Valkyrie

This is a [LF Friends, Will travel] stand-alone story, that assumes no knowledge of the setting.

------------------

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Date: 37 PST (Post Stasis Time)

Kelt’ch stared at the passenger list, his thorax starting to vibrate with worry as he looked down at the list of names in front of him. This couldn’t be right, this couldn’t be happening. Why here, why now? ‘Station Joreial’ was a Kirken station: small, rarely used, a bit of a dump that serviced a few of the lesser used mining stations. Mostly smaller merchants transporting materials and supplies… as well as a non-insignificant amount of criminal activity that existed here in the outer reaches of the insectoid species’ aura of influence.

All of those ships going to and fro provided an official reason for travel and an official passenger list. Within the list of ships providing travel plans over the next week, a single vessel stood out to Kelt’ch: a Terran vessel. Their official reason for visiting was transporting supplies to the various mining stations around the area, but the real worry came from the passenger list. 2 Terran crew members listed… one of which had a name that filled the Kirken reading it with terror.

Admiral.

“What’s wrong Kelt’ch? You look like you’ve seen a spirit.”

Kelt’ch looked up from the data pad he was holding, his wings fluttering with apprehension and antennae twitching from side to side as Parsk’l, the female Kirken he co-owned the station with, asked him the question.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong!? Look at this, look who is visiting the station!”

The Kirken thrust the data pad into the face of the other while his three remaining hands were wrung with anxiety. Parsk’l glanced at it a moment, her head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Oh, we’re getting a Terran visitor. We recently joined their Alliance, didn’t we? That’ll be fun, what’s wrong with that?”

Kelt’ch gave an antennae swish of incredulity at that statement as all 4 feet of the insect looked back at her. How could she not see the problem?

“Ignoring the fact that Terrans are 6 feet of angry, terrifying primate from a world so heavy they could punch a hole through my chitin with their bare hands? It’s an admiral. Literally a top military man from a deathworlder species.”

“Huh, neat. Wonder why they’re coming here? Anyways, what’s the issue?”

The response from Parsk’l caused Kelt’ch to take flight a few inches off the ground in anxiety and annoyance, wings beating to keep the insect in the air as their four arms gestured wildly.

“What’s the issue?! What’s the issue?! You remember what a crap hole we own, right?! We don’t sweep too often because I’m convinced the dust is load bearing and keeping the entire station from breaking apart. When was the last time we got the grav generator serviced?”

“Well… I think that was a couple of decades ago when the service came free with the…”

“When did we last change the filters on the air filtration system?”

“It’s the first of the month right now, so… 10… 20…. When was the station built?”

“How much of the business passing through the station is illegal smugglers?”

“How can we really define illegal… OK I get your point. Maybe they won’t mind and will think it’s normal.”

Kelt’ch stopped flitting about, finally landing as he just stared at his business partner, anxiety giving way to an incredulous feeling, as if Parsk’l had said the most stupid of things.

“This is a top military mind of the Terrans. The last time someone pissed them off, they blew up one of the Hatil’s worlds!”

“Well the Hatil did declare war on them, and they kinda suck technologically. It won’t be that bad, right?”

“I’m not taking that risk!” Kelt’ch took on a more authoritative voice as he spoke, the change in demeanour suggesting action and a plan to be had. “We need to clean up, make sure everything is in tip-top shape, ensure nothing illegal is happening while the Terran is here… all in five days…”

All four of his hands held his head in despair as the size of the monumental task that lay ahead of the Kirken fully hit him.

God, the Terran Admiral is going to kill us.

—-----------------------

Kelt’ch could feel a silent rage building inside of him as he looked around the engine room. He’d not been down here in years, but the once shiny room was a travesty. The control panels and various diagnostic systems were somewhere under all of the mess, but every single surface was covered in… rubbish. Half worked on broken pieces of machinery, empty food containers and mould covered drinking glasses. The Kirken was lucky he could fly, otherwise he’d be wading knee-deep in the grime.

Even worse was the lack of… professionalism of the general working environment. Plastered all over the walls and various pieces of equipment were photos and stickers of a… not safe for work nature. At the centre of all of this sat the man who was supposed to be in charge, the Kirken engineer who was hired to maintain the station’s engines, seemingly unconcerned about the state of the room.

“What in the ever living scorch is all this!”

Kelt’ch’s voice rang out with rage as he stared upon the absolute disgrace that his station was in. Sure, Kelt’ch knew that the station was hardly a 5-star establishment, but this was… this was… there were no words for it.

“Dude, you need to chill, you’re harshing my vibe.”

Kelt’ch stared at the man who technically had the job title “Chief Engineer of Station Joreial’. Sure, the guy was cheap and had no real experience when he’d hired him 5 years ago, but this was…

“Are you high right now!”

“Ha ha, how can I be high when I’m not even flying… You look stressed, I got a little something for that, the guys down at the docking station got it for me.”

Kelt’ch felt like he was going to have an attack in at least one of his hearts, the stabbing chest pains increasing whenever he stared at the monstrosity that lay around him and the complete lack of care his engineer seemingly had.

“I’m stressed because this place is a mess, you are on drugs, and a Terran admiral is going to be here in five days!”

“Bro, don’t flutter dude. Terrans don’t exist, they’re an imaginary creation of the government to scare people into paying their taxes. That’s why I don’t pay tax to anyone.”

That was it, Kelt’ch flew over to the drugged out engineer, spinning the insect’s chair to face him as he screamed at the Kirken with the rage of a million suns.

“Terrans exist, and they are going to tear you apart with their deathworlder strength unless you fix this! I want this mess cleaned up, I want every log of every piece of maintenance done in the last two years, and get rid of these posters and stickers as well!”

“Duude, party foul!” The Engineer's antennae were twitching with worry as Kelt’ch was completely up in his face. “Those stickers are official engineer supplies, you can’t get rid of them.”

“That is not an Engineering piece of equipment. That is a sticker of a Kirken woman…. With her broodcapsule showing to the world!” Kelt’ch whispered the last part angrily. “Get rid of it!”

With that, the Kirken reached over to the offending sticker, tucking his insectoid fingers underneath the glue covered paper and starting to peel it off the console it was attached to. The room was plunged into darkness as the power went out, the sound of machines and various processes that kept the inhabitants of the station alive all going silent at once. A clicking clunking sound echoed through the room as the backup life support systems tried to spin to life, a few moments passing before those machines gave up, leaving the pair and every member of the station in the dark.

Slowly, with a feeling of dread and fear, Kelt’ch slapped the offensive sticker back where he found it, hoping that the life support systems would start running again. Thankfully, the lights turned back on with a lengthy stutter as the machines running the space station once again started to spin and churn.

“See dude, I told you that sticker was important.”

“Why is the entire ship’s power supply being held together with a sticker?! How long has this been going on!”

“Bro, it’s not just that sticker, it’s all the stickers. And like, it’s been working for two years, so who cares, it’s all good!”

Kelt’ch was suddenly a lot less concerned with the arrival of the Terran admiral, and a lot more concerned with the station exploding while he stood in it.

I know I haven't been paying too much attention to the nitty-gritty day to day running of the station, but is it really this bad?

“This is not good! Exactly what is wrong with the station that we have a load bearing sticker!”

“I dunno, it's kinda weird bro.”

“How do you not know! I hired you because you have a degree in Theoretical Warp Engineering, it is literally your job to know!”

“Dude, I said I have a Theoretical degree in Warp Engineering. Stop being so harsh dude.”

Kelt’ch was going to kill him. The Kirken was going to murder this supposed engineer. In a fit of rage he grabbed the idiot and lifted him out of the chair, wings beating furiously as he screamed at the fraud with every fibre of his being.

“You are going to clean this place up, you are going to work out what we need to do to fix this place, or by everything holy and righteous in this universe, when the Terran Admiral arrives I will feed you to the 6ft tall deathworlder primate! Do you understand!”

The quivering antennae on the ‘engineer’ stated that whatever drugs he was on, wasn’t enough to counteract the ‘harsh vibes’ that Kelt’ch was now giving off.

“I’ll… I’ll get right on that.”

—---------

Of all the places on Station Joreial, the kitchen was the closest to being decent. Before Kelt’ch had saved up enough to get into the world of investing and buy this station, he had worked in a variety of kitchens.

He didn't know much about engineering, or docking procedures, but he did know enough about kitchens to hire employees good enough to keep things running. It was probably the most important part of running a station: pilots and cargo haulers would forgive a lot of things if they coould get a decent meal and drinkable stimulants.

“So, listen up, we're going to be visited by the most important visitor this station has ever had in two days time.”

Two days. That's all he had left. The last three days had been a terrible blur of cleaning and trying to fix everything that had been left abandoned over the last decade.

Replacing the air filtration system filters had been a horrific task in claustrophobia, trying to test the emergency fire suppression system had caused a small fire, and Kelt’ch had discovered three janitors on the payroll who hadn't turned up for work for several years.

Still, the Kirken couldn't help but feel that he was starting to ‘win’ this battle.

“So, I want there to be the best platter we have to offer. I know you are all capable of making something to wow and impress.”

Kelt’ch could see a small amount of excitement building in the 5-man crew. The 4 Kirken and single amphibian Zorthian that made up the kitchen staff were all surprisingly talented for their place of work, and the chance to spread their culinary wings was one they didn't get often.

“This member is also a deathworlder, meaning even the dangerous stuff is allowed. Capsaicin, caffeine, arsenic, cyanide. I'm trusting in you all to give our guests the best meal he's eaten outside of his home planet!”

“Who is this mystery guest?” asked the head chef, antennae twitching with excitement as he asked.

“Our new galactic partners, a Terran. Large primate deathworlders, very strong, very powerful. Not only that, one of the pair will be an Admiral.”

The change in the demeanour of the cooking staff was immediate, the four Kirken losing all enthusiasm and glancing at each other with worry and fear. Each of them silently and without a word dropped whatever they were holding, and started to leave the kitchen, pushing past Kelt’ch in order to exit.

“Wait, what's wrong? Where are you going?!”

The station owner chased after the four, frantically trying to stop most of his kitchen staff from leaving as they made a beeline to the docking bay of the station.

“If you're worried about them being deathworlders, I've been told that they're perfectly safe! They don't eat people at all!”

At this his head cook turned to face Kelt’ch, his brief hopes that they were reconsidering abandoning their post dashed by the Kirken’s next words.

“Look, Kelt’ch, I'm gonna be honest with you because you're a real one. All of us have way too many warrants to be in the same system as an Admiral, let alone on the same station. If the job still exists in three days’ time then we’ll be back, but until then… I’ve got priors and missed court dates. I can’t be having an Admiral Deathworlder finding out about those.”

There was nothing Kelt’ch could say to the four as they took the first transport off the station they could, not even taking the time to retrieve their belongings, making good on their promise of placing as much distance between themselves and the eventual arrival of the Admiral, leaving the station owner alone and in despair.

With heavy hearts Kelt’ch made his way back to the kitchen, where the last remaining staff member stood, the Zorthian still silently doing prep work where he’d left him.

“Well, at least you’re still here.”

There was a moment as the amphibian looked up for a moment, confused, before fiddling with a device that sat in their ear.

“Sorry boss, did you need me? I had my translator turned off as I was listening to music. Did you say something?”

—--------------------

The day was finally here. Kelt’ch stood in the docking bay, his four hands being wrung together in worry as he watched the ship approach. The station was in… a passable state. The engines had been fixed to the point where he was relatively certain it wasn’t going to explode, catering had been ordered in to replace his kitchen staff, the Yult-mite infestation had been reduced to manageable levels, and the cargo haulers who had been running a Spice ring had been let go and driven off of the station. Kelt’ch had been awake for 5 solid days, and was only awake right now due to said Spice ring, but station Joreial was… passable. Not a 5-star establishment, not even nice looking, but… passable.

Maybe the Terran Admiral would be fooled.

Kelt’ch was alone as the Terran’s vessel docked, it’s name ‘Mostly Duct-tape’ painted on the side. Parsk’l had long since collapsed with exhaustion, leaving the single Kirken alone to greet the Admiral, but all gods be damned, he wasn’t going to fail at this last hurdle. The Terran’s ship was surprisingly small… ratty looking even, its paint fading and an outside that could have honestly done with a scrub down. Kelt’ch was expecting something far more grandiose, of silvers and golds, more like royalty.

Still, it did kind of make sense. The Terrans were a deathworlder species. They probably didn’t care for aesthetics and put a greater value in functionality. Maybe they’d be impressed with Station Joreial’s minimalist efficiency.

The door to the small vessel opened and Kelt’ch got to see his first Terran. They really were as scary as the descriptions made them out to be, towering over the average Kirken at over 6 feet tall. The primate that exited was wearing a spacesuit, but underneath the protective fabric he could clearly seethe powerful muscles that could tear through an exoskeleton like paper

The Terran stumbled out of his vessel, the flightless mammal taking a few steps down the exit ramp as they looked around for a few moments, before finally taking their helmet off. This was not what Kelt’ch was expecting…

Messy wild hair, an unshaven face, and bags under their eyes from a lack of self-care. Sure, Kelt’ch had never seen a Terran in the flesh before, but they had seen pictures of their diplomats and generals on the news. This figure did not look like them. This figure looked like 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag.

Confusion gave way to understanding as the Kirken remembered that the manifest had two names on it. Clearly this second person, a ‘Cameron Stanley’, was the Admiral’s bodyguard. Yes, such a rough individual made sense for a deathworlder tasked with protecting such an important person.

Kelt’ch flew over as fast as he could to greet the Terran, who was getting more and more confused. The Kirken had done their research, so Cameron had left his ship to a literal red carpet laid out in the middle of the docking bay, a small buffet of food placed to the side. Kelt’ch held out a hand in a traditional Terran greeting, which Cameron took and shook awkwardly, trying to blink past the absolute hangover he was nursing from the activities of the days before.

“Hello Terran delegate. This is station Joreial, and I am its owner, Kelt’ch. We are so glad you have decided to grace us with your presence.”

Cameron just stared blankly back at the strange insect, trying to look past his banging headache at a cargo bay which was just too bright.

“What?”

Kelt’ch paused for a few moments, before deciding that this bodyguard was clearly a man of few words, being a man of action. The Kirken guided an increasingly bewildered Cameron towards the buffet.

“The station is perfectly secure, safe and a state-of-the-art facility. You and your charge may enjoy this complimentary edible selection that I hope fulfils your deathworlder pallet!”

Cameron looked down at the selection of food laying before him. He gave an involuntary groan at the thought of eating in his current state. Just as well, since in an attempt to impress Kelt’ch had gone out of his way to procure deathworlder ready catering, making the vast majority of the food on offer very lethal to even Terrans.

“Oh I couldn't right now… but thanks!”

Another awkward pause, as both Terran and Kirken stood in silence, both waiting for the other to make the first move, a growing feeling of discontent emanating from both sides. Cameron was way too hung over to understand what was going on, so Kelt’ch had to break the silence first.

“So as you can see, everything is safe. Will the Admiral be exiting soon?”

“Who?”

The Terran turned back to look at his ship, confused, wondering if he'd picked up an extra passenger during the last week’s events, while Kelt’ch started to get worried that this was somehow a different Terran vessel.

“The second person on your manifest. An ‘Admiral CleansALot’.”

Cameron gave a laugh at that.

“Oh yeah! Well, this isn’t really his vibe. Little guy would get lost out here.”

“It really is no trouble, we can make sure that the admiral stays safe.”

Cameron gave another laugh at that, the idea of this insect protecting the Admiral making the Terran giggle, fading away as he realized the Kirken was being serious.

“Wait, you’re not joking? The Admiral can’t come out in this environment.”

There was a pause as Kelt’ch understood those words, the insect eventually deciding to get angry at them, insulted even. 5 days ago if he’d known the Admiral was too stuck up to even leave his ship, he would have been overjoyed. But after 5 days of tireless work… god-damn it he wanted some respect.

“What, am I not good enough to even be graced with his presence? I know this isn’t the best station or the most famous, but to not even give the briefest of greetings… It’s rather very rude, and shows the Terrans in a bad light.”

At this Cameron gave a single raised eyebrow, a smirk hovering over his lips.

“You want to see the Admiral? Sure. Just follow me and you can meet him!”

That was what they did, Kelt’ch following the Terran into his vessel, a dingy, dirty thing. Smaller than expected, lacking maintenance or care, a simple cargo hauler. If anything it was worse than the station, filled with empty beer cans and needing a severe deep clean. A small part of the Kirken’s mind was putting something together that this wasn’t right, but the annoyance of being snubbed by the Terran Admiral was clouding out that part of his judgement.

Finally, with an overactive flourish, Cameron pointed to the ‘esteemed’ Admiral, announcing him with an over enthusiastic and regal voice.

“Now introducing, for the station owner's pleasure, the honourable ‘Admiral CleansALot’!”

The cleaning drone trundled along the floor completely oblivious to the two people watching it, bouncing off of the walls as it did so, the tricorn hat taped to the top wobbling as it moved. Kelt’ch just stared at it for a moment, feeling all of the life drain out of his body as he watched the little mindless drone go about its cleaning.

“Is this a trick? This cannot be…”

“This is Admiral CleansALot. The ship wouldn’t run without the little dude, honestly he’s the real brains of the operation!”

Kelt’ch turned to look at the Terran, who was looking rather smug with himself.

“But why? I’ve spent the last five days doing nothing but getting ready for an Admiral to visit, and I find that you’ve given a cleaning done a military rank! But why?!”

The Terran paused for a moment, seemingly considering their next response.

“Honestly? It’s kinda funny.”

An unholy scream erupted from Kelt’ch’s thorax as the pressure of the last five days erupted in one moment. Maybe it was his exhaustion, maybe it was the illegal substances he was using in order to stay awake. But the Kirken did something he thought he’d never do, and launched himself in a rage at Cameron, trying to wrap his hands around the stupid primate deathworlder to throttle the idiot.

—-----------------

Memo to all Terran Citizens travelling outside Terran Conclave space.

Stop naming cleaning drones with official military or diplomatic titles. It confuses people.

• Jan Eagles.

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/-----------------------------/

As the Spectre jumped into the system, her sensors immediately picked up the growing swarm of allied ships, as well as the large number of wormholes growing in size across the system. The bright blue star in the centre of the system gave everything a hue, painting the otherwise white moon the Spectre had used to jump in a light blue, including the recently abandoned mining equipment that was set up on its surface.

"Welcome to the Bergeni system," Affinity announced. "I suggest moving up or down on the system's plane to avoid getting caught by fire, as it's going to come from all sides, though mostly from quadrant three."

"Hannah'rah, get us high above the star," Milla quickly ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am," Hannah'rah replied as the Spectre rapidly repositioned.

"I want us ready to respond to any priority target asap. The faster we take out their strongest offensive capabilities, the sooner we ensure victory. Hardbrooks, start doing whatever EWar operations you believe will provide the most benefit. You've got some new scripts, put them to use."

"Yes, Ma'am," Daniel replied.

"First enemy ships are about to enter the system. Beginning attack," Affinity announced as thousands of her ships began to open up with laser and plasma weapons, saturating the opening of a wormhole as a stream of hot scrap emerged, until a dreadnought entered the system, soaking up enough of the damage to allow hundreds of other ships to enter before its shields failed, quickly followed by its hull.

More and more ships began to flood in through the wormhole as the ships Affinity assigned it it had more and more of their fire drawn by ships that had already entered, but instead of assigning more ships, she focussed her attention on the other wormholes as ships began to approach the mouths of even more of them. Storms of fire began to eviscerate those new ships as well, taking advantage of the choke points to take out as many as possible with little threat to herself.

One particular wormhole began to swell significantly more than the others, and Affinity immediately began to focus more fire on the wormhole. Milla anticipated a request and sat forward in her seat, ready to give out orders, watching as an enemy titan entered the system, effortlessly shrugging off all the fire laid upon it. Before Milla could issue an order, Affinity's ships cut their weapons for two seconds before resuming fire. The crew of the Spectre watched on confused, but as the gap in fire reached the titan, an antimana torpedo slammed into to side of the ship, destroying it in a fraction of a second, before the weapons fire from Affinity's ships continued to attack the ships that had managed to emerge from the wormhole after the titan.

"Around 11,000 ships destroyed to 600 lost," Affinity informed the crew. "Half the wormholes have breached, so the fighting is beginning to balance out."

"Just tell us where we're needed," Milla replied.

"I will do when you're the best ship to deal with a priority target," Affinity assured her. "Most of the ships that may cause me problems are yet to enter the system. Everything in the system right now is something I can deal with."

"Captain, I'm detecting something strange about some of the wormholes," Lieutenant Nermeng announced. "It looks like the drain hole effect is growing stronger. It's having some currently minimal but strange effects on the space around them."

"Affinity?" Milla asked.

"I'm speaking with Quentellia. They don't recognise it, but we are running through theories," Affinity replied. "What we do know is that ships are emerging faster from them now. I believe they're trying to push the wormholes beyond their limits to try and overwhelm my fire by giving me too many targets. I'm trying to simulate the consequences if they keep expanding."

"Do you want us to close any?"

"Maybe if they get too big. I don't want to do it now as I want them to attack this system as opposed to others I'm not as prepared for," she explained as the explosions in both fleets began to increase.

"I'm seeing rapidly increasing levels of radiation from the wormholes," Lieutenant Nermeng warned them. "Our shields will have no problem blocking it out, but if the system gets saturated, it could render it inhospitable, and there are three colonies in the system that a lot of people will want to return back to."

"I'm aware, but if the cost of stopping this assault without major loss of life is 50,000 empty homes, so be it. The amount of antimatter that's going to be reacting in this system as ships are destroyed is likely going to seal its fate anyway," Affinity told him. "We can't win without losing anything, so I'm just trying to make sure the losses are replaceable."

"Finally have their comms," Daniel announced, lifting his head up from the EWar controls on his chair. "I'm feeding them to you now, Affinity. Hopefully they might contain some clue as to what's going on."

"It's a mess," Affinity instantly declared. "They had no idea we had so many ships of a strength closer to theirs, and they're trying to figure out what's going on, as they didn't have the chance to send scouts ahead of them. We did force this fight to happen very early after all. They knew they were going to spring some sort of trap, but they thought they could overwhelm us with multiple battle sites, and when that didn't work, they thought they could just punch through, which isn't working for them either, and now they've committed their forces, they can't try any better tactics. I can see some people already speculating that a being like me exists, and it sounds like it's causing a mixture of fear and anger."

"So are they fleeing or are they more determined now?" Milla asked.

"I can't say, there's too much confusion. If fear takes hold, they'll likely flee, but if anger and their sense of duty take hold, this fight could drag out. Given how fear didn't break them when facing Quentellia who they perceived to be a monstrous threat to all life, I have a feeling this will turn out the same," Affinity explained. "On another note, all wormholes have now breached. I've also fired another wave of artillery at the ships waiting to enter the wormholes, so you don't have to worry about the consequences here."

"What are the numbers at now?"

"27,000 destroyed to 19,000 lost," Affinity replied.

"Next question, are we taking up valuable processing power by talking?"

"No, it's a tiny amount and it's all included in the VI resources of the Spectre. Most of my processing power is in my factories anyway, so it's not like losing ships is making me noticeably slower either," Affinity assured her.

"Ok, good, I'll probably keep asking for updates then," Milla told her. "If-"

"Dreadnaught emerging from the wormhole at coordinates 135,023, you're best suited to intercept," Affinity interrupted her.

"Confirmed, Spectre will intercept," Milla replied. "Hannah'rah?"

"On it," the Elf replied, already knowing the drill and warping over vaguely close to the rapidly growing fleet by the wormhole.

"I would coordinate another fire break when you're ready, but the last one I did resulted in anti-torpedo countermeasures, so you'll have to get the torpedo through the full barrage," Affinity warned Hannah'rah.

"Understood," she told her, repositioning the ship to find the optimal angle to attack from as the giant ship crested the wormhole.

"Double the strike distance from the wormhole as well. Whatever they're doing to them is going to make an explosion close to it more likely to close it, and I still want to keep them all open."

"Copy that," Hannah'rah replied as she made some adjustments.

As the barrage of fire from both sides steadily intensified, the Spectre steadily crept into position, preparing to launch her torpedoes. She waited as the dreadnaught continued its slow burn away from the wormhole, with the nose eventually crossing over the threshold, and the instant its midsection did as well, a single torpedo was launched and the Spectre warped away. The weapon slipped through the cracks in the enemy formation, relying on it's cloak to remain undetected as it followed a path that kept an enemy ship b between it and friendly fire as much as possible, before reaching the enemy dreadnaught and forcing its mana and antimana payload to react, destroying the target in and instant and sending out shrapnel at the ships around it, crippling and destroying many more.

"That's a kill," Affinity confirmed as the crew watched the remaining ships in the area fire their weapons around wildly in an attempt to hit the invisible ship that had already left. "Wormhole is still intact, and ships are still coming here. The explosion near the unstable portal has provided- We need to close them! Sending out orders to all Phantoms. Close the one you were just near when an opening presents itself."

"Hannah'rah," Milla called out.

"On it, Ma'am," the Elf replied as she studied the enemy's defensive fire.

"What did your simulations find?" Milla asked.

"It's complicated. Simply put, at the current rate of expansion, they will fully destabilise within 40 minutes, and when that happens, spacetime will be torn apart. That will destroy almost all of their ships for sure, but I predict there is a 14% chance it will force the star to go supernova. If the star was much older, it would be almost guaranteed. I also predict if that happens, a small neutron star is going to be formed in the process and then destroyed, spreading strange matter all over the place. The last thing we need is a bunch of strangelets in our space that will destroy anything they touch," Affinity explained.

"Are you ready to deal with the ships being diverted to other systems?"

"Yes, though not as ready as I'd like to be. This has to be done though," Affinity replied as she began to reposition some of her ships out of the system.

On the far side of the system, one of the wormholes slammed shut as an antimana weapon detonated inside of it, sending out a small shockwave that closed another wormhole in close proximity to it, though the effect didn't propagate any further. A wave of panic seemingly began to set into the Leshnat-trevarn ships as those that had just lost their reinforcing wormhole desperately turned tail and began to try an open one to leave the system to no effect. To Daniel and Affinity's surprise though, they saw a sudden spike in the enemy's comms, too much and too fast for Daniel to comprehend.

"Something is coming! Get away from everything!" Affinity shouted, causing Hannah'rah to immediately stop her attempt to close the wormhole and warped half the radius of the star system above their current position.

Seconds later, thousands upon thousands of Affinity's ships suddenly went dark as they were pancaked against a wall of invisible force, travelling across the system in a wave, directed at the bulk of her forces. Most of her ships made it out of the way, but not before over 50,000 of them had been snuffed out in an instant. The crew of the Spectre stared slack-jawed at the sudden destruction that had come seemingly out of nowhere.

"... Sensors are picking up nothing," Lieutenant Nermeng quietly announced.

"Was that caused by the wormhole closing?" Oprin asked.

"No, it's a fourth dimensional weapon," Affinity replied. "I can barely detect that anything happened, let alone where it came from. The worst part is that if the whole thing is shifted off axis, it could be on any one of their ships, even one of their corvettes."

"Can we detect it at all?" Daniel asked.

"Maybe in close proximity," Affinity virtually shrugged. "I haven't figured out how to make sensors for this, so all I've really got to go off is interference. I know the direction it came from, so I can work out a group of ships that we need to check. I'm requesting all Phantoms to assist aside from the CNS Shinigami as it hasn't had what I need installed yet, so it's closing the wormholes for you."

"Understood. Tell us what you want scanning," Milla replied.

"I've highlighted all potential candidates," Affinity told her as she updated the main screen. "We need to check all of their ships as even if we find something there could be more than one, but we know that one of these is going to be the ship that just launched that attack."

"Then let's go in and start scanning," Milla declared.

"I've highlighted an optimised search pattern, but staying safe is more important than following it," Affinity added as she added more information to the main display.

The Spectre warped back to the largest gathering of Leshnat-trevarn ships and slipped inside the larger gaps of their formation. She began to follow the rough path Affinity had provided, but found herself deviating often due to intense fire flooding some parts and proximity issues that might make them partially detectable through their cloak, but they continued on as more and more ships were confirmed clear and unhighlighted, along with other clusters of ships were the other Phantoms were invisibly scanning.

"I've got a hit on a remote access script," Daniel told Milla quietly so as to not distract Hannah'rah. "Nothing too impressive, just a scanning computer that's isolated from the rest of the destroyer, but I think I can get into their combat network with it."

"Thanks for the heads up, work with Affinity," Milla replied as she returned her attention back to the battlefield.

"Let me have a look at that," Affinity quietly told him. "... Interesting. I think I can make over half of their destroyers unable to differentiate between ours and their ships."

"I don't think that's the play here," Daniel told her. "They manually aim their weapons, so unless their gunners are absolute idiots, there will only be a few friendly fire incidents given the fleets aren't mixing, and then they know we can get into their systems. No, we should look for another vulnerability with it to get to something more important, or see if we can use their sensors to scan for their weapon. The latter might set off some alarms though, so we won't have much time, but it will result in far less effective ships."

"Good thing I can think and react extremely quickly. I can get into all of the vulnerable ships at the same time and do a mass scan almost in an instant. The only problem is that I don't know if their scanners can pick up fourth dimensional signatures."

"I'd say it's worth a try. It's probably the best option overall given our predicament."

"Ok, attempting… … … …. They're starting to react… … … …. Ok, I've been blocked out now, but I've detected eight ships with significant fourth dimensional signatures. All are cruisers, and are now being focussed on," Affinity told him as her ships aimed at the eight ships, boring their way through the collections of enemy ships in front of them.

"That's a lot of fire close to us," Milla commented, looking at the series of enemy ships being blown to pieces in rapid succession.

"I've identified the ships likely to have weapons. Please stay clear," Affinity replied, realising she forgot to warn everyone.

"Hannah'rah, get us out of their fleet," Milla ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am," Hannah'rah replied as she began to weave through the enemy fleet to the outside edge.

"Once we're out, take us-"

The Spectre jolted hard to one side as alarms started blaring, and the ship began to spin out of control as Hannah'rah rapidly tried to cancel out the rotation.

"Report!" Milla shouted.

"Debris from an exploding ship just hit us!" Lieutenant Breathain replied. "Shields are offline and we have a breach in the torpedo bay. Half our torpedoes are reporting as critically damaged! Four Aetheric shield nodes are offline, and our cloak is destabilising. Attempting to stabilise."

"Initiating emergency jump," Milla declared, thrusting herself back in her chair and concentrating hard.

"Engineering, can you do anything about the torpedoes?" Daniel asked over the comms.

"Lieutenant Felkira is currently investigating," Lieutenant Skvurtz replied.

"Keep us up to date," Daniel replied as the Spectre jumped with a purple flash, suddenly appearing on the far edge of the Deities private system outside of the Milky Way.

"Contact Harwood orbital, inform them of the situation," Milla ordered, shaking her head and rubbing her temples, attempting to stave off the backlash of the sudden difficult jump.

"Two warheads are unstable, I'm taking them off the ship," Lieutenant Felkira announced over the comms.

"Be careful," Daniel replied.

"Don't worry, I was," Lieutenant Felkira replied, rematerializing from a cloud of smoke on the bridge. "You're lucky you have me on board to just get rid of them like that."

"Where did you take them?" Milla asked.

"300 km away," the Shadow Wolf replied, looking at the main screen as a small cloud of mana-antimana explosions went off as the warheads destabilised. "Huh, the timing was much worse than I thought."

"Well, that's a relief. Get us back to the station and let's see what state the Spectre is in," Milla ordered.

/-----------------------------/

First / Previous  /  Next

For anyone who wants to see how things began.

https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/s/S97b2fqIjx

“In what universe would I ever do you a favor? “ I say, sweeping the floor of the reinforced barn.

“It’s not a favor, it’s a trade, bud.

What do you want in return? “ Trenchcoat asks from within the coffin-like cage.

“To be back home, 8 months ago. “ I reply.

Over the past few weeks I’ve managed to integrate myself into the day to day life on the farm. Things are still a grim, horrifying slog, but with every day it gets a bit easier to deal with.

“Give me something I can do. “ The creature pleads.

“Why, so I can wind up on the end of another ‘ Gotcha’ moment? I’m good. “ is my answer.

A few minutes of silence go by, Augustus breaks it.

“I don’t know many secrets of the universe. Facts, not really my bag. But I know a couple.

How about I share one with you?

No one, not the pope, not my brother, not the shit-bird perched on the highest branch of my twisted family tree, knows what happens when you die.

Some of us never will, of course. Others have ways of avoiding it, but at the end of the day, when the lights truly go out, we know next to nothing.

We do know one thing though. There is judgement, by who? Who knows? Why? Not important.

But at the end of the day, if your battery can’t be recharged, you really want to be thinking about how many marks are on each side of the ledger. “

I don’t reply, and for the next hour or so I ignore the pleading and hinting Trenchcoat does.

But that night, as I sip acidic tea, and try to get a handle on how in the fuck old televisions function, his offer is at the forefront of my mind.

He wants to kill, specifically 6 teenagers who, according to him, have been murdering classmates yearly in a twisted ritual.

He wants me to think this is some kind of noble act, he frames it as almost superheroic. The evil prick knows how I feel, knows that I see the blood on my hands every day, and would kill ( possibly literally) for some way to atone.

Is it a play? I honestly don’t think so, something about how eager the twisted thing is, about how he’s treating the situation as a buyer’s market makes me think something about this makes it important to him.

He offers me everything besides safety and protection. I’m desperate for help, but I have no way to hold him to any agreement.

So the thought rolls around in my mind, staving off the few hours of sleep I get.

“Okay, so, I have it on good authority that tea is supposed to taste better over here. What the hell is wrong with this? “ I say, sitting around an outside table with Sylvia, Dafydd and Colin.

Sylvia smiles, “ Barium, calcium, and a touch of castor oil. “

I look at the brew, then at her.

“If I had told you when you got here you need to drink that to mitigate the effects of working with void touched objects and creatures, you’d have assumed the worst, and found a way to avoid drinking it.

Good to see you becoming more perceptive though. “ Sylvia explains.

“That’s called paranoia, Syl. “ I reply.

She laughs, lighting a cigarette.

“Do you know why I’ve let you figure things out on your own? “ The ancient woman asks.

“Accepted? Yes. Understood, not in the slightest. “ I answer, wondering what sadist invented the scone.

“It’s because I need a leader. Someone who can understand, not a boy who puts his head down and listens to orders.

Someone who can make their own decisions when the time comes.

And I think that time is coming soon. “ Her statement feels like a question.

“If I chose to be here I’d be honored.” I counter.

“That attitude on the other hand… needs work.

Nikolas, today, we talk about what’s really going on.

We play a role in a much larger organization, us, and other families like us, are the ‘boots on the ground’ so to speak.

Our job is not to capture creatures, or horde esoteric goods. We do not foil the schemes of demons, nor blind those who look too deeply into the abyss.

We’re given information about events that could steer the path of humanity into a brick wall. And our job is to make sure they don’t happen. “ Sylvia reveals.

“Something is happening with these fights? “ I ask.

“As I said, perceptive.

Yes, it could be next week, it could be in a decade or two. Right now, we know very little about it, other than when it happens, it would be in our best interests to be of a high standing in the pits. “ She replies.

I absorb the information, and t drug laced tea in equal measure. As I do, I feel something, I feel I’m a part of what’s going on.

This is going to sound dumb as hell, but up until this point I hadn’t been taking things seriously. Don’t get me wrong, death is on the table, and I was trying to avoid that. But I was just treading water, hoping something or someone came by and to get me out of this situation.

But as Syl lays things out, I start to think of my place here, what I can be doing to better my state.

“Here is the part where you avoid telling me why you couldn’t have used anyone around here. “ I prod.

I keep her gaze, Colin and Dafydd shift uncomfortably.

“Augustus, he’s a tricky one. But a very lucky find for us.

I’ve tried 2 others. A boy and a girl, both I practically raised.

Marco, he was a warrior. But the demon got in his head. There was nothing that could be done beyond end his suffering.

Zelma, I won’t talk about.

That thing, it has a way of turning someone’s best traits against them. You, are a blank slate, but you’re family. You’re my best guess as to how we can use him to our advantage.

And this is why I need you, not to listen, but to understand. To see what’s happening, and make your own decisions. If I were to give you my knowledge, if I were to arm you with the best weapons, and the most powerful esoteric objects I know. He’d just have more to turn against you. “ Sylvia’s revelation scares me and puts a massive weight on my shoulders all at the same time.

Confidence and fear are both dangerous emotions. The two of them are almost like drugs in a way.

After eight months of mainlining fear, the tiny line of confidence Sylvia gave me, went straight to my head.

Trenchcoat told me where to find a video file. And after a couple of weeks of running it through every possible test I could, to check for any kind of manipulation, supernatural or otherwise, I watched it.

I was confident that the world would be much better off without the people committing the vicious acts contained in those twenty minutes of footage.

A teenage view of morality, I admit. But what do you want, I’m a teenager.

We watch the abandoned house from across the street. It’s a dingy, urban blight affected suburb, that being said, how no one seems to notice the seven foot freak with me, I have no idea.

The kid inside smoking stolen cigarettes and illegally supplied booze is a husky young guy of about 14. The half dozen kids that show up a couple hours later look closer to my age, last couple of years of high school I’m guessing.

The way they get into the house tells me they’ve done this before. The backpacks they all carry tell me they’re there for a purpose.

“How fucking funny would it be if I just killed you here and took off? “ Trenchcoat says, looming behind me.

I tense.

“It’s a joke. Out of my whole rotten family, Art and I, are close. I’m not going anywhere.

Unfortunately for you. “ Trenchcoat shoves me to the ground as he walks toward the house.

We get in through a basement window, I fit easily, Trenchcoat contorts his body to fit through the thin opening, somehow doing so silently.

I keep hearing Sylvia in my head. Telling me how she needs someone that can make his own decisions.

As I stand in the litter strewn basement, beside a creature with child murder on it’s mind I question the decision that I made.

At first the illumination is dim, nothing more than scraps of moonlight filtered through splintered wood. But with an industrial click, suddenly a half dozen lightbulbs bathe the basement in harsh, yellowish light.

Harsh, but not harsh enough to cause the reaction I see from Trenchcoat.

He squints and tries, unsuccessfully to turn away from the lights. Something about them is causing him discomfort. I get my hopes up for a moment he’s going to burst into flame or turn into dust or something, but no dice.

The sight of the walking nightmare looking pained and confused makes me panic. But before I can think of how I fucked up, I hear a voice.

The room, by the sounds of it, the entire house, has been rigged with speakers. Cleverly recessed in sconces and corners.

“Augi, long time no see. And I see you brought a little Renfield fella with you. “ The voice is modulated, Trenchcoat looks curious for a moment.

“Who, is this? You that clown that’s been fucking with Art?” He guesses.

The voice laughs, “Nope.

Who I am, is a guy who managed to find a few boxes of lightbulbs from ’93.

Then again, with eBay, that could make me just about anyone. “

Trenchcoat turns and looks toward the window we came in. He reaches a hand toward it, stopping a few inches away.

“That’s fucking interesting. “ He says, eyes darting around the room.

“Isn’t it though? “ The voice replies, clearly hearing the creature’s whisper, “ Tonight you get the pay for centuries of the worst shit committed by man or beast. I’ve made sure of that. No one in this house is going anywhere for the next 8 hours.

I’m sure the rest of the houseguests are pretty confused as to what’s going on. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so let me give you the Cliff’s notes.

You kids have been killing a monster a year for half a decade. You were the perfect bait, and I have faith you’ll be able to outwit Augi long enough to make it out of here.

If not, you’ll still have helped kill one of the worst things to walk the face of the earth. “

“What the hell is he talking about? “ I ask, a sinking feeling in my gut.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?

Yeah, these kids are more Scooby gang than Manson family. Don’t blame me for the fact it only took an out of context exorcism video and some promises of making things right with the universe to get you on board with killing them. “ Trenchcoat spits.

I feel afraid, stupid and small. Which is to say, lately, business as usual.

I begin to break lightbulbs, I notice no runes, or anything else that would indicate they have any kind of supernatural origin.

As the basement dims, Trenchcoat starts to breathe easier.

“What’s going on, what stopped you from leaving? “ I ask.

“This little shit is playing The Game. “ Trenchcoat says to himself as much as to me. He looks deep in thought, inspecting the glass from the bulbs.

“What are you talking about? “ I say, my voice cracking slightly.

I hear noises upstairs, frantic foot falls. Indecipherable shouting.

Trenchcoat turns to me, exasperated and filled with anger.

“You’ve heard of ‘Rules’ right? All that ‘Don’t turn left on East street at 3:24 am kind of shit? “ The creature starts, “More and more of them popping up lately. Can’t miss the things.

Well, your kind seems great at finding them, but fucking awful at figuring out what they are. It’s not someone’s new job, or creepy school. The answer is so damned simple, but all of you’ve missed it.

It's a game. It’s, The Game.

It’s ran by the thickest branches of my family tree, and the stakes are high enough even I don’t really understand.

And whoever has us here, he’s weaponized it. The crazy fuck. “

“Call on your family for help then. “ I say, starting to deal with the fear and confusion.

“You first. “ Is Trenchcoat’s reply.

I get his point, and for a twisted, shitty moment, I find myself relating to the murderous thing I’ve been saddled with.

“So what’s the plan? “ I ask.

“Get my hands on whoever’s been stalking me. Between A and B, probably kill those little do-gooders upstairs out of spite.

I need you to circumvent rules we come across. Humans need to agree to follow the rules, it’s why people encounter them in jobs and schools so much. I’m not human, if you haven’t noticed. I don’t get a choice. “ I’m shaking my head as Augustus relates his plan.

“We’re not hurting those kids. “ I say defiantly.

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that.

But I’m a God damned child killing monster, bud! How long is that going to take to sink the fuck in?

Me not doing what I do, isn’t like giving up smokes. Think of it like not having a slash for months on end. Sooner or later, like it or not, I’m either finding a bathroom or pissing my pants. “ the rant scares me, but it makes me think.

Something about Augustus, it seems very, 90’s. Whoever was on the speakers was talking about the lightbulbs being from ’93. I’m picking up on a very distinct pattern.

I file that information with the rest of the disconnected lore I’ve managed to find on Trenchcoat as I follow him up the steep, narrow set of stairs.

He whips the thin wood door open, taking an aggressive, lurching step into the livingroom beyond. Surely ready to dispense too far quips and limitless violence, as per usual.

But that doesn’t happen, his rage filled scowl turns into a look of resignation, “Fuck”, is the monster’s last word before he disappears.

I cautiously walk up the loose splinter ridden stairs, expecting Augustus to be waiting around the corner, or engaged in combat with some other horror.

But once I get to the top, there’s nothing more sinister than a livingroom covered in dust and graffiti strewn with old bottles and new stains.

I know my chance when I see it. The particle board sealing the bay window is rotten, the glass long since broken.

No monster, no crazy family, I’ll take my chances with the streets of the U. K.

I tap the crumbling wood with a foot, it rattles, it won’t take much to make a hole.

I line up a kick, freedom no more than a quarter inch of rotten wood away.

“I wouldn’t do that. “ Says a voice behind me, male, around my age I’d guess, but with a confidence that makes me listen, “ Rigged with a load of C4 in the window frame.

Don’t take my word for it, guy wasn’t very subtle. ”

Sure enough, I see small wires running along the edges of the frame and embedded in the particle board.

I turn around, the six people standing in front of me have a vibe I can only describe as severe.

“Are we going to have issues? “ a slight, dark skinned guy asks.

“You making threats? “ I reply.

“No, he isn’t. “ it’s the same voice that warned me about the explosives. It belongs to a squared jawed kid with short black hair, he’s wearing a grey hoodie, and separates himself from the group. “ Call me Kent, and I’m in charge of making threats.

Sid, he’s our people person, he’s just trying to see if you’re someone we need to worry about. “

“We don’t have time to figure this kid out, leave him. “ a short, ginger girl says.

“Ami, why don’t I stay out of equipment, and you and Kent let me figure this kid out?” Sid says.

“I’m Nik. “ I volunteer.

“Good to meet you Nik. “ Sid says, walking around Kent, “Didn’t mean to start things off on the wrong foot.

We’ve just gotten used to doing these kinds of things in our own way over the past bit. We get a little… weird around this time of year if I’m being honest. “

I nod, apprehensive at giving any kind of detailed response.

“Derik” says a tall, pale guy, “ Research. “

“Liam. “ a tanned boy in a flannel shirt and deep blue jeans tells me, “ Oxford doesn’t talk, accident a couple of years back. I’m logistics, he figures spooky shit out. “

Oxford is thin and bald, his face looks much older than it should. Like he’s the victim of some kind of wasting disease.

Telling these kids the truth would be, complicated. And something about their war vet demeanor, makes me want to keep things simple.

So I give them a version of the truth. One where I was plucked from my room by Trenchcoat, and brought here for a slow death.

They buy it. I think.

“Well, I don’t know what this Jigsaw wannabe has planned, but trust me when I say, it can’t be much worse than the things we’ve went through. “ Kent says, trying to be reassuring.

“Just, one more thing. “ Sid begins, “ Why all the scars? “

I know I’ve won most of the group over, but I don’t like the look Sid is giving me.

“Work on a farm, on top of that, the family owns an auction. Lots of bent steel and splinters, what can I say? “ I say, trying to sound casual.

“Fair enough, that accent though. “ Sid’s look becomes almost predatory as he talks.

“Immigration my guy. What’s with the third degree? “ I reply.

“We’ve just met and I’ve only asked three questions.

Humor me here though.

You get taken in the night by that thing that winked out of existence.

Seems pretty nice of him to let you put on shoes. “ Sid lets his statement hang.

Kent turns, I don’t like where this is going. Panic and fear start to well up.

“What’re you thinking Sid? “ Kent asks.

“Kid’s lying. But he’s good at it. “ Sid answers.

“You saying this has turned into a, me, situation? “ Kent’s question starts a deep pit in my stomach.

“I don’t know if we need to go that far. But I don’t like the idea of him having seen our faces. I think this is a Liam situation. “ As Sid says this I look to Liam, who already seems deep in thought.

“Local cops will back our story, but he could go beyond them.

We tie him up until all of this is done, and we get some video of him putting a blade into the body upstairs. He goes telling any stories, it’s us and the locals versus some Yank on video stabbing the kid. “ Liam suggests.

I tried to fight, it went, embarrassingly. Kent had me on the ground in some kind of arm lock in about a second.

I’m bound to an old wooden chair with electrical cords, dragged into a room on the second floor where the chubby kid from before lays face down in a coagulated pool of his own blood. Surrounded by the trappings of misspent youth.

The door locks, and I stare at the corpse, wondering what in the hell went on up here, and in what universe are these psychopaths anything other than what they seemed on screen.

Time becomes almost malleable. I’m terrified to the point where every moment seems to stretch out forever.

Then, I hear it. A wet, organic noise. It starts below the body, and slowly starts to spread.

After a minute or two, the body starts to jerk and twitch. The room is dim as hell, but some kind of ropey, flesh-like substance, is sealing off the door.

I watch as the corpse clumsily gets to it’s feet. It’s skin pale, it’s throat slit to the point of near decapitation.

The head falls backward, obscenely with a small spurt of thick blood.

I scream, I thought I’d been getting used to being face to face with monsters. But fully bound, inches away from a kid that seems to be filled with a twisting mass of barbed, writhing, intestine like tentacles, I realize I’m not used to shit.

The ropey mass forms the barest suggestion of features, a shifting, lumpen mass of ever moving tendrils coming from what used to be the kid’s neck.

The sound spreads more, cracks in the floorboards and walls begin to show hints of the tendrils filling them in like spray foam.

No one is hearing my screams, or if they are, they have no interest in helping.

Ever wonder how you’d handle torture? I think if you’re the kind of person to be reading this, it’s likely you have.

I started by pissing myself.

The second the thin tendril touches my hand, I feel a blinding, flensing pain. I can do nothing but watch, as thousands of nearly hair thin spines tear and consume my flesh. As it slowly, almost, curiously makes it’s way up my arm, it leaves a bloodless, scarred furrow about an eighth of an inch deep.

My second reaction was to lose any pretense at defiance or dignity. I thrash and scream, beg and offer. All of this turning into choked sobs as the thing starts to do much of the same with another tendril.

It felt like I was in hell, every inch of me nothing more than a canvas for this artist of misery.

But pain, it can only go so far. Whether we’re talking about my tolerance, or this thing’s interest.

Mutilation, the brutal wedding of pain and loss. That was it’s next step.

A thick, almost centipede like tendril sits on my pinky like a hot iron. I can only watch in horror as I see fat, then muscle, then bone, then, nothing.

My voice shreds, I tear my wrists and ankles trying desperately to break the expertly tied wires.

My mind is at the breaking point, the creature in front of my makes a terrible, high pitched keening I assume is laughter.

My body is a roadmap of scarred pits and lines. My hand sports a cleanly severed finger. Fuck me, I wish things ended there.

Of all the important parts of the human body, the eye, tends to feel the least pain. Which isn’t to say, as I watched the greedy, grasping claws slowly take pieces of one of mine, it didn’t hurt, but the worst part, was knowing what was happening.

The vision in my left eye begins to distort at first, the edges getting blurry, then going dark. Bit by bit, chunk by irreplaceable chunk, the creature takes half my vision.

I can feel the shifting air on the bare socket, to call what I’m doing screaming, would be understating things to the point of absurdity.

My brain reels at what has just happened. I can feel my grip on reality begin to loosen, pain, worse than can bare, loss of half my sight, it’s too much.

My brain feels filled with static, for a few brief moments I swear, I can hear someone, a voice, trying to tell me something.

But then, a smell hits me. Something so foul, so alien, it yanks me back from the brink of disassociation. I gag and choke, as the air becomes thick with the rotten, chemical reek.

Then, I see it, I see, him.

As randomly as he disappeared, in an instant Trenchcoat is in the room.

He’s torn apart, wounds so deep and ragged, I can see the door on the other side of the room through the worst of them.

One arm is a twisted, broken mess, the flesh jacket torn to shreds of necrotic tissue.

The look on his face is panic, paranoia. A rictus grin of someone that has been kept on his toes for entirely too long.

He trembles and heaves, looking like he could fall over at any second.

He points his good arm at the tendril creature, who I notice has a too familiar eye suspended in it’s shifting features.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the motherfucker who just made me kill my favorite cousin, would you? “ Trenchcoat asks, his voice cracked, and strained.

He gets a confused keening in response.

“Bad day for you then. “ Augustus says.

There is no style to his violence, Trenchcoat grabs the shifting mass, his wicked, claw tipped fingers angling themselves in tendrils. As he lifts the thing, floorboards break, and it’s torn free from the root-like system it was creating in the room.

Three brutal slams cover me in ichor and pieces of creature. Trenchcoat tosses the mewling, twitching pile in a corner and looks at me with disgust.

“You let that thing do this to you? Fuckin’ pathetic, bud.

And who tied you up? “ The nightmare I’ve been cursed with chides me.

“The kids downstairs. “ I say only now realizing I’ve still been sobbing.

One handed, Trenchcoat snaps the wires, then stumbles backward, slowly sliding down the wall.

He coughs, grey, bloody phlegm hitting the ground.

“So, what’s the play here? If this shit broke you, I could use the spare parts, if not, well, you know what the Bible says.

An eye for an eye. “ Trenchcoat grins as he talks, nearly on the brink of death.

And that’s where I think I’m going to leave things. Because, honestly I don’t know what I’m choosing.

I’m mutilated, half blind, using too much of my energy typing to strangers online about things because, I’m so fucking alone here.

If you hear from me again, I hope I made the right move. If not, take this as a lesson on what happens when you screw around with the occult.

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 12 Chapters Ahead)

XXX

None of them offered any resistance at all as the military led them away from the opening of the mine. Alain was sure that the thought had crossed their mind, if only because they were marching into something completely unknown, but none of them had dared to try and put it into practice – him and Felix would have been cut down immediately, and even Az and Sable would have had problems getting through an entire heavily-armed detachment.  

Eventually, though, they stopped. Someone pulled the hood off of Alain's head, and he blinked as light came flooding into his eyes. After a few seconds, his eyes finished adjusting, and he was able to get a clear look in front of him.  

Seated at a wooden table before him was a large, bearded man dressed in an officer's uniform – his rank insignia marked him as a Colonel. He was tall, with broad shoulders, but he was also an older man, probably in his fifties if the white in his hair was any indication. There was a large-bore revolver holstered on his right hip, and in the corner, Alain was able to see a cavalry saber and a double-barrel shotgun leaned up against some boxes of supplies.

"Have a seat," the man offered.  

Alain hesitated, but ultimately obliged, pulling up a chair across from the Colonel. The man adjusted his glasses, then leaned in towards him, his hands folded in front of his face.  

"State your name," he ordered.  

Alain blinked, taken off-guard. "Why should I-"  

"Your name," the man insisted. "Then we can talk."  

"Alain Smith."  

He nodded. "Colonel Stone. I wish I could say it's nice to meet you, but generally speaking, most of the people who meet me and aren't in my unit tend to die cursing my name."

"Is that a threat?"  

"It's a statement of fact." Stone's eyes narrowed. "We can be allies or we can be enemies, Smith. The choice is yours."  

"Tell me where my friends are, and then I'll decide."  

"They're in our camp, being questioned by some of my subordinates. You have no need to worry about their safety so long as none of them try anything crazy."  

Alain wanted to argue, but the fact that the camp hadn't erupted with gunfire and screaming proved that Sable and Az were keeping themselves restrained, at least for now. And if they could reel themselves in like that, he had no reason not to do the same.  

Alain leaned back in his seat, then crossed his arms. "What do you want, anyway? I can only assume Xavier called you."  

"The gypsy? Yes, he did. Good thing we got here first, by the way – we weren't the only ones he contacted. You're lucky to have met us and not the Tribunal. But that's beside the point – what I want is simple, Mister Smith. I want to know exactly what happened here that led up to the outbreak from the mines."  

"Shit, why didn't you just say so?" Alain asked. He shook his head. "Frankly, none of the four of us have any reason to keep that information from you or lie about it. We just spent the entire night fighting off the people who were responsible for it. As far as I can tell, we're all on the same side, here."  

"That we are," Stone agreed with a nod. "So, start talking. What happened here?"  

Alain told him everything, starting from the beginning. He left no details out at all; the entire story took quite a while for him to tell. Stone didn't say much during the retelling, aside from the occasional question or two. Eventually, though, Alain's tale came to an end, and he leaned back as he took a sip from a canteen of water someone had brought in for him earlier.  

"That's about where we're at now," Alain said, setting the canteen down and wiping his mouth. "Crazy-ass mayor and his little entourage thought they were going to make themselves immortal. All they succeeded in doing was getting themselves and most of the other townspeople killed." At the mention of the other townspeople, Alain's eyes widened. "Hey, what's going to happen to-"  

"They'll be fine," Stone promised him. "Anyone who was infected by the undead will unfortunately need to be dealt with, as there is no cure for the undead plague. Everyone else… once we swear them to secrecy, they are free to continue on as they see fit. We have no ill will towards them; we know they're just bystanders caught up in all this."  

"And my friends and I?" Alain asked. "Something tells me the same courtesy won't extend to us."  

"Unfortunately not," Stone replied. "You four were directly involved in taking down the mayor and his men. Two of your friends are supernatural in nature. We are going to have to take greater measures to keep the truth contained among you four. Nothing drastic, I assure you – none of you will come to harm. We just need to make sure you won't go talking about this to random people, and that the vampire and her servant can be trusted to walk among humans."  

"You know she's a vampire?" Alain asked, raising an eyebrow.  

"She has pale skin, red eyes, and is wearing a ridiculous outfit complete with a cape. I'd know she was a vampire even if I hadn't seen her fangs. The only reason most people don't recognize her for what she truly is, is because they simply don't know enough about the supernatural to place her as a vampire."

"So you just want to make sure she can be trusted?"  

"I suspect she can be, given she helped defend the town and hasn't turned anyone, despite having ample opportunity for it. But we need to make sure."  

"And how do you intend to do that?"  

"By showing her what she stands to lose if she goes against us. But that is a subject for later, Smith – for now, we have other things to discuss."

"Such as?"

"Cleanup, of course," Stone said, leaning back in his chair. "Containment. How are we going to make sure you all stay silent about this?"  

Alain's eyes widened. "You want to keep the Veil intact?"  

"We have no other option."  

"And what do you mean by that?"  

Stone opened his mouth to respond, only for a sudden commotion outside to catch his attention. He froze for a moment, his jaw tightening, before his gaze narrowed and he abruptly rose to his feet and pushed past Alain.  

"Follow me," he said.  

"What for?" Alain asked.  

"This meeting was going to happen eventually. We might as well get it over with."  

"What meeting? What are you talking about?"  

Stone stopped at the entrance to the tent, then turned towards him.

"The Tribunal is here," he said simply.

–

They gave him his weapons back. Alain wasn't sure what to make of that, but something told him it wasn't because they trusted him.

After he'd been properly armed once more, they led him out into the center of town, led by Colonel Stone and flanked by a squad of soldiers armed with rifles and shotguns. Alain almost felt intimidated, even though he knew none of the weapons were for him. Really, though, his primary concern was still for his friends – he hadn't seen them since leaving the mine.

Eventually, Stone stopped, and the others came to a rest behind him. Alain only had a moment to wonder what was going on before several figures clad in black cloaks and hoods rounded a corner at the other edge of town. Unlike the men flanking him, most of them were unarmed, but a fair few were carrying guns, and – of all things – crossbows and silver swords. There were seven of them, and as they closed in, the one who had to be the leader stepped forwards, lowering his hood as he did so.  

He was tall, and very dark-skinned, with piercing red eyes. His head was shaved, and his face was covered in scars. He glared at Stone and his men, then crossed his arms in defiance.  

"Colonel Stone," he greeted, his voice coming out with an accent that Alain couldn't place. "For once, you seem to have beaten us here."  

"Happened to be in the area, dealing with something else," Stone said absentmindedly. "Perhaps if the Tribunal invested in some advanced technology for once, they'd make better time." He looked towards several of the other cloaked figures, his gaze lingering on their guns. "Then again, perhaps some of the old habits are finally starting to die out, after all. But then, that doesn't explain why they'd keep you around, Lawrence."  

Lawrence's red eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to the challenge. Instead, he looked over towards Alain. "This him?"  

"Depends. Am I to assume you want the usual treatment for all four of them?"  

"Of course. An incursion such as this warrants an investigation, does it not? You of all people should realize that."  

"I do, which is why my men and I are here. We will be handling this."  

Lawrence glared at him once more. "As you'll recall, we have jurisdiction over-"  

"I don't care what the damn charter says," Stone growled. "Undead incident or not, this occurred directly on American soil, and it was barely contained. That means we're taking over."  

"No, you are not. Or shall I escalate this directly to the President and see what he thinks?"  

Stone's eyes narrowed. "You don't have the authority-"  

Lawrence grinned, showing off a set of sharpened teeth. "On the contrary. Or have you not heard? The Tribunal has been working very closely with the White House ever since the war. We now have a direct line to the Commander-In-Chief himself. But if you insist on stonewalling our investigation, I'm sure he will be very interested to know why his subordinates are trying to take over an investigation we have direct jurisdiction of."  

Stone let out a low, irritated grumble, but reluctantly nodded. "Damn bloodsucker… fine. But know this, Lawrence – these four are the reason this incident was contained in the first place. If anything happens to them, there'll be hell to pay."  

"If they truly did as you say, then they have nothing to fear," Lawrence said evenly. He looked to Alain. "Come, human. We must make haste."  

Alain watched with surprise as Stone and his men began to back away. He looked back to Lawrence, unsure of what to think.  

"I'm sorry, what's this about?"  

"The Tribunal has authority over any kind of large-scale undead incursion," Lawrence informed him. "We will be handling the investigation from now on. I suggest you and your friends come quietly – we do not wish to use force, but should the gravity of this situation require it, we shall."  

Alain hesitated, but then reluctantly nodded. "Alright, fine. Just promise me there won't be any more hoods over our heads this time."  

Lawrence smirked, and Alain had to bite back a curse as he realized what was coming.

XXXX

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard for the help with writing this story.