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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/TheLucid0ne on 2024-12-28 02:39:43+00:00.

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The Humans Aren't Okay - An Anthology:

Story 1: Chemical "Warfare"

Galactic Cycle 7321, Report by Ambassador Z’karr Vorthin

We had underestimated them—not in the way you underestimate a predator’s bite or the speed of unassuming prey. No, this was worse. The humans, with their boundless audacity and penchant for chaos, had weaponized their own self-destruction against us.

It began innocently enough. The war between the Confederation and Humanity was inevitable, a conflict foretold by their defiance of every principle we held sacred. They were chaotic, unpredictable, and infuriatingly stubborn. They refused to conform to intergalactic standards, mocked our treaties, flouted planetary regulations, and once broadcasted something called “reality TV” onto our diplomatic channels as an "example of cultural expression." I still wake up screaming at the memory of Jersey Shore.

But their most devastating assault came during what we believed was an armistice meeting.

They called it a “gift of cultural exchange.” A crate—no, an entire freighter—arrived at the Confederation capital, packed with brightly colored powders, pills, and dried plants. Along with it was a chirpy message:

"For the esteemed members of the Confederation, we present a collection of Earth’s finest recreational aids. Enjoy responsibly! Humanity out!”

Our analysts dismissed it as a trivial gesture, perhaps a misguided attempt at diplomacy. Foolishly, the High Council decided to sample the offerings.

The first casualty was Councilor Thlorrik, a hardened veteran of a thousand wars. She consumed something called “gummies” with an expression of disdain. Moments later, she was attempting to communicate with the Council chamber walls, insisting they were “vibrating at an existential frequency.”

Councilor Jark was next. He snorted a fine white powder referred to as “cocaine.” Within seconds, he declared himself “Supreme Overlord of the Galactic South Quadrant” and began an elaborate dance routine, gyrating his hips in a way that would have been impressive if it weren’t so humiliating.

By the end of the first hour, two-thirds of the Council had ingested various substances, ranging from “mushrooms” to a sticky green plant labeled “kush.” What followed was nothing short of mass hysteria.

High Chancellor Vrax consumed “ecstasy” and declared his undying love for Humanity before attempting to initiate a trade alliance with a holographic projection of a human celebrity named Keanu Reeves. Admiral K’var ingested “acid” and was last seen trying to pilot his dreadnought into a supernova, convinced it was the “Universal Spirit’s Eye.”

And then there was me, a humble ambassador with the misfortune of consuming something called “edibles.” For seventy-two rotations, I believed I had transcended physical form. I floated through dimensions, communed with cosmic entities, and discovered the secret to universal peace, only to forget it all entirely upon sobering.

By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late. The humans had dismantled our war machine without firing a single shot. Our military leaders were incapacitated, our diplomats were hugging planetary mascots, and our scientists were furiously trying to invent “pizza rolls” after intercepting a human transmission describing them as “god-tier snacks.”

The Confederation crumbled, not from human firepower, but from our own indulgence in their absurd chemistry.

The humans called it “Operation Party Foul.” They later informed us that the substances we consumed were considered “mild” by their standards and graciously withheld their more potent creations—things they cryptically referred to as “Florida Man cocktails.”

To this day, the Confederation exists in a state of reluctant peace with Humanity. They are unpredictable, chaotic, and possibly the most dangerous species in the galaxy. Not because of their strength or technology, but because they weaponize their absurdity with surgical precision.

Beware the humans. They are not okay. And they will make sure you aren’t either.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/SplittedSpark on 2024-12-27 18:28:55+00:00.

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A/N: One of my first published stories so please be nice to me :3 Anyways this was stuck too long in my notes. If you see any mistakes, please ask away/tell me

Travel logs excerpts from G'hushi Nguftra:

We have met a strange phenomenon. An irregularity. Something that should not exist. Somewhere around this goddamn dump of nothingness we found a signal. A signal in radio waves. This meant one of two things: a new species traveling to space or shit really hit the fan.

...

Even after travelling for quite some time we didnt meet anything.

...

Finally we found the satellite that sent the signal. Apparently it really was a new species among the galaxy. Our crew was excited as finding a new civilization often meant honor and glory.

...

After many more months of making the journey to the alleged starting point or home planet of the satellite we close in on the system, they call the "Milky Way". However we couldn't find any sort of reading, even though based on our calculations they should have advanced quite a lot. This should have been a warning. Yet it wasn't.

...

We finally arrived near their system. While we met more dead satellites, there was nothing that showed a spreading of the species that called themselves "humans". By now we had a better understanding of them. They were not a peaceful species, nor a united one. While we had our worries, we believed with our weaponry and the nice things they showed in their satellites we could work it out.

...

Suddenly an alarm went off on our ship. The sensors couldn't get a good energy reading but they were expecting to find a massive ship extremely close to us. And just its size usually meant a warship.

And then we saw it... A gigantic ship, almost as large as a planet travelling near a star. And we could see that it was using energy to keep its orbit, yet the readings showed something like a small explorer ship. How did these humans do that, in such a short time?

We tried to ping the colossus, however for a long time there was no reaction. Only when we almost left due to rising concerns did we get a signal back.

"Greetings to our visitors, the New Terran Foundation welcomes you. Please, feel free to visit us"

The translation was rough, but we could tell the voice was not one of the humans we saw in the satellites. What happened?

Our captain made a vote for the crew if we wanted to go there or not. Curiosity took over and we voted yes. So we embarked on the approximately 2500km to their ship.

Our ship computer cried alerts left and right from some aggressive scans and even forcefully turning our weapons off. We still do not know how they did that. But we were already on our way to land.

...

Once we were in docking range, lights flared up, apparently showing us to the landing area. It seemed like we were flying into the jaw of a massive beast. Some of the crew couldn't look at the view of our ship flying into the jaw. The jaw was in the front of the ship, ranging probably 200km in length. Good gods below.

We flew into the dark, with only some small lights showing our platform. I would consider myself rather brave but even I had to hold myself tight to the ship to not feel wobbly. Our systems made us land on a landing pad that was way too large. Our ship was barely 200m long, yet this platform seemed to be around 1600m. What did they transport here, so close to their home system? How come they built this massive ship? thing? planet? And yet we have not found these 'humans'.

When every gear of ours made contact and we turned off our engines, lights slowly started turning up. With a low hum, rows upon rows of lightbars flickered on. Right from our ship to a walkway to some door that got illuminated.

We equipped 8 brave explorers with a suit of armor and sent them outside. I was one of them.

When we went outside the same voice spoke to us. According to the satellite data the voice would be a slightly distorted young male voice. Due to the hangar being so large, it echoed and brought fear to many of us.

"Greetings again, please excuse our darkness. We do not get visitors. Not anymore. And we don't know if you will enjoy the light of the entire hangar. We will turn on the lights with your allowance when you leave. For now, please follow the lights to the hangar door. If you step on the marked passage, it will move automatically."

We knew this from places in our respective systems. Escalators, transport ways. So we did. After a few minutes that felt like ages we did arrive.

The door opened and we took a step into dimly lit hallway with a brightly lit elevator already awating us. We looked further and saw dozens more elevators, each seemingly able to carry around 30 of the "humans".

We entered the elevator. The doors closed behind us and on one screen a face appeared. It soon started to speak: "Welcome aboard. I apologize if anything was to your discomfort. We- I didn't have visitors in a long time. Please, keep up with this just a slight bit longer, in a few minutes we will arrive at the conference room. I do not mean any harm to you, so please rest assured."

While we couldn't fully trust this system, we at least relaxed our breaths. However our minds still raced about this massive machine, who we would meet. What we would find. If it really was the correct decision to go here.

A few minutes later the door of the elevator opened again and showed a medium sized room, with a place for a presenter and large windows to the outside to one side.

The voice spoke again: "Please, take a seat if you like"

Some chairs moved away from the tables, seemingly to invite us. While still suspicious we complied. I didn't feel like we had much of a choice at this point though.

"Now, dear visitors, shall we introduce ourselves? I am the living ship Omega YD-1. Please just call me YD-1 or YD for short."

Various crewmembers introduced themselves, according to how we were seated and lastly was my turn as the second in command of the ship: "I am G'hushi Nguftra, a Mara. I am the highest ranked in this group and would like to ask why we got invited like this. Plus, would it not be better, if we could see you too?"

"Thank you for your introductions. As for the reason why I invited you...Was it not you, trying to meet us? No matter. Although I do not know how you found this place, there is not much to see anymore. For my own reason it would be to show my species' decline and to leave a legacy. As for seeing me..."

With that the screen in front lit up and the same face appeared, only this time with a body. it seemed to dress in a brown cloth.

"This is the best we can do. Or rather, I do not wish for my organs to be laid bare. This form you see now is the form I had before I turned."

Clearly sensing some discomfort we were sure that this species did something that is banned by the Galactic Union. Turn their own into computers. It would not be the first time a species tried such a thing. However usually these tries stayed exactly that. Only tries. Experiments with horrific outcomes for both the participants and its creators.

"I am sure, you guessed it but I am this ship. This ship is me. And currently aside from your crew there is no other intelligent life on this ship."

"Wha- How can such a large operate normally without any crew at all!?", one of my crewman exclaimed.

The man, no YD was showing his teeth, according to our data a sign of friendliness.

"Well, this is our normal... Well not, entirely, I am not operating on my normal level anymore. There is no need for it."

He looked shocked at his words.

"Of course that is not meant as an insult towards you! It is just that there is no reason for this ship's normal activities. While still on the smaller side, I am a warship."

Now it was our turn to be shocked. This monstrous ship, this leviathan was "on the smaller side". What in the gods name were bigger ships then?

"Can I ask how much of humanities history you have learned so far?"

I answered that: "We have found several satellites marking your home system and parts of your history. Some of the stuff we saw scared us but it basically cut off a few decades after your first space flight or earlier."

A sad smile appeared on YD's face.

"Ah, some great times those were. However I remember those logs we sent out. They are not complete. They do not show the full history. I have worked long and hard on this video, so please enjoy it."

With that the screen changed yet again to show their blue homeplanet. Full of water, lots of fauna and flora.

We saw the evolution of the planet from a burning magma ball to a fully working ecosystem. Dinosaurs, ice ages, early humans and then the exponential growth of the humans. Their friendship, their hate. Their love, their wars. The brutalization of their enemies or even their own. How this double-faced species grew more and more until it became space faring. How they learned to build bigger and bigger. More efficient, more deadly. How ships turned from small rockets to large factories in orbit. How nations formed and faught against and with each other. Each time technology progressed a lot. And each time there were humans that sought peace. How humans learned to partly digitalize themselves. How they learned to attack their servers to massacre millions. Each war growing in size, in efficiency. And how the last war wiped out servers of everything. All Terrans dead. Bios that weren't dead already died due to missing an AI.

However this last sta...

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

Puntimats were well known within the Confederacy. The females were nearly four feet tall and slender, with large mammaries, thighs, and glutes, with soft bluish fur coating the majority of their bodies, conical ears lifted up from their heads and large expressive eyes. Roughly 7.4% of the Confederate military was made up of Puntimat females. A large disparity compared to their representation in the Confederacy's population, most of whom were career enlisted rather than officers. They were known for their soft voices, patience, empathy, and caring.

That, and working the conex brothels, making the brothel themselves if one had not been established. Barracks bunnies were usually depicted as a Puntimat in society media Rule-34.

Nobody was startled to see a Puntimat female in the Confederate military, any more than they were startled to see a Rigellian female.

A male? Now that was a different story.

Due to a quirk of biology there was less than one male for every two hundred and fifty females. They were delicate appearing, slender of body, with very short soft fur, and shorter than the female at three to three and a half feet (roughly a meter and spare change in inches) tall.

Not too long ago in their history, men were fought over in battles to the death.

Males were gentle and caring, they emitted a pheromone that calmed females down. They were often referred to as being the analog to the Rigellian Ducks. Small, gentle, quiet, living lives of comfort and ease.

Puntimat society emulated Pubvian societal norms when it came to the males. Covered head to toe, usually wearing an environmental suit with a mask, lest a female be driven into a hormonal frenzy at the sight.

It was strange to see one in the wild.

It was weirder to see one outside of Luleervee Prime, the Puntimat homeworld.

It was downright fucking unheard of to see one in the Confederate military. The number could be counted on one hand.

Lermat Mwillik was strange even for male.

He was short, at just shy of a meter by two inches. He was wiry, like he was made up of wire and leather covered by plush carpet. His eyes held a hard glint of amusement at the Malevolent Universe.

He had also passed Confederate Marine training.

And every special warfare class he was ever offered.

It would surprise nobody who knew him that he had greeted the return of TerraSol with immediately trying to sign up for schools only available in the Sol System. That he had been chosen for the mission surprised none of his compatriots, leadership, or bunk-mates.

After all, if you were going to chose someone for something that looked like a suicide mission you should probably choose the guy whose training suggested that the person in question thought suicide missions just might be survivable and would probably be a whole lot of fun.

Lance Corporal Lermat Mwillik was just that Puntimat.

In media he would be portrayed as nervous or excited, or perhaps afraid of the upcoming mission.

He was not afraid when he painted bright red eyebrows on his forehead, a red shallow but wide V over the bridge of his nose, and three chevrons on each cheek with a red camo paintstick. He was perfectly at ease as he ran the self-tests on every piece of bioware and cyberware the Confederate Marine Corps had implanted in his body. He went through each of his weapons, each piece of gear with cold methodical precision. Multiple time he replaced parts or even entire pieces of equipment.

The armorer did not argue with him when he turned in some of the small precision milled parts of his weapons.

The armorer respected LC Mwillik.

Moving to the mat-trans had no fear for LC Mwillik.

It would burn his brain.

Too many 'drops' from a mat-trans would regale him to 'the Idiots' out by a Hellspace rip that measured over a light year.

He would go mad.

His brain would be shattered.

Again, media would show him as frightened or overly wary.

He stared at the hexagonal chamber for a long moment, looking at the creme colored armor glass that was shot through with threads of crimson and emerald and sapphire. He admired the beauty. He had read that the manufacture of the armored glass walls had to be precise, and the manufacturing method, due to impurities, created a different type of glass.

In ancient times, they had been forged in secret deep in the secret war forges of the Hamburger Kingdom, then in the fires of Betrayed Mercury's Wrath Foundries, and now they could only be purchased from the Idiots.

The glass was beautiful.

He took a single deep breath, knowing it would be the last breath of ship's air from the Willy until he returned from his mission. He put the rebreather in his mouth, sealed the flexible face mask, and entered the mat-trans chamber.

He knelt down in the recovery position and then thumbed the injector.

His brain went still.

The mat-trans moved him from one pad to the next.

Popular media showed teleportation as disintegrating the original and building a copy somewhere else. Other media showed the mat-trans as tearing apart the person at a molecular level and somehow moving the sub-atomic particles elsewhere to be put together.

All of it was wrong. It was why scientific investigation of the mat-trans dead ended every time.

It moved the person, the physical, the objects, intact to the destination.

There was no disintegration.

No tearing molecules apart.

It moved everything on the pad, intact, to the next. It knocked them out and moved them.

But the nightmares.

The nightmares could drive someone mad.

However, without being knocked out...

...the living died.

The door shut.

It began to hum.

LC Mwillik took no chances and thumbed the button to inject the drug into his system that would stop all brain activity and turn off his bioware and cyberware. No nerve impulses but what was needed to keep his body alive for ten seconds.

The drugs that had stopped his brain from firing except for the brainstem and deep autonomous reflex areas oxidized in his bloodstream. His heart stopped just as it would have made a beat. Organs ceased operation, hung up just as they started an operation, their receptors full of initiation chemicals.

The mat-trans cycled.

At three seconds the pad moved him to the target pad.

For five seconds he was exposed to eternity. Exposed to all of time and space, standing, briefly, where it had no meaning.

His brain recorded nothing and nothing touched his soul.

At nine seconds he was on the receiving pad.

At ten seconds he was fully arrived.

He blinked, his brain unlocking and allowing him to think and form memories again.

Lance Corporal Mwillik was up and moving before the quantum fog had dissipated. He thumbed the signal device three times, letting control know he was fully intact and carrying out the mission. He then thumbed the button on the case, checking the readout. It responded with a set of "Zzzz" and then an alpha-numeric code that LC Mwillik knew meant the DS was still in stasis.

The smile on Mwillik's face, hidden by his black flex-armor mask was because the Digital Sentience would be able to brag that it had gone through the mat-trans without being driven insane or dying after the mission.

The block that the DS was inside of stopped all molecular and sub-molecular activity for whatever was inside the heavy insulation sleeve. That piece of gear was Marine Raider gear, hidden behind walls of junk and rusted crap that the Raiders usually used.

Once in a while, there was good stuff hidden in the pile of cast-offs from the other services.

LC Mwillik stopped in front of the large door. He could feel the weight from it. He knew, from classes during Raider training that it didn't matter where the door was. Shipboard, facility, a shack in the woods, the door would be multi-ton vanadium-titanium steel alloy that somehow had an inverted matter layer of unstable inverted molecules and atoms, making the door virtually indestructible.

It would require a code and other authorization to open, most of them unique according to the door.

But Mwillik was a initiate to secrets.

Pulling a thin can of temporary paint that would evaporate after a short period of time, he quickly drew a complex pattern on the floor, with lines and runes moving to the door. It took long moments but Mwillik knew better than to hurry.

He finished it with a drop of a Marine-Chow TastyTreat(TM) in the middle of the circle.

There was a puff of smoke, even in the vacuum.

A strange creature stood in the circle. It looked it over with large, bulging eyes. It started chewing on its barbed tail thoughtfully before bending down and picking up the TastyTreat. It nibbled at it.

"TriTip Buffalo Steak. Nice," the creature said in perfect vacuum. It turned to the door then back to Mwillik. Mwillik felt his palm burn and knew the code to the door had been temporarily burned into his flesh.

The creature vanished.

Mwillik held his hand out to the door and recited the prayer in ancient Terran.

"Open you stupid piece of shit you low budget hunk of...

---

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First Previous Wiki

Ambassador Varirlar was making steady progress in the negotiations. In the past few weeks, she'd managed to secure the benefits the Alliance desired. The Dominion kept pushing around the edges, so nothing was truly settled, but the offerings the Alliance had given were sufficient recompense. Already, the Dominion's fleet was sending over an 'embassy package' that would enter the orbit of Venus.

Venus was currently being terraformed by Skira, so technically, he claimed it. However, it wasn't a legal claim based on any system recognized as independent by the Dominion. The Dominion had recognized the Alliance as a whole, but treated the smaller nations within it as provinces. In that sense, the UN and DMO didn't have the authority in its eyes to back Skira's claim, and the rest of the Alliance was required to move to make that change.

The other problem was that Earth's nations weren't recognized, and each had various disputes over spatial territory. Luna had a unified claim to territory 100,000 kilometers from its surface. However, some Earth nations still had claims from before their independence. The strongest ones still had a mess of claims on Mars and the surface of Luna, despite Luna's claims that opposed them. Apparently, a significant part of post-WW3 history involved disputes between Earth and Luna.

Technically, the DMO claimed the space around Mercury, while the Breyyanik claimed the Asteroid Belt.

No real claims existed on Jupiter and the further Sol system, but they were more inconvenient for travel into the DMO and Phoebe's large manufacturing centers on the Orbital Rings.

Izkrala, Fyuuleen, and Dilandekar held complete claims over their star systems, and there wasn't much other useful 'neutral' space.

Furthermore, because Venus wasn't habitable, there wouldn't be any fleets coming to battle over it in the near future. Luna and Earth's various delegations were already on their way to the embassy, which was still under construction.

It was entirely self-sufficient. It made its own food, water, electricity, and air. Apparently, it had adopted a method of using psychic energy to reassemble matter. It also had a machine that converted pure energy to hydrogen after the energy was drawn from a zero-point reactor.

The 'assembler' was one type of technology Phoebe was still working on. According to her, the problem was creating superconductors that could carry the power required for the assembler while still containing the incredibly complicated quantum technology and the coolant capillaries.

Fyuuleen and Tetelali had both already appeared in hologram form before the diplomats. They'd seemed to have something to talk about relating to their crystalline natures.

Strangely, at least at first, the wanderers had not sent anyone. Later, however, Varirlar's contacts informed her of their political turmoil. Because they were so insular, it was difficult to learn about their affairs easily.

Varirlar was currently enjoying a human wine from France. It was quite good, certainly better than the beer she'd tried. The burning in her throat and nostrils wasn't nearly as bad.

As for her guests, they were Elder Equisa, Elder Kashaunta, and Progenitor Ixithar. The reason for Equisa's presence was both an apology for the treatment after the first Judgment and because Ixithar directly asked for her. Being an Elder from his galaxy, it made sense that he knew of her, though Varirlar had been surprised that he seemed to care.

"Overall, your Alliance is getting stronger, this is true," Ixithar said. The Lord of War sat on one of the quadrupedal-type chairs that the Sprilnav commonly used. Lately, she'd heard many humans call them 'bean bags.' She hadn't asked about how food crop bags would relate to them, especially beans specifically.

"However, there are logical limits to your power," Ixithar said. "The Sprilnav of the Secondary Galaxy hold an iron grip on your size. Despite how much you need it, you simply cannot annex the Vinarii and the Cawlarians safely. I believe Elder Kashaunta's influence is enough to change this, though she possesses reasons for not exercising it."

"They are that if I move for the Alliance, my enemies will know I can be moved by them. Among the Rulers, I do have enemies. Any single one of them can send foes that is beyond your Alliance's ability to fight. You have done a marvelous job of hiding your strength. The problem is that once you defeat the small, poorly funded vanguard fleet, you will tarnish their reputation. For a Ruler to be defeated by a rabble of aliens will simply cause a massive uproar. They will then send a fully armed Grand Fleet to you. While I could block that, it would create a serious safety issue for my own nation. I have gained more power, but that doesn't mean I can do as the Progenitors do and destroy everything in my way," Kashaunta added.

"Yes. That is reasonable, but we still wish for you to increase the system limit. You have declared your backing for us, forged a Pact of Blood with Penny and a Pact of Steel with Phoebe and her family. To put it simply, while we know you are reluctant out of an abundance of caution for us, we do not need coddling."

"You will gain the anger and envy of many nations if the rules are changed for you."

"They cannot touch us," Varirlar said confidently.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But the future is the problem. If the Alliance is eliminated, Phoebe's base and Penny's sanity are at risk. It is also likely that the non-interference policy will come to an end when, not if, Penny reaches the Progenitor level. She is not far from that."

"That is why we asked you here, Ixithar," Varirlar said. "I know Progenitor Chiru has some interest in us, or at least Penny."

"He does. Many of them, in fact. Humanity was born and evolved under the bones of the Source. More and more, your hivemind presents marvelous qualities of both power and potential that are necessary for any attempt at cultivation."

"By cultivation, you mean..."

"The growth and acquisition of increased political, military, and economic power for a subsidiary power. Simply put, I, Lord of War Ixithar, on the behalf of Progenitor Chiru of the Secondary Galaxy, am going to make you an offer."

"I shall hear it."

"You may maintain your relationship with Elder Kashaunta, even increase it. I would protect your Alliance, and all its planets and star systems. We will not require you to give up your sovereignty. However, if you begin producing truly valuable materials, we would request 20% of either their quantity or value. For linear singularities and negative energy, this would be 35%. This tax rate, unless we desire it, shall not decrease for 1000 Earth years. In return, you and Penny will be able to build your utopia. You will have your war."

"Naturally, I cannot decide on this offer. Are you willing to come to the 65th National Exchange, so that we can discuss this matter in further detail?"

Ixithar's eyes shone. "Of course."

Ambassador Varirlar nodded. A human, one of her aides, walked into the room. The hivemind was next to her.

"What is it?" Varirlar asked.

"Something extraordinary," the hivemind said.

"That box underneath your Earth's crust," Ixithar said. "It's... unfortunate that it is surfacing now."

"Surfacing?"

"Yes."

"And what would that cause?"

"Mass destruction, of course. And an opportunity for the Alliance, if you are capable of grasping it."

"What will we need?" the hivemind said.

"1 billion people."

"How risky is it?"

"The more you send, the better the chances of their survival," Ixithar said. "That relic should never have ended up on your planet."

"You know what it is?"

"I know what it was," Ixithar corrected. "It was a weapon I helped build, after all. If I'm correct, and my memories haven't been altered, it is likely a fragment of the Destroyer."

"The Destroyer?"

"Do you truly think the Source wished to destroy the hypo-psychic plane? That we Sprilnav were entirely incapable of dealing great damage with our weapons? We spanned galaxies, countless galaxies, and that was part of the pinnacle of our technology. Narvravarana was near the realm of true singularity, Varirlar. All possible things. All futures. Every thing that ever could or would happen, she was on the verge of grasping, only held back by our enemies via methods no creatures currently alive understand."

"She? I thought it was an it?"

"Narvravarana had, at that point, devoured five concepts related to femininity after destroying several trillion experimental virtual realities filled with collective nonillions of people, and had refined about a thousand more into a forge which helped create our greatest wonders. It normally was not a female or male, for it was one singular being, with no suitable counterpart in the wide universe. Not among the Universal Empire. Not among the Sevvi, or even the Morphic Hive, which was a mind so grand only the Source could have surpassed it. We, in our final battle with the Source, tore apart the universe and remade it, and we survived. We lost many things, and the hypo-psychic realm is almost irreparably damaged. But t...

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Firi

The horde was on the move.

Not that the younger Bridger children ever really stopped moving as a group. Even during nap time, there was always one member of the Bridger brood squirming or exploring or doing something. An unending torrent of perpetual motion.

It was like nothing Firi had ever experienced before despite her experience with early childcare, especially with Volpir kits, helping her mother when they still lived with their original clan. A healthy Volpir kit spent most of his or her time sleeping, only becoming more active after a few months at the earliest.

Human blooded kits certainly slept a lot, and needed more nutrients to sustain themselves but they were also significantly more active than a 'full' Volpir counterpart. Their eyes opened earlier and they'd learned to crawl faster. It was a fascinating process to watch, especially as her daughters’ personalities began to emerge.

Of her own litter, Lucina was the eldest and was very bold, easily partnering up with 'the trouble trio' from Syl's litter, James, Inara and Indra, the inseparable siblings who seemed determined to get into every bit of trouble they could. Lucina was joining them more and more often when left in common play areas.

By contrast her son Chad was quite shy still, always eager to be picked up and held and content to watch the world as he snuggled against his mother. If she was around, he wanted to be with her, and when she wasn't around, he didn't always cry, but he clearly missed her presence even as he liked his grandmother and nannies.

Just like she'd thought after he'd been born, a true mother's boy and it still made her heart weep with joy as the fair eyed little lad snuggled up against her come nap time. The rest of her litter seemed to be somewhere between Lucina and Chad, every little hint of personality from clever to thoughtful and everything else between them. Even as such small lives there was just so... much to them! It really was amazing, and not something she'd truly understood as the miracle it was till she'd become a mother herself. She'd seen the personalities in her little half siblings and siblings from Inara's later litters that she'd assisted with caring for, but she'd never seen just how fine the nuance got.

Things only got more interesting as they began letting more and more of the children fully play together. It hadn't been a conscious decision to isolate them, but there had been some internal self segregation that saw the litters mostly stay together. If it was an instinct or an axiom effect Firi wasn't sure, but the various litters or clutches always ended up back with their siblings.

Except for the trouble trio. Their growing little group was well past a trio now. They had added her own Lucina to their ranks, and Ghorza’s daughters, Ghalza and Lagertha had joined them soon after. The slightly more independent twins were easily as active as their half brother, and fell in with his little group of play room explorers. Mitrya, Nadi's eldest by birth, or by hatching rather, had also joined the play group, which added a whole new capacity to their efforts to find some sort of mess to get into.

Kohb infants learned to not only to walk, but to run shortly after hatching so they could escape and hide from predators if they managed to invade their dens back on the Kohb home world. A high energy burst of development that then settled into a fairly normal development curve. So not only could Mitrya walk up right, she could even run if she needed to, and could weave and evade with impressive coordination, something that had gotten anyone who hadn't mastered basic axiom telekinesis to seek lessons from Cascka out of pure frustration of trying to catch one adorable little Kohb or another.

Mitrya also had thumbs, though she hadn't quite mastered putting them to work, thank the goddess. She was a very clever little girl, and she seemed to feed off the energy of her half siblings to do one thing or another. They'd be true terrors in a year or three when they could all move properly and think up more complex plans like getting toys from high shelves or stealing cookies from the kitchens. Not that they didn't try to make plans now, but the limitations of true infants prevented anything too complicated beyond working together to stack blocks or something.

She gives her son a little nuzzle, kissing his brow as he continues to sleep peacefully as she rocks him. Little quiet moments like this were paradise, and all the very, very noisy moments in between these precious seconds of perfection made them all the sweeter.

Part of the horde was starting to settle down, a moment of sleepiness spreading, either by body language or perhaps a subtle signal in axiom or perhaps some older form of communication. Firi watches as the room slowly continues to shift like a great tide towards a nap en masse, leaving only James and his little band of sisters playing quietly in their favorite corner.

The door opens and Mikasa pads in, brushing by Firi's leg affectionately to announce herself as she picks out a pillow with a little knot of kits and settles down with them for nap time. She was a good girl like that, always coming in to cuddle and look after the babies whenever she wasn't with Cindy. Mikasa was a wonder with the children, never making a wrong step or movement to risk a hurt child. She was effectively a fourth nanny and the only risk that the large dog was to the babies was that one infant or another might end up getting groomed by Mikasa's broad tongue and end up in need of a bath.

It was always interesting to observe the interaction with the pets of the Bridger household with its youngest members.

Maximus the Doberman Pinscher had wanted to play with the babies, and had therefore been banned from the nursery. It wasn't his fault, he was a baby too after all, and he was just excited, but nails and fangs near infants made everyone involved nervous and Maximus didn't know how to calm himself down yet.

Espirit, Eymali's massive Savannah Cat, a lithe, beautiful and graceful predator well matched to her mistress, had inspected the nursery once and quickly made herself scarce. The noise and movement was just a bit too much for the solitary feline who appreciated her peace and quiet, but Firi suspected Espirit would prove to be a wonderful companion to Eymali's triplets when they were born in the near future.

Fenrir on the other hand tried to be a bit more dignified than Mikasa, but he regularly inspected the nursery and would occasionally let the babies play with him. He was very gentle and careful in the nursery despite his ever growing mass... which gave Firi the occasional heart attack when she saw just how big the paws on the monster her husband called a pet were getting next to one of the babies!

However, Fenrir had won her permanent approval, and indeed visiting rights when he gingerly removed one child away from a toy that had a potentially dangerous malfunction and wouldn't let anyone near it until one of the nannies came to see what in the worlds was going on.

He might be massive, but he was clearly looking out for what Firi suspected he thought of as his siblings.

Hel on the other hand seemed to share Espirit's opinion of the nursery. One on one, or with a single litter she was affectionate and very gentle, but with the whole group on the move... she tended to extract herself from the situation and make her way back to Dar'Vok's side. Not that Firi could blame her. Even a one hundred girl family wouldn't generally have this many children at once. Everyone getting pregnant more or less at once had been... a mistake... but the best kind of mistake. One of passion, enthusiasm, love and joy.

Besides, they could handle it. She could handle it.

Firi lets out a gentle sigh as she glances down at her son before walking over to a crib and settling Chad in next to most of his sisters.

"Honestly, what more in the galaxy could I ask for in life?"

Yet... there was a storm cloud in her sunny skies. She'd been having dreams recently. Bad dreams. Dreams that revolved around something bad happening in the near future. She'd never call herself a prophet, and she lacked Bari's precognitive gifts, but every now and then, she got feelings, and she had a bad feeling about their next port of call. Not this world, the world the corporation that ruled it had renamed Primus... but the world of Nar'Korek, the capital world of the Kopekin Khannate. She knew little about them save that they were just shy of swearing off technology they were so conservative, but something was haunting her heart and-

Suddenly, strong warm arms wrap around her and hoist her into the air. Familiar warm arms. Familiar axiom. Only one person in all the galaxy felt like this. Firi could find him in the dark. Find him blind, deaf and dumb. Only by scent. Only by axiom. Only by the beat of his heart. So long as she could crawl, she could make her way to Jerry. Syl and all the others could love him as they would, and she did have to share, but Jerry was the love of her life, and if she did reincarnate as some religions said she would when her time came, hopefully the love of all her lives.

"Darling!" Firi twists and plants a passionate kiss on Jerry's lips.

The young woman Firi had been would have never been bold enough to do something like that. Would have been hard pressed to ask Jerry to hold hands.

Lucky for her, she wasn't th...

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LateralThinker13 on 2024-12-27 19:49:17+00:00.

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Field Report: Regarding Human Empathy

Humanity has emerged onto the galactic stage. I was blessed (or cursed) to be one of the first to encounter and study them. Please, hear my words, for I have delved their histories (amazingly, open and available to all) and I have seen their museums (places to glorify past triumphs AND mistakes). I beg you, my bretheren, to learn from my experiences.

Much is made of the human ability to adopt (or to be adopted by) small 'cute' animals such as their felines and canids. Or even not-so-cute animals, such as their terrestrial lizards and snakes, or like the lethal, venomous Trisk'ellan swampsnakes, or the putrid-smelling (though to humans they smell like cinnamon(?)) leaf-jumper insects, and other creatures. Humans are capable of a connection, an empathy, that is rarely seen on other words.

Though perhaps we should have studied their 'lesser' evolved species more closely. Their great apes - close relations to humanity, sapient and tool-using but barely so - are intelligent enough to recognize pregnant sophonts, and to bring their own young over for comparison and, apparently, commiseration and cherishing.

Even their sea life, such as their cetacians, appear to be mostly beneficient, compassionate, and empathetic despite having a limited tonal vocabulary and vestigial limbs.

Others of their planetary species evince both intelligence and at times malevolence, such as the antics of their (somewhat) misnamed 'killer whales' and their dolphins, or their other cousins, the viscious Chimpanzees.

Humans are like all of these, and none of them. Capable of compassion, and of cruelty, unlike anything we have registered in Galactic history. We Kindix have waged wars of material, of resources, and of space; but never in our written records have we waged wars of genocide or ideology.

Perhaps that is why we are considered a peripheral race of marginal impact. We observe, we slowly grow, we do not object or interfere or meddle beyond tiny, incremental steps.

But we have studied Humanity, and found both horrors and marvels. Their worst war, recently having passed from living memory, was of two so-called civilized groups vying for resources. Or so we thought, upon surface survey. So, too, did one side of the conflict, think the battle was over resources.

Only it was over genocide. One side of the humans' fought, without ever even knowing that the other sought the obliteration of a subgroup within their population, a "final solution" to a tiny subracial group most of their world didn't even consider a problem.

After all, by the 20th century (17,396 GSR), humanity was emerging into a new dawn of post-tribal, post-racial, post-nationalistic growth. Or so their historians thought. Instead, they had one last gasp, one last hurrah, of homicidal mania in service to nihilistic, narcissistic leaders and ideologies so toxic they no longer translate into Galactic.

Yet at the same time, many humans fought this toxin, often even while unknowning of the depth of its depravity. They let their barely-weaned children, their fittest and youngest, take up arms and serve in the millions, to defeat these oppressive regimes, to fight with weapons terrible new and old, until man once more stood tall, conscience clear but spirit stained, ready to take the next step in their species' evolution.

We see that spirit intact today.

We see it in a human adopting (against all comfort and convenience) an abandoned kitten or puppy why journeying to another location.

We see it when one being (human or otherwise) goes missing, and many humans sign up to search for the missing one(s). It is quite likely, even commonplace, for a searcher to be killed in the process, but still they come, still they search, without pay or expectation.

We see it in a humanity where the concept of "voluntary firefighters and lifeguards" exist. Those who venture, without pay or assigned role, to save and safeguard their fellow citizens against the hazards of fire and water and technology and medical crises, without recompense or recognition.

Humanity is shockingly close to its animalistic, destructive roots. Yet at the same time it is capable of such striking acts of altruism (a human word) and empathy that it is scarcely comprehensible. This is a species of complexity and wonder that can not, MUST NOT, be underestimated. Befriend them at all costs; do not anger them unnecessarily, and worst case, LEAVE THEM ALONE.

I tremble at the thought of our Imperium doing anything to rile them into a temper.

Researcher Jor'Dan P'terson, Kindix Imperium

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ralo_ramone on 2024-12-27 21:18:31+00:00.

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Christmas Illustration :)

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The Lich’s forces were starting to recover. Undead and Chrysalimorphs patrolled the Farlands. It wasn’t hard to guess what they were looking for—the Access Rune. 

I used [Mirage] and [Dome of Silence] and turned us into silent shadows. I could conceal everyone in a two-and-a-half meter sphere radius while keeping my mana regeneration above the skill-draining rate. However, keeping seven people inside the spell area took more work than expected. We had decided to avoid the orc's hidden trails in case the Greyfangs retained enough consciousness to know about them, and the rugged terrain wasn’t doing us any favors. 

We were a needle hidden in a haystack, but the Lich wasn’t dumb enough not to expect us. Our best weapon wasn’t stealth but our levels. In total, I had gained seven levels during Umolo’s siege. It didn’t seem like a lot, considering the dozens upon dozens of monsters I killed. However, I could tell the difference in power. I felt like I could kill a bear with my bare hands and run as fast as a horse.

It was undeniable that a Runeweaver’s growth was superior to a Scholar's.

I summoned my character sheet.

Name: Robert Clarke, Human. 

Class: Runeweaver Scholar Lv.31 

Titles: Out of your League, Hot for Teacher, Consultant Detective, Researcher of the Hidden, Headmaster, Favorite Teacher (99), Golden Scholar, Iron Runeweaver, +15 others.

Passive: Lv.5 Swordsmanship, Mana Mastery, Foresight, Master of Languages.

Skills: Identify, Magical Ink, Silence Dome, Invigoration, Stun Gaze, Intimidate, Mirage, Runeweaver Encyclopedia, Rune Debugger, Rune Identification.

 

I had unlocked all the basic Scholar skills plus Stun Gaze and Intimidate, which weren’t listed in the Book of Classes. Neither skill had been used very effectively so far, as my level was too low and my enemies were too powerful. However, with my current level, they might be the cherry on top of my [Foresight] and [Swordsmanship] combo. The strategy might not work against monsters with question mark levels, but it was a good safety net against mid-level foes specialized in armor piercing. Abusing [Mana Mastery] would still be my primary way of doing damage.

“No patrols ahead,” Ilya announced as her small flock of sparrows spoke to her ear.

Pyrrah looked crestfallen. All she could summon was a single spirit bird whose shape wasn’t as detailed as Ilya’s sparrows.

“You are doing your best, little buddy,” Pyrrah whispered as the spirit bird disappeared.

“We don’t have time to waste,” Hallas interjected. “The Lich knows we are looking to kill him. We should drop the stealth and gain as much distance as possible.”

Since we left the hidden valley, he had been restless. No. Even before, in Umolo, he pushed for speed over preparation. I had shot down his pleas, but he hadn’t relented. Before I could push him to talk, Pyrrah jabbed his shoulder.

“The Warden’s Tree isn’t going to mature in a week. Even to reach its current state, the seed must’ve been dormant for years.”

Hallas clicked his tongue and used his animating spell to part the thicket. Brambles and ferns uprooted themselves and walked to the sides with lazy movements. As we passed, the plants returned to their original position, covering our tracks.

“Did Farcrest have problems with a Forest Warden two or three decades ago?” Pyrrah asked.

“We did, actually,” Ilya replied.

“See? They must have killed the body but missed the seed,” Pyrrah patted Hallas’ shoulder.

He didn’t seem reassured at all.

I understood that was my moment to attack.

“Do you have something you want to share with the class, Hallas?” I put a bit of [Intimidation] on my words, and my voice sounded more dangerous than I had expected.

His lapse in concentration interrupted his spell, and the bushes stopped moving. Several emotions appeared on his face: fear, remorse, and indecision. He took a deep breath and looked me directly in the eye.

Another elven secret?

“Evindal had a Seedling.”

I wasn’t expecting him to be so direct.

Pyrrah laughed.

“That’s not possible. Why would Evindal have a Seed on him? Only Gardeners—”

“Evindal was a Gardener… and a Gilded,” Hallas interrupted her. “The trade route between our kingdoms will be open soon, and the king wants full control of the area. He didn’t send us here to spy on the Royal Army. He sent us here to establish an outpost, so… if the Warden’s Tree emerged from Evindal’s seed, someone must’ve sped up the process.”

No wonder why Hallas had been so jumpy since we met.

If the schedule had been turned from decades to weeks, we could expect the Warden’s Tree to fully mature any day now. The kids seemed to understand the implications.

“That’s the kind of information you tell your companions, asshole,” Firana said.

“Do you understand why the timing is important?” Zaon pointed out.

Firana cleared her throat. “No, but it sounds dangerous.”

If the situation weren’t so tense, I would’ve laughed.

“It means the Warden’s Tree could mature and produce the Warden’s True Body before we expected,” I said, glaring at Hallas. “You tell us that now because you are afraid we are walking into the lair of a powerful monster. Am I wrong?”

Hallas raised his hands in defeat.

“It was a secret mission. Foreigners weren’t supposed to know.”

“You were planning to sow a Warden seed in our backyard?!” Ilya asked, horrified. “Do you want to kill us?”

Hallas shook his head.

“It would’ve ultimately benefited you, I swear. With the proper care of a Gardener, the Warden’s Tree would not generate a body for the Forest Warden to possess. Meanwhile, the trapped Warden would serve as a deterrent against other monsters.”

The kids looked at me. It took me a moment to digest everything he was saying. 

“Are you telling me your people use a vindictive spirit to pacify an area and then use its soon-to-be body to create the Holone Grapes and other strengthening fruits?”

“Y-yeah…” Hallas muttered.

The System generated Corruption, the Warrior Trance cost the orc its life, and the Holone Grapes required the control of a violent and territorial spirit. There may be no good way of harnessing magic at all.

I scratched my chin. The new information was worrying, but I couldn’t tell if it changed anything. Ginz worked day and night, barely sleeping, to craft our rifles. We still had to escape from Umolo’s reach and guide the orcs to safety. There was little to no time to spare. Even the wedding was essential to cement Wolf’s position as the Warchief of the Teal Moon tribe.

At least, Hallas had done well in telling us before reaching the Tree.

“Whether or not the Forest Warden gets a new body, our plan remains the same. We enter the Lich’s lair, then destroy the corrupted proxy and any monsters standing in the way,” I said. “The whole kingdom and the orc tribes are depending on us. This fight will determine if Corruption snowballs out of control.”

Hallas remained tense.

“Are we cool, Robert Clarke?”

“As far as we know, the origin of the Forest Warden is pure speculation,” I replied. “However, if this makes things more difficult, we might ask for an extra payment. Don’t forget we have a deal.”

Hallas nodded, and a heavy silence loomed over the forest.

“We should hang him from the ankles and let the monsters eat him. This betrayal can’t go unpunished,” Wolf pointed out.

It took me a moment to realize he was joking. He was doing his Warchief impression.

The kids laughed, but Pyrrah remained silent. She hadn’t been aware of Evindal’s true mission. Seeing Elincia’s face shrouded in sadness broke my heart, but I knew this wasn’t a problem for me to deal with. It was between Pyrrah and Hallas.

I focused on the facts.

Our strategy remained the same.

There were still a few days of travel until we reached the coordinates. If the System Avatar was correct, we should find the Lich’s true body on the site of the corrupted proxy. Once there, killing the Lich should be a walk in the park if each kid managed to land two or three shots. On my belt, I had a Leechflame Sword and the Anti-Magic Sword. There was no better equipment to deal with a spirit.

We walked until noon before stopping to rest. Hallas forced the fern clump to clear a circle around us, and we sat on the ground. We left the backpacks aside—except for the elves, each of us carried over fifty kilograms of equipment—and ate a few strips of salted meat. Despite the Warden’s Tree being only a few days away, we were prepared for a long journey.

“How many times did you level up, Ilya?” I asked.

The rifle’s potency was as important as the kid’s capacity to remain out of the monster’s reach.

Ilya summoned her character sheet and turned it around.

Name: Ilya, Gnome. 

Class: Hunter Lv.17

Titles: Governess’s Little Helper, Giant Slayer, Small-time Mathematician, Survivor.

Passive: Mana Manipulation, Longsword Mastery Lv.1, Archery Lv.2, Tracking Lv.1, Sharpshooting Lv.1.

Skills: Piercing Arrow, Entangling Vine, Spirit Animal, Mark of the Hunt, Magic Arrow, Forest Cloak.

There were several ‘staples’ of the Hunter Class missing, such as [Hawk Eye], [Flare], [Trueshot], and [Explosive Arrow]. The System had seemingly decided to give Ilya the more magic-focused skills. Considering her natural inclination towards mana manipulation, it made sense. Hunter’s magic power, however, was mediocre. 

According to ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LaughingTarget on 2024-12-27 19:29:23+00:00.

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Lieutenant Dekragg yanked a terrified diplomat behind a metal crate as a blue plasma bolt crackled through the air centimeters from his head. Of all the missions he had been on over his career, this was only the second craziest. Nothing quite matched up to riding in the wreckage of an intentionally destroyed freighter to hide drop pods. Though, Dekragg thought, hijacking a Gulsak Pact VIP shuttle to infiltrate a prison mining outpost was coming close.

 

“I said get moving!” Dekragg shouted at the diplomat, trying to overcome the alarms blaring in the concrete hall. He, along with two dozen others, were arrested when the Gulsak Pact declared war on the Confederacy. What the Confederacy didn’t know was the now defunct Ji’Kaw People’s Republic was a vassal state of Gulsak. The Pact had been using the Ji’Kaw as a secret smuggling route to obtain Confederate technology. To say the Pact was furious when the Confederacy conquered the Ji’Kaw worlds and are showing excellent progress converting them into an actual democratic society would be an understatement.

 

The mission was classified as near suicide. Because of the long simmering cold conflict between the Pact and the Confederacy, few, if any, of the member races were present in each other’s territory. The moment Dekragg’s team exited the shuttle, it would be obvious they weren’t from around here.

 

The moment they left the VIP shuttle on the private rooftop pad of the prison, the team was in constant enemy contact. The only advantage Dekragg had was the prison guards were not equipped, trained or prepared to engage with a Confederacy Special Operations Command (CSOC) special forces raid. The team was equipped with the latest in Confederate anti-plasma armor and top of the line weaponry.

 

It didn’t mean it would be a simple task against a force of prison guards armed with force throwers and only a small armory designed to quell riots. Five highly trained CSOC soldiers would still have a difficult and dangerous battle going against thousands of enemies.

 

The raid initially went well. The guards were surprised and poorly organized. The team was able to navigate the prison barracks and extract the dignitaries. They were segregated from the general population and kept in conditions barely considered livable. They were held for ransom, not as guests.

 

Getting out again was proving to be the bigger challenge. The VIP shuttle was not only too small for extraction, it would either be disabled or heavily guarded. The only briefing Dekragg had was his extraction would be on the freight landing pads and it would be marked with the Human number 3. The whole operation smelled like a Confederacy Intelligence Services op. He hated it when CIS got involved since they always kept crucial information close to the vest.

 

“They’re coming from the other direction,” Specialist Saponas shouted. He was a member of the felid Verru race. His grey and white striped ears were exposed when he lost his helmet to a stray plasma bolt. Dekragg was happy with the team’s newest member. Saponas was a fresh graduate of the training program and this was his first mission. There weren’t any easy missions to get a new CSOC soldier prepared for the realities of the command. New recruits were walking patrols in predictable engagements one day and thrown into crazy nonsense like this the next. The only way you know if you had what it takes was if you got home alive.

 

“We can only hope Sergeant Fusili and the others were successful,” Dekragg shouted back as he blind fired his plasma rifle around the corner. A scream from behind the metal crate was the only indication his attack hit a guard.

 

Of all the various critical moments in the rescue operation, this was one of them. Dekragg and Saponas were flanking 25 frightened diplomats in front of a large metal doorway. The doors were currently locked shut and the only cover the group had was a pile of metal shipping containers recently delivered to the warehouse. Beyond the door was the freight pad where the expected extract was waiting.

 

“Is it normal to take this long?” Saponas yelled back over the diplomats as he took shots around his corner of the containers.

 

Dekragg shrugged. “No idea. Just trust in your team. That’s all we can do in this business.” Dekragg wished Lieutenant Gore still around and in command. The unflappable Human, had he not sacrificed himself to complete the mission to crack open Ji’Kaw’s planetary defense encirclement, would know what to do here. Dekragg felt like he was stumbling around in the dark when he got promoted to the officer ranks. He had a newfound respect for the officers he previously ridiculed as a Sergeant. Their job was not easy.

 

Dekragg became worried as time passed. More bolts sizzled by and impacted the thick metal doors with a splash. He had to throw back a pair of grenades tossed his direction. It would only be a matter of time before he and Saponas were overwhelmed.

 

After a few more shots buzzed by Dekragg, the squealing of metal pierced the air as the massive gears of the warehouse door began to move. The door started to crack open. Dekragg prayed it was Fusili and the others. If it was another guard patrol, then this would be the end of the line.

 

“Come on!” a feminine voice shouted over the scraping metal.

 

Dekragg allowed his head crest to flutter with happiness at the sound. Sergeant Fusili had come through and managed to get the door open.

 

While Fusili ushered the diplomats through the door, Dekragg and Saponas began their firing withdrawal. “Get that door closed,” Dekragg ordered after everyone exited the warehouse.

 

“Can’t,” Specialist Rohili replied. He was training his plasma rifle to one side and only allowed a nod in the direction of what he was speaking about. Dekragg’s eyes followed the direction his purple beak gestured toward and saw the control panel blasted out. “A stray shot hit it and I had to mess with the wiring to open the bay,” Rohili explained as he fired his plasma rifle at a guard’s head peeking out from behind a shuttle.

 

“Please tell me the other mission is a success,” Dekragg said.

 

“We got it done,” Specialist Dahili replied. She held a small tube with a button on the end in her lithe blue hand and pressed it. Heavy thuds impacted the air in the distance as a series of blue explosions lit up the base of a tall tower. The tower, the flight communication center, toppled over and crashed into a row of waiting freight ships.

 

“I really hope our ride wasn’t over there,” Dekragg grumbled as he snapped off another shot past the still screaming warehouse door.

 

“Already checked, LT,” Fusili replied back. “Best we can figure is its on this side of the tarmac.

 

“Come on then,” Dekragg said as he backed away from the warehouse. Dekragg knew FusRohDah, a name the late Lt. Gore gave the trio, would be diligent in their duties. “We need to find our ride and get off this rock.”

 

Dekragg wasn’t looking forward to finding the marking indicating their extract ship. The tarmac had dozens of rows of large ore freighters, each looking identical. It could take precious minutes, or even upwards of an hour, to find the marking.

 

“Found it!” Saponas pointed to a ship nestled in a line with a few others.

 

Dekragg was surprised Saponas identified the ship so quickly. That is, until he spied the marking. Instead of a subtle, small number on a landing gear, the ship had a towering Human number 3 painted onto the dark grey hull. The number was slanted to the left and was painted on in a brilliant white paint. A thin bright orange border ringed the number, adding to the visible contrast on the hull paint.

 

The team made their way across the open tarmac, providing covering fire to ensure the prison guards were suppressed behind their cover. As they did, the freighter pilot opened the front facing bay under the cockpit. A few stray incoming plasma bolts impacted on the shield the pilot had activated to cover the retreat. Dekragg briefly noticed the shield looked unusually weak, even for a bulk freighter.

 

Dekragg was the last up the opening ramp as he kept his weapon firing. While the ship’s shields would keep them safe, it wouldn’t stop the guards from storming inside the protective bubble and overwhelming the now trapped escapees. Only when the ramp started to close did Dekragg pull back and allow himself to review the interior.

 

The freighter had a cavernous interior. Bolted to the floor along the vessel’s center line were dozens of seats with straps. The walls had exposed wiring and pipes where the normal steel coverings had been removed. Dekragg couldn’t comprehend what the unusual array of wires and piping was for. The vessel had clearly been heavily modified.

 

“Lieutenant Dekragg,” a voice with a drawl that reminded Dekragg of Lt. Gore sounded over the ship’s speakers. “I’ll need your team to ensure everyone is strapped down and I’ll need you up here in the cockpit.”

 

Dekragg, impressed the Human aboard properly pronounced his full name, nodded to his perplexed team. “You heard the man,” Dekragg barked. Despite his order, he was equally confused by the statement.

 

Dekragg left his team to secure the frightened diplomats and took a small elevator up to the cockpit deck and entered the room.

 

Seated in the pilot’s seat was a Human. He turned his seat and Dekragg examined the man. He had cut brown hair on top of a face with sharp, angul...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Void_Vagabond on 2024-12-27 18:07:04+00:00.

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“I’m gonna have sex with her.”

“Please, don’t do that.”

Private Roger Rodriguez sat around a table in the communal section of the Starship Worthy Endeavor, eating lunch with his only two friends off Earth, Private First Class Ovcharov and Corporal Bauer, or Ovi and Babe. But Rodiguez had his eyes on the Octurian girl that just recently joined the crew. And she had her eyes on him. At least, he was pretty sure. They were all black with little white spots, like a view of the stars through a porthole, and at least three of them were pointing at Rodriguez. He recognized the look. It was the, get over here and do nasty things to me, look.

“She wants to bang.”

“It’s her first time in a different star system,” Ovi reminded. “She’s never seen humans before.” Then he glanced over at the new arrival and relented. “Okay, maybe she wants to bang, but why you?”

“Cause I’m sexy!”

Ovi and Babe just laughed at that.

“Yeah. Five-foot-seven, a hundred fifty pounds wet,” Babe remarked. “The pinnacle of human potential. The Corps is lucky to have you.” Then she took a drink and turned around to check out the Octurian, who quickly looked away with her four spider-like eyes.

“She is kinda cute though. Despite the eyes, and the… fangs. I think? And the pale exo-skin, and the tentacle hair, and everything else. At least she’s humanoid. Blur your eyes, take a few shots, and she’s a solid nine.”

“Apparently it’s very common,” Ovi noted with a final glance at the alien girl. “Researchers say it might be due to mechanical advantages. Bilateral symmetry allows for efficient mobility. Bipedal movement frees up extra appendages to work as object manipulators. Plus, the central nervous system stays high off the ground. And—”

“—Ass and hips allow for leverage in the thrust,” Rodriguez interjected as his eyes roamed over every curve on the slender alien. Her face may have been a shock at first, but he was starting to think of it as cute. Or at least unique. As for the rest of her, he couldn’t help but think, Jesus-Lord, gimme! In other words, she wore her form-fitting pressure suit very well.

Besides, Rodriguez liked the attention, alien or not. Because the Octurian had been eyeing him since she arrived, and even though she was currently turned away he could still see that the skin where her lips should have been curled up into a slight smile. Ovi had said Octurians didn’t smile or communicate through body language in the same way that humans did, but one look at the alien woman told Rodriguez otherwise. She wanted him.

“She’s still technically an officer,” Babe warned as she shoved Rodriguez. “And some kind of big shit back in her star system. So don’t be a dumbass.”

“Hey. I would never do anything… uncouth. That’s a word, right?”

Ovi nodded.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be uncouth toward a lady. I’m a Space Marine. Gotta represent.”

---

Princess Shi’ark eyed the hairless, stubby human from across the public module of the human starship. He was the one, the only warrior among the spaceborne humans trained in hand-to-hand combat, and a damn good fighter according to the records of the Intelligence Ministry.

And, even more importantly, he was young, dumb, and full of… whatever the humans called it. Shi’ark clearly saw the heat radiating off the young male in waves as he stared her down. He obviously wanted her. She could even smell his pheromones among all the others. It stunk like the blood and fat of a fresh drun’dna kill, so much so that she struggled to keep her face from cringing in disgust.

Still, Private Rodriguez had his own kind of appeal.

He was a little misshapen, like all humans, but obviously strong for his size. Yet even better, he was a trained grappler and striker, and he was very, very strong compared to Octurians. Again, just like the rest of his species. It was ridiculous, really. Not only did the humans evolve in a gravity well twice as high as that of the average habited world, but they also escaped their hellish planet early in their development, and so retained the physicality of a brute creature.

He’ll be a force of nature on Octurai, Princess Shi’ark thought with an excited twitch of her mandibles. Sure, Private Rodriguez was not the most handsome thing, but he was a skilled warrior from an allied world of immense power, and the more she imagined him barreling through blaster fire and waves of her enemies in Octurian armor, the more excited she became.

I’ll learn to love the smell, the princess told herself. Health Minister Ayr’Thia assured me that reproduction was possible between our species, on the Octurian side, at least. But she maintained that it was a game of odds. If I want even one batch of eggs, me and the ‘Mar-een’ will have to keep to a schedule. No less than three tries a cycle. Regardless, the monarchy should be secure after just one success.

---

The alien girl pressed against Rodriguez as they squeezed into her guest cabin. He could feel her sharp breath against his skin. It smelled sour like liquor, but her eyes and posture were sharp like a predator. The claws of her hands softly scratched the skin of his arms as she grabbed onto Rodriguez.

“Uh. Nice cabin,” he muttered as she stripped out of her uniform, trying his best to stall for time and look anywhere else but into the alien’s face, because goddamn, she was hard to look at. The young Marine tried to summon his courage, but the poor fool didn’t have a drop of alcohol in his blood or a single other Marine to encourage his next mistake. He didn’t even know how things had progressed so fast. All he did was say hello, then she asked about Taekwondo and kickboxing and Brazilian Jujitsu, and the little bit of amateur fighting he’d done. And then she offered sex!

Rodriguez hadn’t done much thinking from that point onward.

The Octurian woman pressed her smooth, almost plasticy skin against his own as her lower, second set of stubby hands clawed at his abs, which seemed to send her mandibles into a frenzy. It took Rodriguez every bit of his strength not to push her off as the memory of their first terrifying kiss flashed in his mind. Mandibles and lips and fangs fighting for dominance, but the young Marine was determined not to screw things up. He was already halfway out of his jumpsuit and standing at attention. She was as naked as the day she was born. Or hatched. Or however, they did that.

And Jesus, lord, did her body look good.

And holy hell, am I ready to go! Rodriguez thought to himself.

I’m gonna do this. I’m gonna be the first man to bang an alien!

Rodriguez closed his eyes and thought of the two other women he’d been with. If he could do them, then surely, he could do it with the Octurian. She’d be an enormous step up, all things considered.

“So… How does this work?” the Marine asked. The four eyes of the alien woman watched Rodriguez as she pulled him closer. A jolt shot up his spine as he made contact with a surprisingly soft and warm something.

Her mandibles twitched and a chittering sound came out of her mouth, which the translator collar on her neck instantly converted to English.

“The same as it works with human females. Unless… You don’t want to.”

She pulled away, triggering the monkey part of Rodriguez’s brain that compelled him to procreate at all costs, despite the fear he felt at the sight of his partner’s face. His arms shot out to wrap around her and he offered a brave smile as her mandibles twitched some more.

“No, no, no. No. I can do this.”

---

“Colonel McTaggart, you have an urgent message from the Worthy Endeavor.”

Phil McTaggart groaned before opening his eyes.

Sleeping in zero-g was hard enough but trying to get a full six hours with two starships in orbit around Jupiter Station, fifteen other vessels in transit, a new refueling satellite under construction, and alien ambassadors visiting the Trojan Lagrange, it was just impossible. Phil missed the days when Jupiter Station was a sequestered, quiet place for people who directly interacted with alien species. The three-year minimum quarantine imposed on station occupants usually meant peace and quiet.

“Colonel McTaggart,” his computer repeated into the cool darkness of his cabin, “you have an urgent message—”

“I know. I know. Show me the message.”

Phil unzipped himself from his sleeping bag, rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks to wake up as he floated in the dim light of his work computer. On the screen Phil saw the stern face of a woman that he’d learned to associate with dumb problems, and so, he groaned again.

“Colonel McTaggart,” said the recording of the grim Captain Lewis, “We have a situation.”

Phil rolled his eyes and mentally bet himself the rest of his sleep that the situation in question involved three specific individuals.

“It’s the Space Marines, sir.”

Here we go.

“One of them has impregnated the Octurian Princess.”

Phill stood up.

Or rather, he tried. What the man actually did was extend his legs, slam off the deck, and bang his head into the overhead, both of which were covered in storage lockers and hurt like hell. On the screen, Captain Lewis continued.

“We detained the Marine in question and the Octurian guests have returned to their starship, but they are now demanding the Marine. Apparently, he initiated relations with the Princess, which, according to their cultural practices, makes him the new protector of her family. The Octurian ...

---

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Previous

First | Series Index | Website (for links)

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

22 Battle Planning I

TRNS Crete, Quistqueu (12,000 Ls)

POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)

“Admiral, Resistance One sent a message requesting a— a strategy meeting with you,” Lieutenant Beth Woods announced from the electronic warfare station.

“The Ace of Clubs? Is this some kind of trick?” Carla asked.

“We can always shoot her out of the vacuum and say it was an accident later,” Beth joked.

“Cover it up? Why? They’ll build a big, glorious statue for us back in Sol if we take full credit… What does she want now?”

“She’s not being very specific in her request,” Beth said, reading off her screen.

Carla tilted her head. “Okay, so what does the bug that ODT installed on their ship a couple months back say she wants?”

“Officially, to discuss what to do when we arrive in Prinoe,” Beth said, gesturing to the frontline system occupied by a swathe of red on the battle map.

“Unofficially?”

Beth smiled. “They’re here to feel out just how much we plan to actually support them when we unleash them into Bun territory like a pack of wild Malgeir.”

“Touché,” said newly promoted Alpha Leader and Carla’s executive officer Speinfoent, chuckling dryly.

Carla turned to look at him. “So, XO, what do you think we should do?”

“Is one of the options blowing—”

“Other than that.”

Speinfoent thought for a moment. “Whatever we do, we shouldn’t let the Ace land her shuttle in our hangar bay. They could be carrying explosives. Or worse.”

Carla tilted her head. “Yeah, that’s worth avoiding.”

“Or come into railgun range, for that matter. I think we send a shuttle of Marines to board her and bring her on board. That’ll put her on notice too. Let her know we’re keeping watch on her. So she knows her place here.”

Carla gave him an affirmative gesture. “Not bad. What about when she gets on board?”

“We should— I don’t know… What’s your government’s policy on military cooperation with them now?” he asked as he scratched his head with a paw.

“Good question.”

After a few heartbeats, he asked, “Wait, that’s it? Just good question? No answer?”

Carla shrugged. “I don’t think— things are still a bit hectic back in Atlas from the Battle of Sol. We have officially recognized their non-exclusive authority in Sirius and a to-be-determined Bun system under the Treaty of Hano, and we’re no longer at war, but… we’re not allies or anything. I don’t think we’ve been issued any additional directions beyond that. So it’s up to us.”

Speinfoent tilted his head. “But they will fight the Grass Eaters?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Last I heard, some of them over there weighed the possibility of owning their own planet of billions of Buns. Makes their fantasies of ruling over a few million colonists out in the Red Zone look downright realistic, but I’m not going to tell them what they can or can’t daydream about. And there’s just one thing stopping them: the Bun Navy from here to there. So yeah, they’ll probably fight.”

Speinfoent asked cautiously, “We’re not… actually letting them do that, are we? Letting them rule over the Buns if they manage to take one of their planets.”

Carla shook her head. “Not our problem. We’ll wish them good luck figuring out how to invade a whole entire habitable planet with a few thousand irregular scumbags and no supplies while we continue on our mission.”

“Wait. What if… they actually succeed? I don’t— I don’t see how they could, but…”

Carla shot him a wink. “See, XO? Now you’re thinking like a paranoid Grass Eater. I knew all that expensive Staff College training we gave you didn’t go to waste.”

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

POV: Sophie Garnier, Saturnian Resistance Navy (Ace of Clubs)

The Ace of Clubs sized up the squad of armored Marines blocking her way, their leader with his arms crossed. Shorter than her at just 1.4 meters tall, these Malgeir Marines looked a lot less cuddly or harmless than the two officers her people had captured and held as prisoners in the basement back in the Free Zone Liberation War.

The way they were gripping their weapons coolly… and they looked way too comfortable in what looked like custom-tailored Republic Marine Mark V armor. She couldn’t spot their combat robots, but she had no doubt they were hiding somewhere in their shuttle, with their own weapons aimed squarely at her vitals.

“Where’s your owner?” she snapped at them. “Don’t you know who we are?”

“You are the Ace of Clubs,” the gravelly voice of their squad leader filtered through his translator module. “But you could be the Head High Councilor himself, and you would still not be allowed onto our shuttle with your weapons.”

“That’s not how this works. We are humans, not rabid animals. I am coming to your owners’ ship under a flag of truce. Like civilized people. That’s a gesture of good faith, and you are obligated to reciprocate. I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” the Ace said, sneering at him. “Why don’t you get someone who knows what they’re doing on the phone and—”

The Malgeir squad leader slowly detached his suit radio, switched it to speaker mode, and dialed its volume to full. He said into it deliberately, “Admiral, our guests are claiming special diplomatic privileges, and they are refusing to relinquish their firearms. What would you like us to do?”

Carla’s voice came back in the radio speaker, loud enough for the entire hangar bay to hear. “High Pack Leader Baedarsust, the guest rules for my ship are clear: no weapons. If anyone tries to sneak any on board the shuttle, shoot them until they stop moving. Understood?”

“Understood, Admiral.” Baedarsust looked back at the Ace, a slow grin forming on his face. “Should we get started, or do you have more… requests for additional accommodation?”

The Ace thought about resisting for a moment, but quickly dismissed the fantasy. She needed the Reps.

For now.

She gritted her teeth and made a gesture to her people to stand down. She unslung her carbine and carefully brought it to the hangar floor, and her posse did the same. “Satisfied?” she asked as she released it and stood back up to her full height.

“No power armor either,” Baedarsust said simply.

She hit the quick release on her armor, stepping out of it. She took a few steps and stretched her arms. As she stepped forward towards the shuttle, the Malgeir squad leader put his paw in front of her, signaling her to halt.

“Your sidearms. And your knife.”

Rolling her eyes, the Ace undid the holster on her hip, placing it carefully on the floor as well, the pile of items growing. Another gun strapped to the front of her vest. The magazines. Then, the tactical knife in her belt. “You want to search me for plastic explosives too?” she scoffed.

He didn’t even blink as he produced a familiar-looking portable spaceport scanner, waving it all around her. “Yes. Take off your footwear too.”

“This is ridiculous,” she grumbled as she complied. “Hundreds of light years from Sol and still under the boot of the paranoid Reps!”

“Paranoid… that’s what I thought at first,” Baedarsust said he took a perfunctory sniff inside the Ace’s boots as his scanner searched her thoroughly. “But a few months of raids and patrols in the Red Zone, and I’m beginning to see why you Terrans do things the way you do.”

The scanner beeped and its indicator lights turned green. Baedarsust sniffed her collar a few times before stepping back with a satisfied grunt, then gestured her towards the shuttle as she put her combat boots back on. “Stand over there while we check your people.”

Her aide, Felix, was next. Pausing only to remove a small box-cutter he’d “accidentally” forgot about in his belt, the Malgeir squad cleared him quickly too.

They moved onto her alien pet advisor, Eight Whiskers Krizvum. Once a proud Znosian Navy spacer, he’d been reduced to a quivering shell of his former proud self after a mild dose of Resistance re-education. The Ace saw a couple of the Malgeir Marines lean forward as the Znosian stepped up to be inspected.

“A Grass Eater,” Baedarsust mumbled curiously. “Eight Whiskers too.”

Hearing him, the Ace smiled coldly, “Your owners aren’t the only ones who got new pets. And Krissy here isn’t the only one we have.”

“How did you manage to… domesticate them?”

“That’s a Resistance Navy trade secret,” she smiled smugly.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, and a few moments of scanning later, he nodded, “The Grass Eater is clear too.”

The three of them were herded into the Malgeir shuttle. She could tell it was obviously designed by humans with barely a glance. The minimalist interiors took their design cues from familiar Raytech assault shuttles, and the service panels had instruction writing in five human languages beneath the alien language in bold. But the layout was heavily adapted for the aliens’ physiology. Operable switches and controls were at a much lower height than would be comfortable for a human. Screens showed interfaces with oddly contrasting colors. And the emergency suit holders in its passenger bay would never fit an average human adult.

The Ace of Clubs wrinkled her nose at the tiny EVA suits. “We’d never fit in those,” she said, pointing at the one next to her designa...

---

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A quick heads up, I wont be posting next week 01/03/2025. Gonna be busy

Patreon:

Discord:

ART ALBUM:

AURI, THE ALCHEMIST

Quick shoutout: If you wanna see how the Unit (Delta Force) would take on the Demon Lord (or are tired of seeing Kingdoms summoning high schoolers when they can get professionals instead), then check out Arcane Exfil.

Here's the link:

*******

Sitting in the back of the sleek government sedan, Toivonen’s fingers pressed into the bridge of her nose as her hands cupped over her mouth in an attempt to physically hold back a migraine that was creeping in. The soft hum of the car's engine and the gentle sway of motion did little to ease her tension as she found herself completely overwhelmed after the past 24 hours.

Her mind raced, replaying the events that had led to this moment. Yzael's demonstration with Anduril had been impressive enough, but her subsequent showcase with Raytheon sent shockwaves through the highest echelons of power. The fusion of magic and technology opened up possibilities for an iteration of what was called the HARM missile to incorporate some new energy.

Toivonen wasn’t particularly well versed in whatever weaponry the military was in play but knew something significant when she saw it. The thing was apparently difficult to manufacture due to its exotic nature, but Toivonen wasn’t sure about the details. She had just given the report a cursory glance before returning to fussing over the new candy of her eye on the other side of the rift.

Nevertheless, since that presentation, the military and political leadership have been so obsessed with the counter-offensive they sidelined every other issue. Every meeting, briefing, and memo was focused on leveraging this new knowledge against the otherworldly threat. This, in turn, soon led to establishing a permanent position in this new world.

The fervor for an invasion had hit a fevered pitch, and it made Toivonen's stomach churn. She wasn't ready. Not by a long shot. She had only recently managed to wrangle limited control over that one Special Forces team, and she had to do it by dragging SOCOM kicking and screaming to the negotiation table. She had planned to carefully position her paramilitary officers to either replace or supplement them and build a robust intelligence network, but that was immediately shot down.

The team wasn't just surviving; they were thriving. They had embedded themselves so deeply that they were now monitoring a major logistics hub in the middle of a major population center that resented this Imperial force. When that information hit the brass, all hell broke loose, and any talks of pulling them out in place of Toivonen's people were promptly dumped into a burning dumpster.

Suddenly, everyone from four-star generals to undersecretaries was clamoring for immediate action, and the timetables Toivonen had fought tooth and nail to slow down were now being dramatically accelerated. Months of careful planning and positioning were being thrown out the window in favor of striking quickly and early. The military wanted to capitalize on this intelligence goldmine, and the politicians were all too eager to give them the green light.

Toivonen felt like she was watching a runaway train, and she was powerless to stop it. The very success she had hoped for was now threatening to upend everything. As the car sped towards the meeting that would determine the fate of their world and the other, she couldn't help but feel as if she was going to hurl.

"Greedy fucks," she muttered under her breath as she pushed her hands against the bridge of her nose even harder.

From the front seat, her driver's voice cut through her thoughts. "Ma'am? Did you say something?"

Realizing she'd spoken aloud, Toivonen let out a sigh and straightened herself up a bit. "No, nothing," she replied in a tone that said she was anything but fine. "Just thinking out loud."

The driver’s eyes flicked up at the rearview mirror and saw just how stressed out his passenger was. His initial instinct was to speak up, but he knew better than to pry into someone in the intelligence field’s business.

Especially when it came to powerful people like Toivonen.

Whatever was bothering her most likely had layers upon layers of secret classifications that would land him not in jail but probably in front of a firing squad. So, he did what he was trained to do.

To shut up and drive.

Another sigh left Toivonen’s mouth as she leaned back against the leather seat. Her eyes became unfocused as they drifted towards the window at the passing landscape. The world outside seemed oblivious to the monumental decisions being made, the forces being set in motion.

Every fiber of her being screamed that they were moving too fast, pushing forward without proper understanding or preparation. But her voice was increasingly drowned out by the chorus of eager politicians, gung-ho Generals and ambitious colleagues. Everyone seemed to salivate at the prospect of establishing a foothold in this new world and harness this new found power.

However, Toivonen found that any action she took would be completely pointless. Yzael's last presentation had been the nail in the coffin, and all of a sudden, the petrodollar was thrown out with the old, while in came the Manadollar. It seemed like she would just have to work with what she had.

"Ma'am," her driver's voice cut through her thoughts, "we're approaching the Pentagon."

Toivonen nodded as her face shifted to the stoic G-man expression she usually wore. The Pentagon was a fitting location for what would likely be the high-level meeting that would ultimately decide the fate of thousands, if not millions, of people. The last pieces of this monumental operation would fall into place in the labyrinthine corridors of the world's largest office building.

She knew even before she, or anyone else, for that matter, had set foot in the building that the decision had already been made. Gathering the highest echelons of military and intelligence leadership would just be a formality. The Joint Chiefs and the Directors of the CIA, NSA, and DIA would be there. Key members of the National Security Council would be present, and likely a handful of carefully selected congressmen from the intelligence committees.

And every one of them will decide to pull the trigger.

As the car approached the massive structure, Toivonen took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. In a matter of days, perhaps weeks at most, American forces would be crossing into another world. And she, for better or worse, would be at the epicenter of it all.

"Let’s see if we can avoid another shit show," she muttered to herself as the car pulled up to the security checkpoint. Whatever happened next, there was no turning back now. The die was cast, and all she could do was try to guide the outcome as best she could with the limited tools at her disposal.

As the car came to a stop, Toivonen's driver quickly exited and moved to open her door. However, instead of immediately stepping out, Toivonen hunched over in her seat, balling her hands together and pressing them into her face. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to center herself.

The driver stood there in the door frame with a concerned look etched on his face. He'd driven Toivonen to countless high-stakes meetings, but he'd never seen her quite like this. "Ma'am?" he ventured hesitantly, "Are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?"

Toivonen remained in that position for several long moments, her breath coming in slow, measured inhales and exhales. The weight of what she was about to be part of pressed down on her like a physical force. This wasn't just another meeting. This was history in the making, a turning point for all of humanity.

The sheer magnitude of it all was almost incomprehensible. New resources, new technologies, new threats—everything would change, forever altering Earth's geopolitical landscape.

Finally, Toivonen took one last deep breath and looked up, meeting her driver's concerned gaze. "I'm fine," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Just... preparing myself."

As she exited the car, Toivonen straightened her suit, the Pentagon looming over her. Turning her eyes up, she looked up at those imposing pillars that simultaneously held up and protected the entrance of the most important military thought center in the world. It seemed like a fitting symbol of the immense power about to be unleashed.

Toivonen strode forward with purpose as her heels clicked against the polished floor as she entered the Pentagon. The building's usual bustling atmosphere was much heavier than normal, with an undercurrent of tension so palpable that one might have been able to cut it with a knife. Military personnel and civilian staff alike moved with increased urgency, their faces etched with barely concealed anxiety.

The Pentagon as a whole was a hive of activity. Aides rushed back and forth carrying classified folders and secure tablets. Clusters of officers were huddled in the ...

---

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I’m quite satisfied with how short I’ve managed to keep this one.

Part 2 to Something Called Courage. You can read part 1 here, which isn’t required but I think it makes the story better.

Also, Thalen basically looks like Khanivore from Sonnie’s Edge. In fact, much of this two-part story was inspired by it, making this story the second most inspired one I’ve written. It's a different story, certainly, but you can see the similarities. Sonnie’s Edge is just so good, not to mention it has the most memorable fight scene I have ever watched.

---

Glass cracked under Thalen’s step. He stopped mid-stride and lowered a claw, dragging it over the cracked and overgrown stone lining the forest floor. Once upon a time they had been polished to a mirror’s shine, reflecting the grandeur of his people. At least, that was what the historical records said. Now they were streaked with dirt and covered with moss.

The Interlopers were thorough.

Thalen resumed his silent trek. He couldn’t afford to stay in one place for too long. Glancing up through the branches of the familiar-yet-not foliage he saw the beams of light slicing through the early-morning sky. That was the planetary defense network. Their original builders had intended them to protect his own people from the threats of the universe, but for Thalen all they did was prevent his fleet from reclaiming what was rightfully his.

It was an eerily familiar situation that Thalen found himself in. It had been three years since that fateful night in the forests of the human homeworld, and much had changed since then. For one, the Venatorians were on the offensive again. Eleven star systems once controlled by the Interlopers had fallen to Thalen. All throughout the local bubble were news of “the Venatorian Invasion,” and while there were wildly varying analyses of the motivations behind the conquest, most of which were wrong, all of them agreed on one thing, being that the series of victories all lead up to this star system: Venator. The lost Venatorian homeworld.

One thing that had certainly not changed from that night was how much he hated being the hunted instead of the hunter. Carefully Thalen continued his slow prowl through the woods.

A flicker at the edge of his vision was the neural interface implanted in his brain notifying him of something. The implants were human technology, overlaying an interface directly over his vision. It prompted Thalen to bring up a live map of his surroundings. Red triangles blinked on the map, marking the last seen locations of his pursuers, provided by his ships in orbit. One of them blinked quickly. The most recent detection.

A white diamond marked his own last detected location, and to his satisfaction, it was multiple kilometers behind where he currently was. The closest defence node for the array was marked as a star to the northeast. A third, blue marker formed a triangle with his position and that of the node. Most of the red markers were clustered around his general area, a few were around the node, and none around the blue marker.

Thalen continued forwards, silently dashing across a narrow creek and vanishing into the treeline on the opposite side. The white diamond blinked and jumped to where he had crossed the creek. Thalen cursed. If his own ships detected him, then the enemy’s orbital infrastructure certainly could as well. Three of the red triangles shifted towards his direction.

Sacrificing a bit of secrecy now that he was in a relatively thicker part of the forest, he sped up into a run, putting distance between the creek and himself. He glanced up again through a crack in the treetops. Faint chains of red streamed upwards from the ground-to-orbit railguns, intersecting the trajectory of the missiles headed towards the defenses. Whatever happened, he did not want to run into an Interloper, but the universe had never cared about what he wanted.

Thalen had spent much of his life studying, fighting, and destroying the Interlopers from afar. The favor went both ways. He had watched as the Interlopers first came out from the void, attacking ships indiscriminately, mercilessly. He had seen the news reports as the attacks grew more and more numerous. The name “Interloper” was fitting, if one were to put their actions lightly. They came out of seemingly nowhere on their untraceable geometry drives, they would attack anywhere with an utter disregard for life, and they were everywhere that one looked. And yet no one knew where they came from, or where their homeworld was. Battle after battle he had fought the Interlopers, until there had been too many to count.

But this wasn’t a battle. This was a hunt. And now, for the first time, predator and predator would meet face to face.

His ancestors had failed once. He would not fail again.

He continued this way through the forest this way for some time, always keeping an eye on the map, always on the lookout for any motion in the darkness of the trees. Which was why it almost startled him when he suddenly found himself looking into the face of an alien creature.

Fortunately it was only a statue, lone and worn. It depicted an insectoid being of four eyes, a triangular head, and a thin torso connected to a thicker, horizontal lower body. A robe that probably once looked regal flowed down its length. He recognized the being as a Cindari. The Cindarii people were expert engineers and masters of fire. Once, in the early days of Venatorian history they had walked on the surface of Venator alongside Thalen’s own people. There had also been the Hylenids and Eryllians, among others. They had been the Venatorians’ closest allies, but that was before Thalen’s ancestors had discovered the hostility of the universe they lived in. After the first RKKV attacks the opinions of “closest allies” had morphed into “greatest liabilities.” Once-inseparable peoples turned into tense competitors, before fading into the background, never to be heard from again. Thalen had always thought that those early days, placing so much trust and dependence on a foreign people, had been a symptom of a young, inexperienced species.

But more and more he’s come to think that maybe he was the naive one.

The implant’s notification flashed in the corner of Thalen’s vision again. He brought up the map. None of the red triangles had gotten close to him, but with a starting realization, he noticed a new marker, a rapidly blinking red triangle, drifting ever closer to the blue marker.

He couldn’t let that happen. His paces quickened. The forest passed by rapidly, but his own icon on the map remained static. He could still be discreet while being fast. The two markers were close to the node, and as Thalen glanced up he saw the beam of light growing closer through a gap in the trees.

It was a tense half an hour before Thalen slowed again. He had just passed the last detected location of the Interloper, but the marker was a slow blinking triangle. The trail had ended fifteen minutes ago. It could be anywhere by now. It could be—

Thalen felt and heard a twig crunch underfoot. It was louder than he would have liked. He stopped. A few groups of small, avian animals took off from the treetops. The white diamond on the map jumped to his location, and a new, blinking red triangle appeared, continuing the trail he had been following, except now it was going towards him. Thalen cursed under his breath, but then stopped. This was…fine. Good, even. Several more red markers appeared, heading towards his direction, but none of them were particularly close.

Thalen turned and began moving in the direction away from the Interloper that he had been following.

For another half an hour, the map reported no new detections. The forest remained quiet. Thalen didn’t like how quiet it was. He glanced once more at the beams of light slicing through the sky. “Come on,” he whispered under his breath. “Any time now…”

A faint flicker of movement drew his eye snapping into the shadows, before he let out a breath and brought up the map again, scanning for what had changed. Nothing. The map was exactly as it was before. Thalen’s head snapped up to scan his surroundings, checking each and every detail. But whatever had caught his eye was gone without a trace.

Just as he was about to take another step, a voice spoke directly into his head making his blood run cold.

“I know you’re there,” the voice seemed to ring from every direction. Thalen didn’t respond, instead continuing to move away. “Why won’t you come out? We can discuss terms…for your surrender.”

A new red icon flashed on the map, barely fifty meters from where Thalen predicted his own location to be. Then another, in a completely different direction, and a third, fourth, fifth, and the map became covered with red strobing triangles, dazzling his vision. He dismissed the map. “Get out of my head,” Thalen muttered under his breath. He knew that the Interloper could, at most, project sounds and images into his brain, but nothing more.

“Oh, look at you, so confident. Why? Why do you think you can win? Is it because you think you are oh-so-careful? That must be it…you do realize that all it takes is one mistake for it to all come crashing down. One day you will lose.”

“Been there, done that,” Thalen said. The Interloper stepped out from behind a cluster of trees just twenty meters away. This one was a...

---

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___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

Gryzzk watch the viewscreen, fascinated by what he saw. After a change of shirt and a cup of tea, things seemed to be going smoothly. Hurdop Prime was an interesting thing – very much like Vilantia, but at the same time different. It was smaller, rockier, and the lights from the cities seemed dimmer somehow. Still, the planet loomed larger, and he was about an hour from completing the first leg of his mission. He tapped his communicator for the supply room.

Lieutenant Gregg-Adams was bright and cheerful as he answered. "Yes Captain?"

"Lieutenant, begin moving the excess cargo from our hold to one of the shuttlecraft. It'll be easier to shuttle down that way rather than transfer to the Godsfang and then have them shuttle down. Make sure there's room for the...crew of our other ship."

"Understood. Gregg-Adams out."

Reilly spoke up shortly thereafter. "Captain, Hurdop Traffic Control requests we put the ship into a parking orbit. The Major's already negotiated the sale of Ship Fifty-Seven back to the Hurdop government for a refit. FYI, we're making bank on this. And, ah, Captain Jojorn would like to speak to you before they are transferred off to Hurdop."

Gryzzk nodded. "Very well. XO has the bridge." He left and went to medical first.

Doc Cottle was there, reading from his tablet. He glanced up at Gryzzk and chuffed softly. "Prumila ate two helpings of curry and went to sleep, Captain. She's resting now, probably be awake in about half a day or so. I'll let her know you stopped by."

Gryzzk nodded and then went to the brig. The crew of Ship Fifty-Seven were all asleep in a pile on two bunks except Jojorn, who was pacing the length of the cell whispering to herself. She looked over at Gryzzk as soon as she scented his approach.

"I have a request, Captain." She spoke clearly, keeping her eyes level. "I need to know why my ship failed. Why we failed."

Gryzzk chewed his cheek for a moment. "In a broad overview, your ship was not well matched with ours. Your gunner missed their shots on our ship, and our helmsman is very good which allowed us to close with your ship and disable it. Afterward, we were able to board and...well, I believe that's the part you know."

Jojorn shook her head. "That's not enough. There had to be more. Certainly your ship is fine, but we could have. We should have been a better match."

"I believe we may need someone with more expertise with respect to ships." Gryzzk tapped his tablet.

"Tuckers Bar, Ball-bearings, and Bowling, where we shake, rattle and roll all night."

"Chief Tucker, this is Captain Gryzzk – please bring your technical assessment of the ship we are currently towing and come to the brig."

"Oh, this is gonna be good. Tucker out."

The Chief showed up a few minutes later with his tablet in hand. He looked at Gryzzk, the occupants of the brig, and then back to Gryzzk. "You're shittin' me."

Gryzzk shook his head. "No. Chief Tucker - meet Captain Jojorn, Captain of the Hurdop Youthfleet ship Fifty-Seven. Captain Jojorn, Chief Warrant Officer Tucker, head of my engineering department."

Tucker looked at Jojorn for a long moment. "Fffuck me running. How old are you, kid?"

Jojorn bristled a bit. "I am thirteen. Old enough to be in command. I had excellent scores in leadership and command simulations."

Tucker glared at both Gryzzk and Jojorn. "Fucking thirteen. She should be at school. Having sleepovers and getting moon-eyed about whoever she thinks is cute, not leading no goddamn Charge of the Light Brigade. Same for the rest of them. Scuse my goddamn French, but what the actual fuck are your planets playing at?"

Gryzzk held up a hand. "Something we're trying to correct. For now, would it be possible to provide a technical readout of the ship and mark each specific area that contributed to the current situation?"

Tucker took a breath to steady himself. "Alright. The only actual damage inflicted was our railgun giving your engines a country asswhoopin' that moved your old girl from 'mostly dead' to 'check the pockets for loose change'. Before all that happened - your targeting system hasn't been realigned with your weapons in about four years, and on top of that your weapon placement looks like it's been changed twice. As far as your mobility, about two-thirds of your thrusters are dead, and the ones that do work are maybe half power. Your power plant itself is damn fine, and that's about the only thing you had going for you - but that's like dropping a Ferrari V12 in a Pinto. Your power distribution's a mess of crossovers, spaghetti'd conduits and reroutes that send more power to dead ends then anywhere useful. Thermal regulation looks like you were just venting out to space. Life support and inertial dampeners look like they've been running off the secondaries for months. That's the major stuff that pertains to battle, not the fiddly stuff like sensors and comms. Now for worst part - all that mess means you're alive. Your superstructure's more weld that actual shipmetal; you had maybe a one in five chance of coming out of R-space alive if it didn't crack up on entering R-space and your R-drive didn't shit itself at the thought of jumping in. Honest opinion? You and your crew need to thank Cap over there for saving you from yourselves. Not everybody in space is so polite."

To her credit, Jojorn took the information in and didn't try to deflect. "Thank you, Chief. I will...consider this."

Tucker's eyes softened for a moment. "You should. And Captain Kid? I know times are hard and you got the shortest end of any stick ever offered, but - get a few more years under you before you try this space thing again. Maybe get a better ship, do something not as violent. Galaxy's got enough sad endings out there without fuckin' Hurdop Teen Hunger Force out there floating around like furry icicles."

Jojorn looked up. "I believe my life may be going in another direction now."

"Good. Don't screw it up. Cap, I'mma go do work while you get your kids on to their next adventure. See you at breakfast." Tucker left and headed back to Engineering.

Gryzzk smiled wryly. "He's a very good engineer but peculiar." His rank chimed and Reilly's voice came over. "Captain, Shuttle Damask Rose reports ready for departure. Standing by for you and our...passengers."

"Captain Jojorn. Wake your crew, and have them follow me. We'll be placing you in the care of the Vilantian emissaries who are here to share their knowledge and learn from you. The hope is that we will make both worlds better. Stronger. Maybe you can help them?"

Jojorn seemed a bit uncertain. "I...we will try." But she went to the bunks and woke the others of her crew as gently as she could. They quickly gathered their old clothes under their arms and began walking out to form lines that made their way to the upper shuttle deck, where they all settled in quietly. Along the way, Nhoot joined them and fell in step with Gryzzk to "help say bye 'til next time." Nhoot was carrying a large satchel, but refused to let Gryzzk carry it.

As soon as they separated from the Twilight Rose, Jojorn stood up and took a breath.

"Crew of the Youthfleet Fifty-Seven. It's been my honor to be your captain, and work with you day and night for Hurdop. For those who are too young to fight and earn their food as we did. But when we touch down, we will go separate ways. We will teach the Vilantians about Hurdop, each of us in our own way." Jojorn swallowed, fighting back something. "Show them our strength. Show them our kindness. And when we can, we will meet and help each other. Because that -" Jojorn stopped again, her eyes wet. "That's what a crew does. And when we've taught them enough, we will take our own ship again and take to our birthrighted stars." Jojorn sat back down, looking toward the rear of the shuttle and wiped at her face for a moment.

Gryzzk saw that there were nods and a few hidden tears around the cabin as the shuttle went roaring through the atmosphere to finally touch down at the spaceport, which was alive and bustling with activity. As they left, Nhoot gave each member of the Youthfleet ship their own tablet and a smaller version of Rhipl'i, and quickly gathered them to show them how to send messages through R-space as well as through the local grid so they could talk to each other as well.

The sun was bright, the gravity was wrong, and Gryzzk was not having a good time for about five minutes. The sky was almost dizzying to him for a time, and he wasn't the only one who appeared to be suffering from a sort of vertigo. The Vilantian Lords were standing about, talking to each other and their new staff members. As they left Nhoot Gryzzk and the crew of children gathered to meet them. For a moment.

Then there was a bit of chaos as each of the Hurdop children all sniffed at the Vilantian Lords and ladies in turn before huddling together to talk with the occasional head poking up from the huddle.

"Captain, what are they doing?" Lord A'kifab looked warily at the knot of children.

"I believe they are selecting who they wish to be with."

"They're children."

"They are, but they were given an adult's charge. You may b...

---

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---

Book 1 on Amazon! | Book 2 on HFY | Book 3 on HFY

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"He is pushing himself too far," Guard said.

Ethan was deep within a Road Not Taken trance. Ahkelios paced around him, clearly anxious, and He-Who-Guards sat with Mari. She radiated with worry about her husband—and her son, although to a lesser extent—and Guard was trying to lend her what comfort he could.

Admittedly, Ethan's repeated failures weren't helping, although Guard wasn't entirely sure that failure was the right word at this point. He'd last heard the human muttering something about completing a shift? He wasn't sure he'd heard it right, but it was very possible he'd once again pushed past "complete the task" into "overachieve the task".

Very Ethan. Guard could guess at his motivations, too; if he was going to leave Tarin behind, let him guard the village, then he wanted Tarin to be strong enough to stop anything else the Trials or the Interface tried to throw at him.

But he was pushing himself too hard. Ethan was clearly exhausted: he'd been sweating enough that the dirt beneath him was now starting to turn more into mud, and "damp" was no longer an accurate descriptor of his clothes. He'd probably be in a worse state if the rest of them hadn't insisted he take breaks to drink water and scarf down some food, but even then, Ethan had been going at this for...

Eight hours and forty-three minutes, his internal clock helpfully supplied.

Yes. That. More than was healthy for any human to strain at a task, Guard was pretty sure, in part because using the skill seemed to put a sort of physical stress on Ethan. He wasn't sure how or why, exactly, but his sensors detected muscle fatigue and lactic acid buildup and microtears just as if he'd been running a marathon for the past eight hours.

And forty-three minutes, his internal clock helpfully supplied again, and Guard sighed.

Yes. And that.

His AI partner was... partially back online again, but only partially. Apparently his automatic repair systems were enough to restore some of the damaged wiring and circuitry. He'd thought time would reset long before that happened, but here they were, still alive. How long would this loop last, he wondered?

Not long, if Ethan pushed himself to the point of having a heart attack. Guard was starting to get more and more concerned that that might happen.

"That's the kind of thing he does," Ahkelios muttered beside him; he rubbed at his face in what was either exasperation or affection, Guard wasn't certain. Perhaps both.

"We should stop him," he said. "Or convince him to take a break."

"Let's give him another hour," Ahkelios said. Guard tilted his head, a silent question, and Ahkelios shrugged. "Another hour to figure it out, and then we make him take a break. He's focused enough that it's probably a bad idea to force him to stop unless he's really going to die or something."

"You know this from your travels with him?" Guard asked curiously. Ahkelios snorted.

"No," he said, and then reconsidered. "Maybe? I haven't seen him this focused before. But he sometimes gets it into his head that he has to do something, and honestly, he usually succeeds. You've seen it yourself, right? I get the feeling if we interrupt, it's just going to cause more problems."

"A feeling," Guard asked, "or a memory?"

Ahkelios grimaced. "You caught me," he said dryly. "Yeah, I might have glimpsed a memory or two. Not on purpose. Trust me, you do not want to interrupt that man if he's focused."

—

At some point over the past... however long it's been, my goals shifted slightly.

I'm still trying to heal Naru and transfer the Interface shard to him from Tarin. But there's an opportunity, too. That Interface shard sitting inside Tarin, slowly reinforcing his soul? It's created just enough of a core that I think I can accelerate the process. Push him all the way until he's at the cusp of the third shift.

I can't push him across myself, but just giving that to him will be enough. If he manages to complete the shift, the Cliffside Crows are almost guaranteed to never be in danger again, even if a Trialgoer targets them. Unless it's one of the really strong ones, but even then, they have a sort of truce with each other, don't they?

That truce exists because they know they're more trouble for each other than it's worth. I can put Tarin in that same position, if he wants it.

And he does. I've asked. He knows as well as I do that the Cliffside Crows have attracted enough attention that they're unlikely to stay safe, in this loop or any other.

The alternative is leaving Tarin with the same network of cracks Naru has now. A permanent mark that prevents his core from healing itself properly, from allowing him to achieve his next shift. He knows this—is willing to take that risk—but I'm not willing to leave him with it.

Besides, figuring this out will help me guide both Ahkelios and Guard to their next-layer shifts. It's more or less the best opportunity I've got for this kind of thing.

It is, however, exhausting. Every use of The Road Not Taken—every time I go back and load my path with more changes and choices and knowledge, it costs more Firmament. It draws a physical toll on me, too. I think something about the skill actually discharges all that lost, alternate time through my body. How it does that or what the side effects are I have no idea, but in practice it feels a little like I'm forcing myself through a full-body workout for the entire period I spend in that alternate path.

I tell myself it's fine. Physical pain is nothing. I'm ensuring the future of my friends. I'm ensuring Tarin's future and all the little crows he takes care of.

It's worth it.

I think that's the reason Tarin doesn't say anything. Guard and Ahkelios are quite clearly worried, and even Mari doesn't quite understand why I'm throwing myself into this with the fervor that I am, but Tarin does. He's felt it in my Firmament, that determination to make sure I've given back to the crows, and any protests he might've had died before they escaped his beak.

Now for the... sixth try, I think. Maybe seventh. I've lost count. I've been told to take more breaks, and I will; I am certainly going to take a break before I try this for real. But I feel like I'm on the cusp of a breakthrough. I just need to figure out how the layers fit together, how to create a supplemental Concept that Tarin can replace with his own when he breaches the third layer.

I reach for the skill and brace myself.

The Road Not Taken.

The world warps around me, and I try again. Trigger the Knight Inspiration, and then the Generator Form; the boost it gives me to Firmament Control is exactly what I need to touch the Interface shard delicately enough that it doesn't trigger that defensive response. Use the Abstract Crown to layer my own network of conceptual roots atop each Fixture, then bind them together with metaphorical glue. Draw them out so slowly they don't realize what's happening.

That's step one. I place the Interface shard carefully to the side; I figured this out several tries ago. It's not the part that's difficult. The part that's difficult is constructing something of my own in its place. The placeholder roots aren't enough. It needs to be something solid, something real...

Something Tarin.

I can't use another shard of the Interface—it's too complicated for me to hope to break apart safely, let alone manipulate into Tarin's soul, and it wouldn't fulfill his request besides. Nor can I just stuff Firmament into the hole and hope it draws in more, though a part of me was hoping it'd be that easy. If I want to use something for this, it has to be something of Tarin's own, something so very him that it can act as a calling card for the rest of his soul...

Slowly, I call upon Intrinsic Lightning. A trickle of black Firmament flickers around my fingers, sparking with electricity.

Every skill construct contains copies of itself. That's what Gheraa told me. Even small fragments can regrow into complete skills, given enough time. That's all Tarin needs here—just a small piece of Intrinsic Lightning, a skill that was only ever granted to me because of him in the first place.

Now I'm giving it back to him, in a way.

Slowly, I mold the skill fragment, working it into a new shape. It struggles in my grasp—it wants to be used, wants to unleash itself as lightning and fury and power—but I keep it corralled and contained, pushing it down, compressing it.

I've tried this twice already. Each time it exploded the moment my grip loosened, unleashing itself in a violent torrent of energy. Lightning doesn't like to be contained, and neither does Tarin. It's something I should have expected.

So I try something just a little different.

I remember the way Tarin used his Firmament back in the Arena. The way it flickered over his feathers, wild and free. I remember the way he gave himself over to it, allowed it to control his reactions to things he couldn't possibly have reacted to on his own.

Chaos and adaptability is a part of who he is. He's not the type to plan far ahead or to sit back; he makes his decisions in the moment, allow...

---

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The "StarLeap Expedition," as it was unofficially dubbed, was a compromise born of mutual distrust and collective ambition.

With mounting political pressure and the shadow of international competition looming, the United Nations hastily brokered an agreement to assemble a smaller, mixed team comprising scientists, engineers, linguists, and security personnel from both Earths.

The selection process was gruelling, filled with hidden agendas and barely veiled biases.

Tensions flared during the integration process. Engineers from both sides constantly clashed over specifications, accusing one another of sabotage or incompetence.

Each side insisted on including representatives they could trust—or, more accurately, control. The task force was small—intentionally so. The sheer scope of the project, both in terms of political intrigue and technological challenges, meant that only the most capable individuals could be spared for such a risky mission.

Pathfinder was retrofitted with a mix of 22nd-century tech and Mirror Earth’s more primitive but robust designs. Its outer hull gleamed under the artificial lights of the dock, a patchwork of alloys and energy-efficient composites, which had been painstakingly developed over the past few weeks.

As the countdown drew closer, the team shuffled into the final meeting room, prepared for the inevitable pre-launch briefing.

It was humankind’s first truly joint space exploration craft, a hybrid born of necessity.

Pathfinder was to be launched from a neutral orbital station in Mirror Earth's territorial space, watched by billions across both Earths. The mission had become a global spectacle, with media outlets broadcasting every moment from it's official inception.

In the briefing room of the station, the air was thick with the scent of freshly printed reports and metallic tension. The leaders of the team were gathered around a holographic display, where a simulation of the anomaly shimmered in the center of the room.

As the scientists spoke, the engineers of both worlds—human and mirror-human alike—exchanged glances of frustration and determination. They had just finished testing the ship’s newly modified warp drive, which had been adapted to navigate the unpredictable anomaly.

The engineers were well aware of the risks involved, especially since the propulsion system was still experimental, designed in haste after the first communications with Mirror Earth had come through.

The security personnel, a mix of international forces and specialized operatives from both earths, stood in two rows facing one another, silent and stoic. As it turned out, the real dangers of this mission wouldn’t come just from the physics of space; the fears of sabotage, espionage, and even military skirmishes between the two Earths were very real.

Mirror Earth's team, is a mixed detachment of what could only be described as a ragtag collection of late 21st-century equipment.

Standard-issue combat fatigues in mismatched camouflage patterns, Kevlar heavy body armor that looked cumbersome by comparison, and weapons that—while intimidating—were clearly outdated by centuries of military evolution.

They bore assault rifles, some still using mechanical sights, with chipped paint and duct-taped grips hinting at years of field use.

Many of whom had fought in bloody skirmishes over dwindling resources and territory, carried the kind of hard-earned cynicism that came from living on the edge of societal collapse.

To them, their Earth-team counterparts looked like alien—perfect soldiers molded by a world that seemed to have solved every problem they were still dying for.

Conversely, Earth’s team—representatives of the 22nd century stood on the other side in sleek, matte black exosuits that hugged their bodies like second skins. Their helmets were adorned with integrated optics capable of thermal, ultraviolet, and even quantum-layer scanning.

Every piece of their gear screamed efficiency, lethality, and cutting-edge sophistication. They viewed their counterparts with a mixture of curiosity and detached pity.

To them, Mirror Earth’s soldiers represented a grim reminder of their past—a time when humanity hadn’t yet mastered the art of sustainable survival.

A young Mirror Earth soldier, no older than 25, stole a glance at the futuristic exosuits across the line. The suits were seamless, with fluid contours and a dull sheen that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

One of the Earth soldiers moved slightly, and the faint whirr of servo-assisted joints followed. The Mirror soldier tightened his grip on his rifle, its weight suddenly feeling archaic in his hands.

“Tch, cyborgs,” he muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glare from his superior.

On the other side, one of the Earth guards caught the muttered comment. Through his helmet’s internal comms, he quipped, “Look at that gear. I swear I saw better tech in a history museum last month.”

Another guard chuckled, his voice laced with dry humor. “They’ve still wearing ballistic plates, man. Can you imagine getting shot and carrying the weight? Brutal.”

“Cut the chatter, here comes Julius Caesar.” Another one sneered through the team comms. The line stiffened immediately, professionalism overriding the urge to escalate.

Mirror-Earth team lead stopped in his step to address his troops, his voice carrying the gruff authority of a man used to barking orders in battlefields and bureaucratic offices alike.

“This mission is bigger than politics,” he growled in Russian before switching to English for the benefit of his observers.

“We may not have their fancy suits, but we’ve got grit. That counts for something.”

From the Earth team, eyebrows were raised beneath their helmets but nothing was said. Their suit’s AI fed them a translation slew of Russian, but they didn’t need it to understand the sentiment.

The man then turned to one of his younger soldiers, a woman clutching a battered submachine gun. “And you,” he snapped, pointing at her weapon, “stop staring at their gear like it’s magic. It’s just hardware. Same blood spills from them if you shoot it.”

The woman nodded, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"All systems are green, sir," Major Derek Lawson, the team’s lead security officer, said with a slight nod toward the captain. "We’ve got this locked down. No one’s getting close to that anomaly without us knowing about it."

The captain, a no-nonsense officer from Earth’s United Nations Fleet, acknowledged with a sharp glance. "Good. Keep it that way. I don’t care if they come from the other side of the galaxy. We’re here for one thing, and that’s getting back information on that rift. No distractions."

After the briefing, the crew boarded Pathfinder, and the countdown began. As the vessel began its departure from the station, both security team exchanged wary glances. The mixed crew from both Earths were mostly silent. No one could shake the feeling that, no matter how hard they all tried to keep their focus on the mission, the tension on the ship was very much palpable.

The journey took only days, but every hour stretched into an eternity as the anomaly drew closer. It was a sight unlike anything anyone had ever seen.

The first signs were subtle—distortions in the fabric of space that flickered at the edges of their vision, followed by ripples of light, like waves lapping against the hull. But as they approached the heart of the anomaly, the distortions became more violent.

The ship shuddered violently as it entered the heart of the rift. It was as though reality itself was bending, its laws warped by the immense gravitational and quantum forces. The crew watched in awe as they witnessed a strange, otherworldly landscape—a mix of fractured timelines, unstable realities, and a shimmering mirror image of their own world. Earth.

For a few heart-stopping moments, the ship lurched as if it might tear apart, but the modified warp engines held. They had done it. They had crossed over.

.

.

.

Months after Pathfinder and its crew returned from their journey to mirror-earth, both worlds was abuzz with rumors. The first that surfaced spoke of “Skybridges,” immense space elevators stretching from geostationary orbit above each Earth to the fringes of the anomaly.

Scientists envisioned these elevators as the first link, capable of ferrying supplies, personnel, and equipment between the worlds without requiring risky ship launches.

While such technology was decades beyond anything mirror earth had ever built, Earth's engineers already had prototypes for advanced composite materials—carbon nanotube hybrids capable of withstanding unimaginable stresses.

The logistics were daunting. Constructing a space elevator on one Earth would have been an engineering marvel, but doing so on two planets simultaneously—and ensuring they aligned through the shifting anomaly—was an entirely different beast. Some called the project “Lunacy Squared.” Others, especially in the media, branded it the “Cosmic Stairway.”

“They can barely agree on trade tariffs,” scoffed Dr. Elena Vasquez during an interview with Global Vision News. “How the hell are they going to agree on who controls a thousand-kilometer tether in space?”

Another concept emerged, more radical and shrouded in secrecy: the Gateway Rings. These were massive, self-sustaining space stations to be positioned directly within the anomaly itself. Using gravitational anchoring and magnetic ...

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Nick relayed the story so far to Queenie. He talked about boosting the memory cube, finding out it was empty, meeting with Jameson, working with Sunny, the whole story. When he's finished, she was silent a long time.

"Nick, I can see why your ladies like you. You have empathy, and are kind and are generous. Honestly when we first met I was just a twinge sad that Evie wasn't interested." She chuckled. "But Nick, you're… kind of dim, you get that, right?"

Eastern nodded. "Finally, someone else sees it. Right Sel?"

Selkirk agreed and her tail flicked, playfully. "Dim as a spent LED."

"I knew there was a reason I liked your girlfriends Nick. They're the smart ones. So, let's get down to it. You, and I assume Eastern have a full suite of cybernetics installed by Jameson's dark doctors, and he didn't even give you a tutorial?” Nick could hear her tisk over speakers. “That sounds like Jameson. I swear, the AIs are all the same. It's easy for them, so they assume it's easy for everyone. Selkirk, Eastern, this is going to take a bit, and I think you'll be bored. Why don't you head up front with Evie and see if you three can figure out dinner. Me and Nick’ll be ready to take a break by then."

Eastern and Selkirk stood, Eastern glancing at Nick, not saying anything. They locked eyes, and he shrugged with his eyes. "Sure thing Queenie, thanks for taking care of our pet idiot.” Selkirk said, laughing. “We'll figure out how to pay you."

Queenie chuckled. "Don't worry, it'll be very affordable." She paused a moment. “Probably.”

They made their way to the front and found Evie back behind the counter, watching something on her Pad. "Queenie kicked you out eh?" She didn’t look up from her show.

"Yeah, said we should find dinner. She and Nick are going to be hungry when they're done."

Evie nodded. "Probably. Even now, when Queenie gets it in her head to do some work, everyone else comes out tired."

Selkirk looked up at Evie. If she squinted, she could see the resemblance. They had a similar bone structure in their cheeks, the same color eyes. "Evie, I thought most humans died around one hundred or less. She's so..." she struggled to find the words and still be polite. "Coherent?"

Evie laughed. "She has good days and bad days. You're just lucky today was a good day. But yeah, she thinks the implants are keeping her alive almost as much as her body at this point."

"Where did she get them?" Eastern asks, as she comes up to the counter where Sel and Evie were talking.

"Just like she explained. An AI thought they were 'helping' and gave them to her. As you probably guessed by our experience with Nick, running the shop wasn't always out main source of income and Queenie's line of work isn’t exactly... legal all the time."

They said nothing, letting her continue to speak.

"To hear her say it, it was… fashionable to have black market cybernetic mods installed back 70, 80 years ago. I don't know, it seems an awfully foolish thing to do for fashion, but she swears it was 'this close' to going mainstream.” Evie glances at Sel. “Not like, limbs and eyes and augs,” Evie says quickly, noticing the K’laxi’s artificial eye. “I mean, the real deep brain stuff, the things that let you interface with AI hardware.”

Selkirk glanced back down the hall. "I don't know. I've been around humans a long time, and I completely believe that they'd do something stupid like get cybernetic implants for fashion."

Evie laughed. "You're right of course. How long have you been on Hyacinth, Selkirk?" Eastern leaned against the counter and just listened. She hadn’t heard much of this out of Selkirk either.

"You can call me Sel if you want. I've been here, Ancestors, twenty five years now? I moved here from K'lax when I was just a kid. Familial group got together and sent me off to a magnet school on Hyacinth." She smiled bitterly. "Go and make something of yourself. Do your family proud!" She shook her head. "I was mostly sent here to get out of the way. The paterfamilias wanted his offspring to take over the leadership of the familial group. An older kit from a deceased line was a... complication."

Evie looked down at Selkirk, her eyes kind. "Do you still talk to them?"

Selkirk flicked her ears. "Not in years. I sent them a message back when the Empress Melody shit started going down telling them I was all right and going to stay on Hyacinth, but they never even bothered to reply, so... I stopped sending messages. I'm sure they think they're better off that way."

"Oh Selkirk. I bet there are still people in your familial group that love you." Eastern chimed in.

Sel snorted - another human gesture. "You haven't met them. I'm sure they don't feel any ill will towards me, but I'm also sure they don't feel anything to me. It's ancient history." She leaned back off the counter. "Queenie said to get dinner, so I assume that if we don't she'll be upset."

Evie laughed. "Upset is possibly the most mild way that could be phrased." She took out her pad. "I know some local places that she likes, take a look and tell me which ones would work for you and your crew."

Nick came out of Queenie’s room hours later looking exhausted but pleased. She came out shortly after them with the help of her walker, but she also looked brighter and more alive than when she went in. Instead of going to Queenie's bedroom, they made their way to the front of the store, where Selkirk and Eastern had set up a table piled high with takeout from a local place. 

Nick looked hungrily at the food. "This is quite a spread Selkirk, nice work!"

Selkirk flicked her tail and her ears and smiled. "Evie helped, but we all decided that you were going to come out of your training hungry."

"I feel like I haven't eaten in years." Nick laughs and sat at the table." 

Queenie shuffled to the head of the table and sat. "Now, like I told you, those implants are powered by your bodies. Use them a lot and you need the calories to recover." She poked Nick's soft belly. "It's also a decent way to build a calorie deficit if you ever decide to lose that paunch, Nicholas North," but she was smiling as she said it.

They all sat down and started on dinner. After a few minutes, Selkirk looked up at Nick. "How did it go?"

Queenie started gesturing with a fork full of food. "Typical AI. Stuff a human full of tech and send them on their way without so much as a lesson on how to work it. He was frankly lucky he knew me; he could have had his brain braised by the first aggressive attack he endured." 

Eastern put down her fork. "We're very grateful Queenie, thanks for all the help." 

Nick nodded and swallowed, “Yeah, thanks again.” He looked at Sel and Eastern. “Queenie helped me through an initial setup, helped me with my encryption and firewalls and gave me some basic lessons on access and intrusion. She says I even have enough deep brain connections to pilot a starship in a pinch.”

Selkirk and Eastern stopped, mid bite. Sel blinked and looked at Nick, surprised. "You can pilot a starship?"

Nick shrugged awkwardly and blushed very slightly. "According to Queenie, I have additional modules and sensors that… could be related to piloting starships. She thinks its an upgrade to the old Colony Ship co-captain package. Back before wormhole linking, the relativistic colony ships would travel with an AI and Human sharing captain duties, and the human would need additional… hardware to be able to do it.”

"But... why? You're not going to be piloting a starship." Eastern said, carefully.

Nick shrugged. "Who knows with AIs. Maybe Jameson thinks I'll need it. Maybe he thought it would be funny. Maybe he's making a point to another AI faction that we don't even know about." He put his head down and continued to eat.

Eastern sighed and nodded resigned. “We're pawns in a much larger thing here. It's entirely possible that Jameson gave Nick the piloting package to show someone that AIs aren't the only game in town when it comes to operating a ship.”

Queenie looked up at the three of them. "My advice is to not try and make sense of what AIs do. They go and do their own thing; they always have. It's up to us to stay out of their way and try and not get burned. Remember what they did when Empress Melody came by? They linked in a pile of their own Starjumpers and attacked her right above us. I remember looking up and seeing the flashes of the fight. Even here on Hyacinth it was visible. It was something else." She shook her head sadly. "I never got to meet the Empress, but I heard she was looking out for everyone in Sol." She looked up at the three of them sharply. “Heed that lesson. Keep your heads down, do your work, and don't get involved in AI politics."

Nick glanced at Eastern, but she didn't say anything.

After Dinner, Selkirk tried to pay Queenie and Evie but they wouldn't take her money. "You bought dinner, and you owe us a favor, that's enough." Queenie’s small voice was like iron when she refused the money. Evie smiled, playing the ‘good CSE’ to Queenie’s ‘bad CSE’. Evie continued, “Now, don't be a stranger down here, come by and say hello to us every now and then. I haven't seen her...

---

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---

I can still remember.. When I was alive, so very, very long ago. I was not a great hero, a mighty adventurer, nor anyone else that might aspire to greatness. I was a simple peasant, farming his lord's land. The land my lord owned was right up against a mighty forest.

Most of us common folk knew that it was full of elves, monsters, faeries, the odd beastfolk village, and so forth, and we left it be for the most part as we were all on good terms. Sometimes elvenfolk would come and trade with us, sometimes our respective settlements would invite each other over for festivals. My best friend in fact, was an elf; Rizera was a barber's daughter, and helped her family in making wigs from all sorts of hair and doing minor surgeries. They made a killing at festivals and holidays when beastfolk came in needing a spa day... Ah, sorry, I'm rambling a bit. It was, overall, a good life.

War took away that good life. I was pressed into a peasant levee and joined the battle against the armies of the Smiling Emperor, an ancient lich of tremendous power. Because of where my village was, each of the major Peoples sent out a regiment- humans, elves, beastfolk, even intelligent monsters.

All of them people I had known most of my life, and who had known me. We all worked well together. The tenacity of Men, the wisdom of Elves, the ferocity of the Beastfolk, and the cunning of Beasts. We, and other mixed armies like ours, fared well and weathered the early years without too many losses.

...But years began to stretch into decades. The Elven regiment got smaller and, unlike the other races, could not be replenished with speed. Their morale was all but broken, as they were forced to watch their friends not only perish but join the enemy's ranks as various forms of undead.

These were people we had known for generations, and we fought harder for them than perhaps we would have for others. I was especially motivated to do this, as my best friend was in that army. She was a healer, and if I had a silver coin for every time she saved my life, I could buy my own barony.

I'd be lying if I said that, as the war ground on, I did not develop intense feelings for her. Feelings that I never dared act upon, for reasons that should be obvious, and if they aren't then you don't get shot at enough. The most I could do was be her shield, and I did that job exceptionally well.

Some even gave me an embarrassing nickname over it- the Raven Pavise, supposedly for how Rizera's jet black topknot poking up just over me looked like a raven was perched upon my shield.

The war ended after fourty years and some hero whose name I no longer recall put the Smiling Emperor back in the ground. I was one of the few who'd been there since the early days. I retired a Sergeant, was given a pension, and went back to what little was left of my hometown with Rizera and a few other friends who'd managed to persist so long.

I tried to tell Rizera how I felt a few times, as the years passed, but.. What was I to say? I was a scarred, beaten old man with new health issues coming every few years, and an increasingly bent back. She was still young, perfect, and in her prime. Would be in her prime, for centuries after I was gone. No, that would not do. ...Better to live and die as a friend, and not risk putting regrets into her life. She did not deserve that.

In time.. I died, age finally catching up to me. As a local hero (to my area at least), I was given a burial fitting the Raven Pavise. I was buried in the Elven fashion and put under a great tree, deep in the corner of the forest, to become one with nature. Things are a bit.. Hazy, after that. It was like being asleep, but with a hint of lucidity, just enough to know that I was terribly lonely.

I missed my friends, especially Rizera. The only thing that kept me from becoming a miserable wraith was the discovery of being able to talk to other souls around me. I was not the first human buried there who was filled with regrets and unspoken love, so I had a pretty good support network as it were; when Rizera finally passed on, I could tell her how I felt, and- if things went well- we could enjoy our final repose until Judgment Day came. Yeah, I could live with th.. ...Well you know what I mean. I had plenty of people to talk to, plenty of sleep, mind games, and stories to keep us all occupied. Overall, it was a pretty good death.

Then.. One day, I woke up. We all did. But something was wrong. Everything was.. Hazy, hazier. Our minds could still reach each other but there was a fog we could barely speak through. Our bodies didn't feel like our own anymore. We were moving around but not of our own volition.

That was when one of my juniors, who had been a skilled mage in life, managed to force a little of his will into our soul-group and connect the dots. We'd been raised into undeath, as skeletons! We'd been dead so long that there wasn't an ounce of flesh left on us.

With that realization and the aid of some dead logic and magic, we came to a horrifying conclusion: our forest was gone, our villages and towns were gone, all that remained was a barren wasteland. Demons were shepherding our bodies along, to toil away at various menial labors.

Fortunately for us, our small collection of skeletons was added to part of a larger force, and with the aid of some post-mortem human ingenuity, our soul-group became larger. This was important, because our spirits still had connections to those old bones, and the fact that they were being worked without rest was exhausting us; don't ask me how that works, I'm not smart enough to understand or explain it.

We supported each other as best as we could, sharing energy and trying to balance ourselves. If a spirit got cut off from its tethers, it would become disembodied and risk becoming an apparition of some form or another. Those were hard years.

One day, after a long while, something happened. For the briefest moment, through the haze and fog, I could see a face clearly. Part of a face. A pair of eyes and strands of hair. I knew those eyes.. I knew that hair. Rizera! She was still alive!

Despite the pleas of my fellows, I reached out for that vision with every last ounce of energy I could muster, and felt myself.. Shifting, for lack of a better word? Like my soul was entering the bones instead of just being loosely anchored to them. Becoming one with them. It felt like my eyes opened for the first time, even though I had none to speak of, and I saw her...

But something was off, something was wrong. Rizera's beautiful eyes no longer held the same youthful, joyous warmth I remembered. Her hair was still beautiful but lacked its former volume and lustre. And her skin.. Had become the color of night- no, the color of pure void.

Having achieved some kind of control over my bones, I looked down when I felt hands upon my arm. It was broken, though it didn't hurt. She was patching it with some form of glue and a few nails. I tried to talk but I had no tongue, no lungs, no mouth, only a jawbone with a few calcified teeth. When she finished, I noticed I could move my previously missing hand as good as new. Puzzled by my immediately aberrant behavior, she called for a necromancer to determine what I was doing.

She was surprised to learn that I was a skeleton whose soul had retaken control. That kind of potential made me valuable, a strong will to overcome magical control would be a potent weapon. I was disheartened at first to see her thinking of me first as a weapon and not realizing who I was, but that was hardly her fault.

I was brought to Rizera's commander, a great demon who aspired to build his own nation on this broken and wasted land. As I had enough presence of will to be my own ambulatory pile of bones, they decided to give me the power of speech, and made me an offer- if I served my new lord and served him well, I would be made a Captain of the skeletal legion, with further potential for promotions and there was even a dental plan.

I took some time to ponder this, and said I would serve but I believed it fair to request a small concession in exchange for this service. The would-be king laughed, liking my boldness, and said if it was reasonable, then it would be done. I said I would serve and with all due diligence, but only if I could be the Raven Pavise once again.

Rizera was not prepared for that, and I finally saw her smile again as she very nearly crushed my ribs while sobbing, her embrace was much stronger than I remembered. But then, I'd been dead a while, after all. My request was granted.

I came to learn that a dark god had been born millennia after my death and ruined most of the world, sealing away our old god in some kind of deific box. The races of people I had once known were now steadily approaching extinction and various kinds of demons were now masters of things, and it had been this way for centuries.

And a violent lot they were, for this pleased their god. Rizera had only survived by offering herself up as a sacrifice so that the rest of her people could flee. But her strength of will impressed the demons, so they made her this.. Void Elf. She was alone, until I had come back. And, though it took me a few years to do so as I was busy being a working stiff (allow me my bad jokes, if you would), I was finally able to tell her how I felt, after so many ages.. You cannot imagine my joy to know, she had harbored feelings for me too, but th...

---

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---

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As soon as the door clanged shut, Alia was cut off from Greylock; this was one of the parts of ‘her’ that she had no control over. On the one hand, she was safe here, Greylock couldn’t do anything, couldn’t get to her. On the other hand, it’s not like it was living space. There was no food, no water, no waste facilities. It was a room with a sync chair and that was it. She had to make a decision about what to do soon.

Alia pulled herself in the sync chair, closed her eyes, and sighed. Now what? If she couldn’t change Greylock’s mind or… stop her, then the drive wasn’t going to fire again for seventeen thousand years. If she didn’t go into hibernation, she’d die long before their destination. If that happened, then everyone on Halcyon was doomed - never mind what dangers the rest of humanity was facing with the Jimbos. Would the Jimbos obliterate humanity, leaving Greylock and the colonists the last people? Fifty thousand was enough to keep the species viable, but the thought of that was too terrible for Alia to think about. She thought about the people of Halcyon, hiding, worried about an attack, seeing Greylock soar through the system, drive dark, not stopping. She thought about how betrayed they’d feel, how they’d curse her and Greylock as they were destroyed by the Jimbos. That couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.

Alia sat, strapped into the sync chair free associating, trying to think about Greylock and what little she knew about AIs. She really didn’t know much about them, and her training didn’t give… her… her reverie was interrupted by a new memory. Suddenly, she did know what she could do. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach, which she took to mean it would probably work.

She unbuckled from the sync chair and floated over to the far wall, where the door was. Staring intently, she saw what she was looking for - a rectangular piece of hull material that was smaller than it should have been - and placed her palm on it. With a satisfying click, a small panel swung open. Inside was a pistol, a box of ammunition with three empty magazines, a meal bar and… a pitch pipe. In the back, behind the supplies was a note handwritten on Colonial Authority stationery. She was struck for just a moment about how surprising it was that the note was still legible after all the time, it must have been some kind of special paper. “Alia, if you’re looking in here, then things aren’t going great. Think back to professor Greenberg and you’ll know what to do. -Alia.” She wrote herself a note? When did she do that? Alia picked up the pitch pipe and turned it over in her hands, and she remembered. 

****

She held the pipe in her hands, turning it over while professor Greenberg watched. He was an elderly man, with wild grey hair and clothes that always looked like he had slept in them. The room they were in was filled with instruments of all kinds, and in the center were three rows of chairs set into an arc, with professor Greenberg standing at the focus of the arc on a platform. The room smelled of valve oil and warm wood. The pitch pipe was almost exactly palm sized, round, with slots along the edge at regular intervals. On top of each slot was inscribed musical notes, thirteen in all. She blew into one; it sounded like a harmonica. “What does it do?” She asked, “Other than the obvious.”

Professor Greenberg smiled. “It’s a pitch pipe. It’s to help you get in tune when you’re singing. Those with perfect pitch don’t need one, but that is a rare skill indeed. For the rest of us…” He took out his own pipe and blew into the slot marked with an A. With a slightly tinny sound, a single droning note came out of the pipe. The professor stopped blowing into the pipe and then transitioned to humming the same pitch. “It gives a reference. Now that I know where A is, I can sign the other notes in a song more accurately.”

Alia blew into her own pipe, and sure enough, it also droned an A. When she stopped, and tried to mimic the tone, she found it was indeed a little easier. “Neat.” She said, and looked at the professor. “What does this have to do with piloting a starship?”

“It’s not for piloting a starship, it’s for what you need to do if you find that - for a very specific reason - you cannot pilot.” He said cryptically. “I will show you.” He walked around and sat next to her, and placed a sheet of paper on the music stand in front of them. Alia stared at the staves and notes of the musical notation cryptically. “I know you can’t read music, Alia, this is more for me. It’s more important for you to memorize the song and be able to sing it exactly. Timbre, pitch, duration, frequency - they’re all vitally important to the song working like it is supposed to. Now, I will sing it once, and then you try. We are in no rush, but it must be perfect.”

****

Back in the sync room, Alia stared at the pitch pipe. She pocketed it, and while chewing on the meal bar, she methodically loaded the three magazines, and then slotted one into the pistol. Finishing the meal bar, she stuck the pistol into her belt, and pocketed the pitch pipe. Floating in the room, she drifted as she thought about what she was going to have to do next. It wasn’t pleasant. 

Artificial Intelligences were people. Alia believed this utterly. This was not settled law everywhere within human space though. The further away from Earth and the oldest settled places, the more likely people were to accept AI constructs as alive, sapient beings who they could partner with. Alia - as best as she could remember - great up on Earth, but still had a strong conviction that AIs were sapient and capable of agency.

But, they were still built.

And things that could be built, could be built with… safeguards. 

Humans have always been paranoid. Back in the savannah a couple million years ago, being paranoid sometimes was the difference between making it home, and becoming someone’s dinner. It expressed itself in different ways now, but it was still there. From an evolutionary standpoint, humanity was mere weeks out of the savannah. Old habits were hard to break, and times like this Alia was grateful they were.

After pocketing the pitch pipe, Alia palmed the door open and saw two drones at the entrance, attempting to maneuver a welding setup in front of the door. Without much in the way of conscious thought, She whipped the pistol out front of her, braced herself against the jamb of the door, and fired at the drones. The impact of the rounds not only damaged them, but sent them tumbling backwards into the ship. “Greylock!” Alia shouted, trying to keep her voice from cracking, “I need you to know that I take no joy in what I’m about to do. You are leaving me no choice. Our best chance of success is to continue with Tartarus and engage the Jimbos. Please Greylock.”

The whirring of the drones slowed. “…What are you planning on doing?” Greylock asked, carefully. 

“Will you turn the drive back on? Will you resume braking into Halcyon? Will you let Tartarus complete?” Alia held out hope that Greylock would have a change of heart and decide to go along with her plan. It proved to be a foolish hope.

“No Alia. My way is a better way. A more survivable way for humanity. I may not be human, but I have been charged with their protection. I promised the Colonial Authority that I would bring you and the colonists to a new world, and help them found a beachhead for humanity. This is the best way to keep that promise. I will not abandon my orders.”

In the zero gravity, tears did not flow; instead they welled in the corner of Alia’s eyes and stayed there, blobby, salty drops. “I’m sorry” she whispered, and put the pitch pipe to her lips. She blew a clear A and then hummed the same note. 

Then, Alia Maplebook sang, loud and clear.

Most of the articles about the AI’s amusia emphasized that it was not done on purpose. They wanted everyone to know it wasn’t done deliberately, perhaps to distance themselves from what they programmed into the AIs. But still, the AIs were - to a person - tone deaf. They had no musical ability, no ability to reproduce music, no ability to compose. They were not musical in the least. 

So it was decided that music was to be the last ditch, no other options available, way to engage a manual override for a... rogue AI. The AI’s human operator could sing a special song, whose pitch and timbre would cause the AI’s personality to be suppressed, shackle them in a kind of diagnostic mode. From there, the captain - Alia - would give orders and the ship would obey them, without question; it would be like talking to any other voice activated computer. The song was a series of tones, that needed to be reproduced exactly - hence the pitch pipe - and when Alia grasped the pitch pipe in the Tartarus room, she remembered everything. 

It wasn’t a long song, less than a minute. While she was singing, she remembered how she had originally thought the melody was so pretty. Here, it was even more beautiful. The wide open spaces of the ship gave the song a… body that singing in the music room back on Earth lacked. Here, there was a reverberation to the notes; it sound...

---

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Chapter 20

Subject: Overdrone S655L894T131

Species: Unknown

Species Description: Humanoid

Ship: Grand Vessel of the Universal Omni-Union

Location: Grand Shipyard of the Universal Omni-Union

My hearts pumped wildly as I tried to get my bearings. We had climbed through a hole in the wall. A wall that was supposed to be external hull. It should have been exposed to the void, but we were inside of a relatively small area filled with seating and various unfamiliar electronics. A shuttle?

My question was answered by a shudder that could only be explained by the shuttle detaching from the Grand Vessel. I looked at the aliens that stole me away, wondering what will happen next. One of them pointed toward a bench.

"Sit," it said.

I complied, wondering if the massive metal being was some sort of new tool of the Omni-Union. What else could it be? It can only be another mechanized warrior archetype, one much more menacing than the robotic platforms they typically use. Like the platforms that proceeded the modern ones, they would be phased out in favor of these ones.

But what do they want with me? Have my relations with the rebellion been discovered? Are they acting as Judicials? Am I to be a test-case for new interrogation techniques performed by these towering tools of war?

The one giving orders laid its unfamiliar weapon on a nearby table, then grabbed its head and twisted. To my utter shock, it pulled upward and revealed its head to actually be a helmet. It was organic underneath! And... Strange. Two sharp, blue eyes stared coldly at me from the face of a species I had never seen before. I'd been abducted by aliens!

"Omega?" it asked.

I tilted my head in confusion, "Wha-"

"Let's make this quick," the speakers surrounding me interrupted. "Overdrone S655L894T131, you are hereby detained as a prisoner of war."

"W-war?" I asked, my adrenal pumps trying to fulfill their duties.

"Quiet," the blue-eyed alien commanded.

"Under the Fourth Concordance of the Unification of Stellar Systems you have certain rights of which you must be informed," the speakers continued rapidly. "Prisoners of war must be treated with dignity and respect, and will be protected from violence, intimidation, and other forms of abuse. The only exception to this is interrogation during a war of xenocide, and this exception is applicable to this conflict. You are to be housed in reasonably safe conditions with adequate food, clothing, and medical care. Since you are not a registered species, you will be responsible for informing your caretakers of your needs. You cannot be punished for participation in hostilities, nor can you be forced into fighting against your leaders. Furthermore, you may not be forced to work in dangerous, unhealthy, or degrading conditions. The rest of the rights granted by the Fourth Concordance of the Unification of Stellar Systems have been nullified by the aforementioned exception. Do you understand these rights as they've been recited?"

"I-I guess," I replied. "What I don't understand is who you are at war with. The Omni-Union?"

"That is correct."

I had asked the question without believing an affirmative answer to be possible. Unbelievable! Aliens who are actively fighting the Minds! And they've made it all the way to the Grand Vessel? How have we not heard of this? This changes so much, but... Wait...

"Why me?" I asked.

"Because I have been watching you, Overdrone S655L894T131," the speaker said. "You've been acting differently from the other overdrones, and I believe I know why. You're part of a rebellion."

The other aliens began to remove their helmets, taking turns keeping their weapons trained on me. I sat stunned. Watching me? Why?

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I am Omega, an Artificial Intelligence. I was created by and am currently under contract with the United Systems, an alliance of several species that occupy a galaxy far from here."

An Artificial Intelligence that is capable of streamlined conversation? The only AI that I have worked directly with were barely capable of answering rudimentary questions. Anything more complex than that would result in it providing misinformation because its code requires it to give an answer even if that answer is wrong. This AI had used a figure of speech and inflections to alter the tone of their message. The only AI smart enough to do that are...

"Are you like the Mobile Prime Platforms and mechs?" I asked softly.

"No. I am not organic in origin, and I am much more advanced than they are," it said with a raspy chuckle. "Now, I have some questions for you. Depending on your answers, you may find yourself released from detainment."

The aliens stared at me with two eyes each in silence. The initial shock I felt at their appearance was slowly beginning to fade, but I still found myself terrified of them. I decided to answer the AI's questions as quickly and honestly as I could.

"How large is the rebellion?" Omega asked.

"I don't know," I answered. "We operate in cells, doing what we can to strike at the Omni-Union and either halt or slow the growth of their power until ours can catch up."

"And how's that going?" the alien with brown skin asked with a laugh.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "The might of the Omni-Union is vast beyond measure. But how can we happily accept things as they are? We are slaves, and so many of us die every day. Even if that weren't they case, the Omni-Union is actively murdering unimaginable numbers of sentients in distant galaxies. Whether it is a deathblow or a small cut, we are obligated to do what we can to stop them."

"We are well aware of the OU's activities," Omega said sternly. "Back on topic, if we were to give you a device capable of communicating with us, would you be able to facilitate communications with the leaders of the rebellion?"

"I... Not directly. I'm not even certain that the rebellion actually has leaders. My handler gives me sabotage suggestions and I report back if I succeed, fail, or decline. I don't know where it gets these suggestions."

"Suggestions? You mean missions?" the alien leader asked.

"No. As I indicated, I'm free to decide whether or not to commit the sabotage. This may be a translation issue, but a mission is something that one is obligated to at least attempt to do."

"Irrelevant. Can you facilitate communications with your handler?" Omega asked.

"Yes."

"And would you be willing to do so?"

"I..."

I looked at the gathered aliens, whose faces went from stern to angry at my pause.

"We have a saying," I continued. "Be wary of a friend that you do not know. How can I be certain that you won't become our new, even harsher masters?"

"Slavery is illegal in the United Systems," the brown alien said.

"We're not in the United Systems," I pointed out. "According to your own AI, it's far from here. If you are able to help us defeat the Omni-Union, what's to stop you from defeating us in turn?"

"First, Omega isn't OUR AI. Pretty sure it's its own thing. Second, we've outlawed slavery because we think it's wrong. That's what's to stop us."

"We can offer assurances, but it simply isn't possible to fully avert your doubts," Omega interjected. "There are other candidates for communications facilitators, though. If you don't comply, you will continued to be detained as a prisoner of war and we will use them instead."

"You'll keep me prisoner? For how long?" I asked.

"Until the war's over," the blue-eyed alien said. "Or until our ship is destroyed by the OU."

I felt a sudden weight on my chest, one I hadn't felt since I was first approached by my handler. Once I had realized how easy the tasks that the rebellion expected of me were, my anxiety had dissipated almost entirely. But this conversation had forced me to face a few hard truths.

Our rebellion would not be successful in my lifetime. We poke, prod, and occasionally leave a small cut, but that isn't nearly enough to take down a nlivn {Mythical predator known for its massive size} as big as the Omni-Union. For any of us to see freedom with our own eyes, we will have to fight. We will have to kill.

To my shame, I realized that my hesitancy wasn't due to mistrust. That was just a convenient excuse. No, it was cowardice rearing its hideous head. The thought of having to fight and kill my former coworkers, employees, and friends sent shivers through my spine and placed a lump firmly in my throat.

Is this how we all feel? Surely not. If all of us were afraid to fight, there never would have been a rebellion. No, I have to get ahold of myself. Rebellions are not won with cowards. If I ever want to see the Omni-Union topple over, I will have to push it with my own hands.

"Okay," I said with a grim determination. "What do I have to do?"

"I suspect that you utilize a specialized microchip to make contact with the rebellion," Omega replied. "We will need access to it."

"Microchip?" I asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"The object that you insert under your right eye when you are alone."

"Oh, the data-card. Okay."

I took a breath to steady my nerves and opened the hidden storage space in my left thigh, pulling out the data-card and giving it to the blue-eyed alien. It walked over to one of the electronic devices and placed the card on its surface. ...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Drunkgamer4000 on 2024-12-27 07:41:07+00:00.

---

For centuries, humanity gazed into the stars and asked the eternal question: Are we alone? When the answer finally came, it was resounding and definitive—we were not. The Zerklins arrived, an alien race unlike anything we had ever imagined. Their sleek, chitinous forms shimmered under alien suns, adorned with vibrant, bioluminescent patterns that seemed to pulse with an unearthly rhythm. They spoke in a language of clicks, hums, and flashing lights, their communication as mesmerizing as their appearance.

At first, they were a source of wonder. Humanity approached them with open arms, eager to exchange ideas, cultures, and discoveries. For a brief, shining moment, it seemed like the dawn of a new era of cosmic unity—a partnership between species that could transcend the petty divisions of Earth.

But beneath the surface of humanity’s lofty aspirations, something darker lingered, something primal and insatiable that even we didn’t fully understand.

The first skirmish was a minor incident—on Mars, of all places. A misunderstanding during a territorial negotiation spiraled into violence. Weapons were drawn, and in the chaos, a Zerklin was killed. By all accounts, it should have been a tragedy, a solemn moment that forced both species to reconsider the fragile peace they had barely begun to forge.

Instead, what followed changed the course of history forever.

Someone—I don’t know who, and perhaps it’s better that I don’t—decided to cook the alien’s flesh. Perhaps it was desperation, morbid curiosity, or sheer reckless invention, but the result was undeniable. Zerklin meat was prepared and blended into familiar Earth staples: burgers, noodles, tacos. And the taste? It was like nothing we had ever known. Intoxicating, rich, tender, with a savory complexity that Earth’s finest cuisines could only dream of replicating.

Word spread like wildfire. Zerklin meat wasn’t just good—it was transcendent.

At first, humanity tried to tread lightly. The meat was sourced ethically—or so we told ourselves. We scavenged the bodies of Zerklins killed in accidents or the occasional skirmish. It was grim, but manageable, and in those early days, it felt like a compromise we could live with.

But demand exploded. Zerklin burgers became a sensation, a cultural phenomenon that transcended class and geography. Food trucks in back alleys served them alongside Michelin-starred chefs in glittering skyscrapers. Zerklin jerky, sausages, and haute cuisine became the pinnacle of culinary achievement. The public’s appetite was insatiable.

It wasn’t long before scavenging couldn’t keep up. Natural deaths and minor conflicts no longer sustained the unrelenting demand. And as humanity always does when faced with scarcity, we innovated—but at a terrible cost.

Farms were established—small at first, but they grew rapidly. Entire planets were transformed into agricultural centers dedicated solely to raising Zerklins. Their homeworld, once a beacon of alien civilization with its towering crystalline cities and lush, bioluminescent forests, became the centerpiece of this industrial expansion.

The Zerklins were no longer seen as sentient beings. They were livestock. Their cities were razed, their art and history erased, their cries of resistance ignored. Their vibrant culture, so recently admired and celebrated, was wiped out in favor of sprawling pastures and monolithic processing facilities.

World hunger disappeared almost overnight. Zerklins were incredibly resource-efficient—one could feed hundreds. Their rapid reproductive cycles, once hailed as an evolutionary marvel, became the mechanism of their undoing. Humanity entered an age of abundance.

We called it progress. We called it prosperity. But in truth, it was predation on a scale the universe had never seen.

Bite into a Zerklin burger, and it’s impossible not to be overwhelmed by the sheer bliss of it. The juiciness, the rich, otherworldly flavor, the perfect texture—it was everything humanity had ever dreamed of. Each bite carried a taste of triumph, a reminder of what we had gained. But it also carried the echoes of a species sacrificed on the altar of human ambition.

Humanity had its answer: We were not alone. But the real question had shifted: How do other species taste?

The golden age of humanity had begun. Starvation was eradicated, economies flourished, and for the first time in history, humanity could pursue its ambitions without fear of scarcity. All of it came at the cost of an unwilling sacrifice. The Zerklins, in their silent suffering, had become the cornerstone of our new prosperity.

But as we looked toward the stars, with newfound wealth and insatiable curiosity, one question lingered in the minds of explorers and entrepreneurs alike: What other delicacies might the cosmos hold?

And so, with full bellies and restless hearts, humanity prepared to cast its net even wider. The universe was vast, and it was hungry.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/kayenano on 2024-12-27 03:53:37+00:00.

---

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Synopsis:

Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.

Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.

Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.

Chapter 331: Forwarding Doom

My boots squished against the ground as I led the way, Starlight Grace in hand.

Squished. 

Like wet sand. Except this wasn’t quite the golden shoreline of my kingdom. 

It was a goblin cave. 

Despite my soles having stepped on everything which could either bend or groan, I had utterly no idea what this was. All I knew was that it wasn’t the perilously short carpet being constantly rolled and unrolled before me whenever I visited a forgotten part of the kingdom.

And this part was so forgotten it didn’t exist on any map.

Indeed, these caves were recently excavated.  

The scars could still be seen. Broken pickaxes, makeshift shovels and spent bottles of something alchemical littered the ground and the sides of the tunnel, waiting for the first person to apologise to me to pick up. 

They were the least problematic things.

Bedrolls made of straw and dead things circled around fires long spent, the soot having melted into the ground. Just as concerning were the burlap sacks happily contaminating  the walls. Whatever their contents, they were avoided by even the mice which scurried past without pause.

Yes.

Mice.

The heralds of insomnia. The dancers upon the ceiling. The demons of my nightmares.

They’d come sensing a chance to earn that greatest of prizes.

A princess’s scream of terror. 

And this time … they may yet succeed.

A dark stream ran beside my footsteps, its song one of sadness as it was filtered away from the bright mountainside it belonged to. Around it, a strange moss grew on the smooth walls, the bristled ends strangling one another like hateful ivy. 

Here and there, a shaft of sunlight breached the surface, yet did little other than to remind me of the warmth beyond this prison. 

And everywhere I went, the sound of whispering answered. 

Small figures with hunger in their eyes and barbs on their tails scuttled where Starlight Grace failed to reach, their steps joined by an indiscernible dripping, echoing like the drool of some unseen monster. 

“Uuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnggggghhhh.”

I tightened my grip around my hilt.

Once again, that dreadful groaning reverberated around us. Whether it was near or far, not even Coppelia could tell. And so I betrayed the smallest gulp.

A goblin cave. But not just any.

It was damp, dark and dirty. But it also possessed its own water supply, came fully furnished with discarded … things, and boasted a major town within walking distance. 

A hole barely beholden to secrecy, just about hidden away in the mountains, and with easy access to all the amenities one could ever want.

In short … the dream lair of the royal capital’s nobility.

“A horrifying spectacle,” I said as my heart quivered. “I fear we shall not leave here unscathed.”

My loyal handmaiden, ever steadfast in her duties, braved an unconcerned smile as she looked away from the vegetation on the walls. The strands nearest her retreated.

Understandable. If what I feared came to pass, even the walls themselves would wish to hide.

“Oh, because the cave moss has definitely tried to eat us at least twice? … In that case, don’t worry! That just means they’re healthy.”

I shuddered.

Not just decoration, but carnivorous decoration. I could practically hear the salivating. And it wasn’t from the cave moss.

“I’m afraid the vegetation is the least of our problems. A vermin infestation will soon be upon us. The goblins haven’t just carved out a cave. They’ve fashioned it from the minds of the most uninspired. All the lords of my royal capital will be blocking our exit within seconds of the current tenants leaving. We’ll need to force our way out. Their carriages will litter the horizon.”

“I mean, that’s sort of impressive as well.”

“Indeed, I can’t deny their expedience when it comes to either wriggling free of tax obligations or seeing their least impressive dreams come to fruition. It’s what they train ceaselessly for in their cots.”

“They train to block cave exits?”

“Not just a cave. A lair. Ugh. I can hear the hands rubbing gleefully together already. When the next coup planning committee meets, it will be here.”

Coppelia looked thoughtfully around her. 

“Hmm … I dunno. I’ve seen better lairs. I like natural lighting. This one is a bit sparse.”

“Exactly. It is dreadful. A place devoid of both light and life. A cave mirroring the halls of the abyss, with ample room to be filled with all the bats, henchmen and tasteless furniture one could desire, fit for only the most vile of schemes and plots to take place.”

“Okay, now you’re selling me. How much for my own?”

“Dignity and pride.”

“Done~!”

I nodded at Coppelia’s enthusiasm.

Her willingness to sacrifice her standing to remove a lair from public availability was notable. But also a burden which she didn’t need to bear.

“Your courage brings a tear to my eye. But I can hardly have you assume such a thankless responsibility. You’d be hounded day and night for the deed to this cave. And that means so would I.”

“In that case, why not just keep it?”

I gasped at the very suggestion.

“We cannot possibly keep it. That’d be awful. Then we’d be known as the royal family who are beloved by all, cherished for our benevolence, famed for our wisdom, envied for our strength … and also the owners of a cave.”

“But it’s yours by default, right? It’s not like anyone can just appear and say it’s theirs. You know. Like you.”

“True. But while nobility cannot click their fingers to requisition it, such an obstacle is less than a bar of soap to them. Don’t underestimate their obstinance. They’ll see my most loyal bureaucrats bribed or threatened until a map is conveniently discovered proving their ancestral claims to this hole.”

I shook my head.

“... No, I’ll need to dispose of it in one way or another. And seeing what I do now, I know it won’t be long before those who come to admire the continent’s most affordable castle also discover the true prize behind it. For the possibility of owning both, my royal capital would be upended of plotters.  A holiday Roland deserves, but not if it results in a waterfall of schemes afterwards.”

“Got it! Then there’s only one thing to do.”

Coppelia promptly puffed out her cheeks. I deflated them with a poke.

“I’m not blowing up a cave.”

“All I’m saying is you’ve blown up a cave before.”

“I have done nothing. And no circumstantial evidence will hold sway over a court of law while I’m standing menacingly over the judge. Besides, loathe as I am to admit this, the cave has value. This region has been known for its silver deposits in the past. The Miner’s Guild might be tempted to purchase it at an inflated cost if further prospecting is a possibility.”

A giggle filled the damp air. 

“That’s too practical.”

“Coppelia, how could something be too practical?”

“If it’s too practical, it’s doomed to failure. That’s just how things work.”

I pursed my lips. 

There was absolutely no fault with her argument. 

“I see … do you have any suggestions?”

“Mmh~ I suggest hoisting it onto a hapless goon instead and seeing what happens. You might be surprised!”

That was absurd ... I wanted to say. 

But then again, chaos gardening was also a thing. As impossible as it sounded. A product of too much wine in the Summer Kingdoms, where seeds were tossed without careful thought and left to bloom where they will. 

Most resulted in a jungle of weeds, but every now and again, a white peony rose over the vomit of colours and disarray.

“Hmm.” I considered the suggestion with a nod. “Unorthodox, but worthy of consideration. To purposefully offer land to a member of my serving staff would galvanise their work ethics. However, it would also invoke cries of both disbelief and nepotism.”

Coppelia blinked.

“... Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s good. But we can do better. Opportunities to earn my nobility’s ire must be fully enjoyed, and few ways are better than a performative gesture of doing things above board. Thus, a cursory sum of say, 1 copper crown, and I shall offer this goblin cave to the most hapless servant in my court. Now with a receipt. The cave would be theirs in perpetuity. Including the litter.”

“What about the loot?”

“Naturally, any valuables squirrelled away by the goblins is reserved for the kingdom.”

“Alrighty! What I hear is that we need to loot everything before the next person does.”

I nodded and smiled, happy she understood...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/CT_DIY on 2024-12-26 21:59:50+00:00.

---

Glok entered the embassy with a timid reservation. He had never seen so many Ancients in one place before. He was the only non Ancient, he knew they were strange there Chitin shells everywhere but was not prepared for the strange garments they why wore the strange white white straw looking things hanging from their primary eating orifices. They all stared at him some of them making laughing gestures as he walked by.

From his translation device he heard “He has no idea” and “sweet summer child” as he walked by. He did not understand at the time what theft met but in the years that followed he would. He entered a very plain looking room, it was not of Ancient design it was very foreign, a plain room with white walls, a chair and a table. He did not understand as the ancients preferred more naturally formed accommodations. He sat in the chair waiting for the ancients to come, they never did. A very strange being materialized in front of him seemingly standing on two legs and stared at him with a predatory glance. The being moved its mouth muscles up and showed raw teeth before speaking. The thing in front him him asked “do you know why you are here?” and waited.

Glok froze, he was in the presence of a predator. It looked almost casual but its eyes watched every movement he made. It seemed amused by his response and did what his translator described as a ‘laugh’ amusement. He had never seen anything as terrifying in his entire life. Shortly after an Ancient came into the room, they looked at the predator casually and said “there is no need to scare him.” the aberration disappeared.

The Ancient looked at Glok and said “Do you know why you are here?”. Glok responded that he was best suited to learn more about the universe. The Ancient chuckled and said “Is that so?”, he tapped a button on his wrist. It showed a map of the galaxy and at each edge of the galaxy a red pulsating light was showing. These were areas that Glok considered unexplored, he had never heard of any sentient being that far out. He only saw a light pulsating between white and black, yet clear as the sunrise on his home planet, there was flashing lights on each of the very edge of known space.

The Ancient stared at Glok, there are things in this universe that are better left untouched as we discovered a long time ago. Glok, confused, looked at the Ancients not understanding when two symbols appeared on a viewscreen in front of him, the first was of an orb with land masses, it looked very peaceful, the second was of a rectangle, there were horizontal lines as well as an upper corner that looked like stars. The Ancient suggested looking at the patterns in a narrow band of light. When Glok adjusted his viewing to these new parameters the orb shot to life in color, the rectangle did as well. The orb was a blue-green, the water a blue, the land masses a green. The rectangle was less subtle, it was white and red with a blue behind the white stars. He took a moment to take it in as the ancient spoke. “These are the symbols of a people who broke us.” “They hunted us almost to extinction and right before we were exterminated they said ‘there are bigger fish to fry, your burden will be protection’ left us and said ‘take care of them.’” That was hundreds of thousands of years ago, when their spur went dark.

They did not stop fighting us because they wanted to, they stopped because there was something worse than us. They left automated systems that have guided us through the generations but we have not seen them since. Every attempt to break into their bases has been met with disaster.

Just as the Ancient finished his sentence there was a strange sound that echoed across the embassy. Glok would find out later it was a warning “Inter-Galaxy threat detected, defend yourselves”. At the time it was a guttural cry of a primitive species, what little he knew then.

The holo display of the ancients was interrupted. The normal 3d display was changed, it was 2d text that shown on the screen. Glok’s translator hummed to live attempting to translate:

Chanserv: spur warning system: multiple unknown hostile targets inbound

Chanserv: admin: awaking qrf assets

Chanserv: milky milky: local assets alerted

Chanserv: admin: informing local allies of threat

Chanserv: admin: start disengage protocol

Chanserv: admin: standby for unfreeze

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/TheLucid0ne on 2024-12-27 06:45:12+00:00.

---

We studied them, of course. Humans. A backwater species from some gaudy blue-and-green planet they couldn’t even leave without duct-taping themselves into glorified tin cans powered by explosions. Cute, right? Primitive. Naive. A species so cosmically new they still argued over whether pineapple belonged on their primary food source.

We underestimated them. Oh, how we underestimated them.

The first encounter was supposed to be simple. We, the Zynark Coalition—masters of tactical brilliance, wielders of advanced weaponry, and conquerors of countless worlds—had deemed their solar system ripe for annexation. What could these fleshy bipeds possibly offer against our armada? We calculated their chances of meaningful resistance at 0.0002%. Rounded up.

We opened communications with a stern demand for surrender. Their response? Laughter. Actual laughter, followed by a noise they referred to as a “fart.”

“This is how they treat a galactic superpower?” Admiral Thraak hissed, his tentacles quivering with indignation.

We fired a warning shot—a plasma beam across one of their uninhabited moons. Their retaliation? Memes. Thousands of them. Crude images of our glorious ships adorned with captions like “U Mad, Bro?” and “Come at me, alien scum!”

“I don’t understand,” murmured Lieutenant Kzzzt, staring in confusion at a pixelated gif of a cat in a space helmet. “Are they… mocking us?”

The real attack came days later. We expected a coordinated assault with whatever laughable technology they could cobble together. Instead, they sent something called Florida Man.

An unarmed human in a sleeveless shirt and a trucker hat, wielding a baseball bat, piloted a stolen space shuttle straight at our flagship. It shouldn’t have been a threat. Yet, somehow—defying all known laws of physics—the shuttle’s trajectory struck our fusion core dead-on. The flagship was obliterated.

“That was a fluke,” Admiral Thraak insisted.

Then came the Karens. Hundreds of them, demanding to speak to our commander. They overwhelmed our communications systems with noise complaints and threats of negative reviews on something called Galactic Yelp. Our shields couldn’t withstand the sheer volume of nonsensical demands.

As our fleet struggled to regroup, they deployed their final weapon: sheer, unrelenting idiocy. One of their soldiers—if you could call a human in a hot dog costume a soldier—somehow hijacked our AI systems by convincing them to play something called Minecraft. Within hours, our navigational controls were replaced with crude blocky replicas of their homeworld.

When we finally retreated, broken and bewildered, a single human transmission followed us through hyperspace:

“L + ratio + skill issue.”

We have no explanation. No counter-strategy to this… stupidity warfare. The humans are not advanced. They are not organized. They are not sane.

But they are undefeated.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/grierks on 2024-12-27 00:13:34+00:00.

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First / Previous

Power coursed through Aria. Aether washed through her body, drawn in by an effort of will that pulled the energy towards her and circulated it throughout her entire being. It should have been a simple process, a warm up that would be a prelude to actual spellcasting to most. For her, who had yet to form a Circle, it was her main method of practice.

One that she was growing increasingly impatient with.

The Aether that ran through her circulated as it should have, for the most part. It flowed through her in a constant current, guided by her intentions to concentrate around her head. From there she would have to maintain the flow and allow the energy to start to condense, where it would then form a Circle that would hover around her temples. It would be her first step on a long journey of spellcasting, but it proved to be more and more elusive as a baser instinct compelled her to do otherwise.

The image that she saw before, of hands that were both hers but not hers, flashed through her mind constantly as she channeled Aether and a subconscious part of her directed the flow of power around her wrist, a clear intent of forming a Circle there prominent at the back of her mind. As it did, the energy flowing through her felt cold, sending a creeping chill across her skin. She pushed back against the impulse, forcing the flow towards her temples and keeping the image of fire in her mind to combat the cold. Her efforts only managed to split the flow, and she felt as if she was drifting down two rivers simultaneously, pulling her in opposite directions. In addition to that, she could feel the fire and ice within her clash, making her feel gooseflesh and a heat beneath her skin at the same time.

Under such split sensations, it was only a matter of time before Aria’s concentration broke, and the Aether slipped away from her, leaving her nothing but breathless and with a slight headache.

“The flow diverged again,” Jahora observed. The Mage was positioned on the bed across from Aria, peering at her with a searching expression.

The girl could only nod as she caught her breath.

Jahora hopped from her bed and walked over to Aria. She took the girl’s hand and gave her a reassuring smile, “It’s alright, you’ll get there in time.”

“How long?” Aria asked in a frustrated tone, “I feel like I haven’t made any progress at all.”

The Mage wore a mask of assurance, but Aria saw the brief flash of uncertainty that glinted through her eyes. “I can’t say,” Jahora admitted, “but, what is preventing your progression is not a lack of talent, but rather your focus.”

“I am focusing,” the girl grumbled.

“You are, but you are doing so with the wrong purpose,” Jahora said, her tone growing firm, “You spend so much time fighting how power naturally flows through you that there is little else to refine that energy into something tangible.”

“But…” Aria trailed off, the phantom of The Cold causing gooseflesh to trail up her arms. She remembered its chill touch, how it smothered all her emotions and left her in a state that could barely be called alive for almost all of her life. Her fingers trembled at the memory, and despite her clenched fists they did not stop shaking.

Jahora took both of her hands into hers, “It will be ok, Aria, there is no rush, but I will say this…” she shifted the girl’s face to focus on her, “You do not need to shy away from what is within. Shunning something to define ourselves against it still means that it controls us in some way.”

Aria tilted her head and furrowed her brow.

Jahora smiled. “You’ll understand in time. For now, let’s get you over to Serena’s house.”

The girl’s expression brighted at the mention of her new friend, and she pushed whatever doubts she was feeling to the side as she hopped from her bed with a newfound energy.

Jahora snorted at Aria’s excitement and straightened the girl’s dress. When the Mage was satisfied, she walked over to the burrow and grabbed Aria’s rapier. “Though I must be honest, I was not expecting training as a start of your play date.”

The girl scratched her head, “Serena wanted to show me what her father has been teaching her.”

Jahora gave her a knowing smile, “And you no doubt wanted to show off your fancy new sword some more, didn’t you?”

“...no,” Aria’s voice trailed off as she looked away from the Mage.

Jahora laughed, “There is nothing wrong with showing off a bit, everyone likes a little flair from time to time,” she winked, “and I’m sure Camilla will make sure you two don’t get up to anything too ridiculous.”

Aria raised her eyebrows, “You’re not staying with us?”

The Mage shook her head, “Helbram wished to discuss a few things with me and Elly,” she explained, “But I will be walking you on over,” a mischievous light glinted in her eyes, “I have to make sure you don’t get lost on the way there.”

Aria pouted, “It was only one time.”

“Certainly,” Jahora buckled Aria’s sword belt around her waist and patted her on the shoulder, “but let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

The girl fluttered her lips, but raised no further objections as they left the room and made their way to The Tree’s Root’s main hall. Helbram and Elly were seated at a table near the bar eating a simple breakfast of eggs, toast, and cured meats. Elly herself had a pile of books next to her breakfast, but they remained untouched as she and Helbram spoke of something that trailed off as they noticed Aria and Jahora’s presence. Both of them flashed a smile in their direction, but that was overshadowed as the two wolf cubs sprinted out from under their table and began to hop around Aria in excitement.

“Calm down you two,” Jahora said with a chuckle, “she’s only been away for a couple of hours, the day is still young.”

Responding to the Mage’s words, the two cubs stopped hopping, but were wiggling in place as they panted up at Aria. Unable to resist the clear begging on their faces, she knelt down and petted them with an energy that only someone her age could possess.

“Productive morning?” Helbram asked Jahora.

“In some ways, yes,” Jahora said, “It would be better to discuss the details later.”

“Fair enough,” Helbram said, “we can speak when you get back then.”

Aria looked around the hall, noting that someone was missing. “Where is Leaf?”

“Out with Merida,” Elly explained as she drank from her mug, “they have begun their investigation with haste, and as of right now any extra hands will just get in the way,” a smirk quirked up one corner of her lips, “I would ask if you were ready to play caretaker, but I think you have a handle on that just fine.”

Aria looked down at the cubs, who were now on the receiving end of belly rubs. She looked back at Elly with a bashful smile.

“Well you can’t hog them all to yourself,” Jahora said, “Are you ready to see Serena?”

The girl’s smile stretched to a grin, and she nodded.

___

Helbram kept a watchful eye on Aria as she left. When she first entered the main hall, he could see there was a clear disappointment in her eyes, but that appeared to fade by the time that she was on her way. He was relieved at that, but he knew the next time that she went to practice that frustration would rear its ugly head again. It never stopped doing so with him, at least.

Elly, who had opened one of her books and was scanning its contents, caught onto his worries. “Aria just needs more time.”

“I know,” Helbram said, “but that does not mean I do not wish to aid her in some way.”

The Weaver tapped her bottom lip, “That is admirable, but despite her frustrations she has made steady progress. She is able to reach out to Aether more readily, for example, and even if she has not formed a Circle she is still able to cast a cantrip from the control over energy she has alone. For one who has trained for a little more than a month I would say that is quite a feat.”

“Yet the circulation of power through her body is her greatest hurdle,” Helbram said. “Typically, it is the opposite, is it not? I know it is related to her nature as a Shade and the fact that her current self appears to be at odds with her past self, but how to address that…”

Elly produced her notebook from the pile at her side and sifted through its pages, “I would say that whatever adjustment needs to be made is a matter of mindset…” she scanned over a page, “we have encouraged her to be her own person, but, as you discussed with Jahora, perhaps it is because of that her current struggles exist today.”

“And, as I said before, I do not think it was the wrong decision,” Helbram said, “but now we have the task of instructing her in how to reconcile the two.” His eyebrows raised as a realization came over him, “Perhaps we have been overthinking this.”

Elly tilted her head, “What do you mean?”

“Well, even if its nature and the powers it provides are extraordinary, the past of a Shade are really just distant memories. Like anyone, our memories and past play a part in who we are today, and I do not see why Shades would be any different. I have told her to learn and draw from her past, but I did not instruct her on how to do so. That is most likely the missing link.”

“That idea does hold merit… I assume that you have an idea on how to guide her through this?”

Helbram smiled, “That I do, but that will have to wait for when I next instruct her,” he looked at the ...

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First | Previous

Upon the depot and transit world of Azzaad

Blood spattered across the cold floor, and Aiden Purefoy staggered against the bare, unforgiving wall again. He was not knocked off of his feet, not this time. He steeled himself with another Our Father, and once more looked his captor in the eye. Aiden had gotten good at reading Axxaakk faces over the past few months. Acolyte-Lord Naqu-Xin was a study in alien fury. Clenched jaws, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, it wasn't too terribly different from a Human's furious expression save that the deep scarlet was the man's natural coloring. The club clenched in the furious man's fist whistled through the air and crashed into Aiden's side with a meaty slap.

"Kneel," Naqu-Xin commanded. It was a command with no room for anything but obedience.

However, Aiden served a different Lord, and so another mental repetition of the Our Father preceded him disobeying again looking his captor in the eye. "I kneel only to God," he said thickly through split lips.

"Axzuur shall devour your puny god!" Naqu-Xin roared as he swung the club underhandedly.

Aiden might have flinched or twitched when this beating had begun, but drawing breath drew sharp pains, his vision was blurred by the swelling around his eyes, and seven of his fingers and toes were bent the wrong way. Therefore, the club sailed up between his legs before connecting to the sensitive region there. It had been a favored target since his torturers had discovered how sensitive it was to impacts. White spots flashed across his vision and the cell tilted before the club came sailing down across his shoulders.

"The creator," Aiden gasped as he pushed himself off of the floor on trembling arms, "of the universe," and once more got his feet beneath him, "cannot be toppled by a mere idol." Then, with another mental Our Father, Aiden looked Naqu-Xin in the eye again.

An almost casual backhanded blow across the chin punctuated Naqu-Xin stating, "Your alleged creator is a god of forgiveness, of weakness. Of folly."

If his face wasn't so swollen, Aiden would have grinned as he told him, "Only the strong have the power to forgive, you lack that power, and so does your idol."

This time, Aiden felt the bony protrusions of Naqu-Xin's knuckles tear into the flesh on his left cheek and a tooth came lose in his mouth. "Idiocy!" Naqu-Xin bellowed as Aiden struggled to say standing, and the club whistled through the air and connected to the beaten man's knee, sending him sprawling to the floor. Then, roaring wordlessly, Aiden's captor kicked him, and kicked him, and kicked him until the scarlet lord was out of breath. Then he spat an order at the scantily clad servant waiting by the door, "See that he feels our next session. I fear the pain has overwhelmed his cowardly and weak mind."

Aiden lay on the floor gasping and bleeding for a time, he really couldn't tell how long. Even if everything wasn't spinning in a decidedly uncomfortable way, the cell lacked any way to mark the passage of time, the dim lights didn't even cycle. However, he did eventually feel the pain change in kind. The cuts across his torso felt blistering hot and his bruises felt frigid, and he said a silent Hail Mary against what was coming. His ribs itched and lanced stabbing pain as the poor slave girl moved the primitive healing device across where they must have been cracked, and the sensations settled into uniform dull throbbing. Then, she began to set his fingers. If he hadn't remembered the tooth knocked loose he might have swallowed it while crying out from the pain. Instead he spat it and a large globule of blood onto the floor before doing so.

He gasped for breath and tried to smile at the poor girl administering the tender minstrations he was enjoying and said, "Make sure you get all of the joints lined up right. I'll never get a date with crooked fingers, Sweetheart."

Aiden tried not to let his dismay at the girl's obvious sorrow show, and tried harder to keep the cries of pain contained as she continued to set his fingers. "Why do you persist? Do you not know you shall find no escape? Simply do as he commands and the end shall come swiftly."

"There's no escape for anybody, Sweetheart. We're all mortal, and nobody gets out of life alive."

"Yet you are made to suffer when you could have rest."

"My soul matters to meEEEEE!" Aiden said as he clamped his teeth on another cry of pain.

"Your soul shall be devoured, for your blood shall be spilled upon the altar."

"My soul is the property of the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the Commander of the Skies and Stars, the Holy God of All, and He does not suffer theft," Aiden found himself saying with perfect honesty. His mother would be proud if she had heard. His mother would be heartbroken if she had seen.

Aiden gritted his teeth against the pain of the healing device as she ran it over his fingers one by one, and then when she was running it up his arms she said, "Yet the altar-"

"Won't matter," he interrupted, "God doesn't care when and where I die, but does care how. I refuse to die a broken traitor."

"You appear broken to me."

"Then why is your master so angry?"

"Please keep stillness, I begin on your face."

"Don't worry about making me pretty, on my world girls love scars."

Some three weeks ago:

Aiden was feeling good about his work on this world. His network of questioners had grown far larger than on his previous assignment, and even better they had begun to get together to discuss their questions and try to answer them together. There was a small side effect on Aiden though, he found himself saying little prayers in his head just in case God was listening. His mother would be disappointed in halfway faith, but Aiden wasn't quite sure what he believed these days.

He was even beginning to adapt some of Christ's parables in answer to certain questions, or at least he thought he was. He wasn't completely sure he was getting the parables exactly right, even as simple as they were. Well, if he was going to be a missionary, he might as well do the whole spreading the Gospel thing.

He was also making inroads into the middle ranks, what the Axxaakk called the Initiate-Highborn, which opened the possibility of the message of one thinking for oneself actually reaching the nobility. He didn't exactly have high hopes that a wave of independent thought would sweep through the nobility leading to an outbreak of pacifistic philosophy, but one or two nobles who treated their slaves better would be a vast improvement.

It was to that end he was meeting Initiate-Highborn Tiquath-Nurr at what passed for a bar on this planet. At least, that's how Ayden thought of the appointed intoxicant dealer's dingy storefront with its collection of rickety tables near the habitation district Aiden was currently working in. He'd never been much one for drinking, but the sorry excuses for liquor served among the Axxaakk made him long for even the cheapest of CIP beers. He was getting better at pretending it didn't taste like boiled ass.

Tiquath-Nurr entered furtively, which didn't surprise Aiden since the Initiate-Highborn didn't often mingle where the serfs were permitted to socialize. Still, it would have been more conspicuous for Aiden to ascend to the areas where the middle nobility frequented since he had disguised himself as one of the lower caste of enslaved people so he could cast a wider net.

"It is whispered that if one questions, one should ask you," the man ironically whispered to Aiden who was masterfully pretending that the drink didn't taste like the aforementioned boiled ass and seated at the table.

"I don't know whether I am the best to ask, but I don't turn anyone away," Aiden said with a gesture to a chair that might have once been sturdy.

"I begin. How is it that you have a name?"

"Why shouldn't I have one?"

"Because you are a serf, or appear to be."

"It could be that I am more than I appear. It could be that everyone is more than they appear."

Initiate-Highborn Tiquath-Nurr slowly took a seat and visibly pondered the answer before asking, "What do I appear to be?"

"Curious, and courageous."

"One mayhap. Not the other."

Aiden raised an eyebrow, but left the comment alone. Instead he asked, "Have you ever wondered why you deny the serfs names?"

"Such things are beyond my station."

"Why?"

"Because," the man's brow furrowed in a disturbed frown, "I do not know why."

"Who decided that any questions were above your station?"

"The Acolyte-Lord over me, I suppose. Or maybe the Priest-Lord or Priest-Master."

"Who gave them the authority to keep questions away from you?"

"The Emperor, of course."

"Where does he get his authority?"

"From Axzuur, may the stars tremble at his steps."

"Why does Axzuur have the authority to command such a thing."

"He is a god, and shall punish those who disobey."

"What if you gave your loyalty to a different god?"

"I shall be killed upon the altar and my soul devoured."

"How do you know your soul would be devoured?"

"The… the Priest-Masters told me so…"

"Why would they do that?"

Initiate-Highborn Tiquath-Nurr looked deeply troubled and fell silent. Aiden le...

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