This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LateralThinker13 on 2024-12-26 02:23:06+00:00.

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Coding is universal. Ones and zeroes (unless you are part of the Trigaliean collective, then it's zeroes, ones, and twos). On-off, yes-no, bipolar. Even the Traigalieans just use their twos for emphasis.

But Terrans. I first met a human while trying to code software for the replimat on the Octandis-Four station. He didn't say, "replace section 1003 with code that is quaternary and declaritive." He didn't say, "check the cabling and make sure the feed lines haven't been gnawed by Artex voles."

No, he told me, "be gentle with the code. Tease out what is wrong. Patch a line, reset and reboot. See if that does it."

Like, what? Look, I am a veteran coder. I've even been a combat systems coder on the battlefield, keeping our jammed drones up while enemy jammed drones stay down. I get pressure, and I get doing what you can with what you have.

Humans ignore ALL of that.

Somehow, they can cajole their code. Sweet-talk it into working. And it will! Right up until the system admin goes on holiday. Then, the MOMENT he's on leave and on his aircraft to an unreachable island, only then will the code fail.

We've looked for triggers. Counters. Ways for this to be planned. Ways for this to be explainable.

It isn't.

Human code works, if they baby it, if they nursemaid it, if they are kept on staff to keep it running. Our best coders can't even figure out half of their code or why it works! But it does, and worse, it works FASTER than our code!! People pay a premium for Terran code!

So here I am, praying to the Gods, Murphy and Tesla specifically (as per my Terran Technician's suggestion) for the code to work while he is away. I press the power down button, and then reboot the system.

And it works. Posts flawlessly. Everything green.

And that's when I realized the truth. Humans aren't coders.

They are technomages.

They do not code, they somehow use coding language to invoke the systems to do what they bid. It is how they have job security. It is how they have information security. And it is how their code has stymied the Galactic Consensuse for FIVE HUNDRED REVOLUTIONS!!!

I hate Humans. But I also respect their code. I just wish they'd let me into their brotherhood. I am tired of spreadsheets and vlookups. I want to know the deeper wisdom, and they withhold it from us, their more advanced galactic bretheren. It just isn't fair.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Engletroll on 2024-12-26 00:10:18+00:00.

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Project Dirt book1

Book 2:

Chapter 1 . Chapter 2 . Chapter 3 . Chapter 4 . Chapter 5 . Chapter 6 . Chapter 7 . Chapter 8 . Chapter 9

Chapter 10 . Chapter 11 . Chapter 12

Adam and Evelyn flew toward the second research station, where Vorts kept his experiment. As they flew, Evelyn looked at the scans, and Adam could see that something had caught her attention.

“What is it?”

"Is that a volcano formation or giant meteorite crater? “ She asked as she showed him the round mountain ridge at a diameter of 10 kilometers.

"Oh, that’s the big one, meteorite crater. I was thinking of dome it, but It's too big. There are a couple of smaller ones spread around, but the best ones are underwater now. Only the Big one left.”  He said, and she looked puzzled at him.

“You gave up on it? Doesn’t sound like you.”

“More like I had other things to work on, so I forgot. Why? Do you have a solution?” He looked at her, and she nodded.

“Forcefield. You have an atmosphere now, so you only need a forcefield to keep the air inside.” She replied.

“Yeah, but the oxygen would still leak,just at a lower level. One big storm, and everything is blown out.”

“Weather satellites, an GenasadVin inert field on top and all outer wind can be controlled. Those suckers can turn a category 5 tornado into a fresh summer breeze, and the schematics can be bought over the net. You should check what colony schematics you can get over the net. Probably a bunch you're missing.” She said with a wink.

“Still need those forcefields.” He said, then he stopped to think. “I’m a fucking idiot. You just need standard ship shielding. Jork could easily set up a few towers to cover the whole area.”

“Hey, you're not an idiot; you're my idiot.” She said with a grin. Adam laughed. “As you are mine.”

“At least I don’t have a problem admitting that. You make me do stupid things, Adam Wrangler!” She replied.

 

When the ship landed at the base, they got out and walked out to meet Vorts and his crew. He had three students working with him, in addition to three science droids.

“Hey, hows the babies?” Evelyn asked and Vorts beamed.

“Growing stronger every day. They will open their eyes soon.” Then he looked at Adam. “Thank you so much for assigning Karat to guard her. You have no idea how much that means for us.”

“Hey, it’s the least I could do. I don’t need so many droids sneaking around to guard me. Besides, your children are precious and need the best protection; just remember to put a tag on them when they get older. You remember how hard it was to keep track of Miker.” Adam said as they walked through the hallways to the laboratory. Inside, they saw several tubes and canisters of different sizes. Inside, they saw animals in different stages of development, from fetuses to almost full-grown. Vorts explained as they walked around.

“As you see here, these are simply the biological forms of different animals; they have only basic brain functions, and this is where we check if their forms are viable. Suppose we cannot grow them without serious genetic failures or mental disorders forming. In that case, that has to be fixed before we can go to phase two, which is the test against different viruses and bacteria they might encounter on the planet. Luckily, we only need blood samples for this part; we are way past the old-fashioned way of breeding stock and exposing them to it. Those were barbaric times.” He shuddered at the thought then he led them through the laboratory and out to a large dome that looked more like a large zoo.

“This is our ground-based haven; here, we grow a different breed that has been approved and let them loose in their little domain. Unfortunately, we are running out of space.” He stepped aside to let them enter the large dome. Adam stood silently as Evelyn looked at Vorts and back at Adam.  “He made you a zoo of animals that are xeno-adjusted? That’s decades ahead of us.”

“Well, we did the same with me,” Adam said, and Evelyn looked at him.

“No, your DNA was just cleaned up; this is adding Xeno DNA to human DNA. I have only heard about crossbreeding among similar species, such as humans and the Nalos. He is talking about the immunization of alien diseases and improving the immune system, including Xeno virology.” She seemed to have trouble grasping what she was saying. It was so amazing for her.

“Well, the xen-virology is actually Hara’s department. She is the one fixing those; I’m just implementing them. It's teamwork,” Vorts commented as he checked his pad.

‘Wait, isn’t she… On the papers, she is a nurse, and she is the head of the medical station on Piradas. How?” Evelyn was getting more confused and looked at Adam. “What is going on here?”

“She is a Tufon, the only female Tufons that are allowed to hold high educational rank are the military. So, officially, she only has papers for being a head nurse; she is probably a level five medical doctor, that’s a professor with a high level of practical experience. I keep asking her to take that damn education.” Evelyn just stared at him.

‘You got two level five academics here? Why isn’t this planet already a blooming paradise?” She asked, surprised, and Adam looked at Vorts and then back at her.

“Officially, I only have one. As for paradise, we are working on it.” As Vorst spoke, a droid came over with a cart and one black puppy, and Vorst smiled.

“He doesn’t know how to be a boss. If I were him, I would simply have ordered her to take those tests.”

Adam laughed and picked up the puppy, holding it in his hand. He saw Evelyn’s brain trying to reset after all the information she had gotten and trying to comprehend what Adam was holding.

“Oh? Okay, you go tell her then. Let's see how that goes,” Adam said, and Vorts held up his hands, disarming.

“I’m not her boss and not suicidal. Hell, she will only listen to you and Roks about those things.” 

Adam thought about it and gave Evelyn the puppy. “Yeah, we have Roks do it. That’s the best solution.” Then he turned to Evelyn, who had completely forgotten them and was too busy to snuggle with his new best friend.

“I think she will be busy for a while. Why don’t you give me a tour?” Adam asked, and Vorts chuckled.

Jork agreed with Evelyn about the crater and quickly started the project. The shields should be up within a month, and Adam recruited a few of the marines that had grown up in new colonies to make a shopping list. He also had talks with Sig-San about getting the latest rumors. He told him he had sent him something and he would drop by soon to discuss matters they could not discuss over the line. Adam didn’t like it but he guessed the man knew his business and thought it important.  The good news was that the waste management department was up and running, and several ships were inbound with organic waste.

The most surprising part was those now weekly meetings with Arus Valontur, the Scisya journalist. He had stayed when most of the others had left. He had kept Adam updated with gossip and news around the federation. It was like Sig-San gave him the rumors and secrets while Arus kept him updated on the day-to-day of the sectors. When he asked to join the clan, Adam had to laugh. He had not thought about it, but now he had the beginning of a media house.  Roks laughed as well, and when the ships started to come after two weeks, they didn’t know what to do. They had tourists and a few hopeful looking for work.  Roks blamed Arus for it, but they knew this had to start.

 

Then, the three slave haulers entered the system. Adam ordered Roks and his men up to get ready. Evelyn had her ship up and ready as well, but the ships did not arm or resist. They simply requested to dock.  Adam looked up at the sky, then sighed and allowed one ship to land. Roks looked at him as if he was crazy, but he ignored it. They would be foolish to try it twice, especially with so many ships ready to blow them out of the sky.  The strange thing was that the ships were filled with slaves, according to the scans.

Adam stood in the docking area as the ship landed; he knew the marines had snipers ready, as well as the droids and Roks. If they tried anything, then they would be ready. Yet, for some reason, he felt calm; he could not explain it; he simply wasn’t afraid of this ship. Instead, he felt pity.

The door opened, and a Busker man came ou...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/TheCurserHasntMoved on 2024-12-26 00:02:27+00:00.

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Being on a Mental Health Command approved Star Sailor ship was considered one of the best ways for a retired Navy man to spend his life after service, better than settling down in one of the towns on Sanctuary, anyway. Even better is a man didn't need MH services and could be a part of providing said services, like Chief Petty Officer (retired) Nathanial Forte, who's long experience as the galley master on a battleship had transferred skills directly to his position as galley master on the ship We Stand Resolute for Oure Beloved Shall Return in more ways than would be expected on first glance.

Some adjustments did need to be made so he could actually utilize the galley, however. In Nate's view, the Star Sailors were unnecessarily tall, and in their view he was adorably short. He didn't mind that, most xenos found Humans cute after all, and if a man was going to sail outside the Republic, or even on her fringes, he would have to get used to the idea. Regardless of the aesthetics of the fact, significant renovations had to be made to the galley when he had signed on, which the Star Sailors were more than happy to accommodate. The captain, a man who's pale blue skin hung a little loose on his bones, had lines of laughter etched permanently across his face, and who's braid had long gone gray, was something of a terraboo on top of the usual general affinity for Terrans. This meant that real, authentic Terran cooking on the We Stand made Traldron Dronvre very, very, very happy. Nate and he got along almost like old Navy buddies.

The captain's wife and ship's quartermaster, Miavre, didn't quite share her husband's near-obsessive love for all things Terran, but she did honor and respect the Republican Navy and those who served in it. Nate had to admit, it gave him no small measure of pride to hear the aged matron of a sailing people call the republic "Fine voidsmen." Even better were the grandkids, mostly because all four of them were close to Terran height and loved to help in the kitchen. It made the fact that Nate couldn't have kids of his own hurt a little less.

The rest of the Star Sailors aboard had taken to him even more quickly than the enlistedmen he'd fed in his former career, which was impressive considering how hungry the E-scale servicemen are in any of the Republican services. The communications officer, Janbex Bexvee, especially went out of his way to make friends so that he could learn Terran cooking after tasting it for the first time. Nate agreed, of course, but insisted that Jan teach him Star Sailor dishes in return.

Nate felt the way a Navy man who doesn't want to give up living on ships is meant to feel on a Star Sailor vessel, seamlessly at home. Which, comes to the point. Private First Class Keven Barnes did not feel seamlessly at home, as was intended. It was, thank God, not due to anybody being unwelcoming, or even because Keven was unfriendly. It was as a result of two facts. The first, that as a former RNI Advanced Drop Scout trooper, Keven's skills didn't slot into the ship particularly well unless she came under attack. The second, he was medically separated from service and ordered to begin his life after service in one of the MH approved locations. It could have been worse, he could have been a Deep Recon Scout.

The usual thing to do with an RNI trooper living on a Star Sailor ship was to make him Master at Arms, but Nate didn't think that was the way to go, since when one of the other crewmates had broached the subject the man had a full-blown panic attack. Nate had been obliged to explain to some of the younger crew that offering to make an enlistedman with such a specialized combat MOS an officer in the first week aboard was a very, very good way to scare the crap out of him. Then, he had to get the man very good at hiding and killing hostiles unseen calmed down and explain to him that nobody was threatening to promote him, and it was fine to not have the security of the whole ship as his responsibility. Convincing Keven that the offer was meant as an honor and not a threat was by far and away the more difficult of the two conversations.

After that debacle, most of the Star Sailors had taken Nate's lead and let Keven have his space. The children had no such intentions, and not just the four grandkids, but the kids from the other families aboard. Nate did not rescue Keven from the innocent insensitivities of children. Instead he watched.

"So you do the same job Sneaky did?" Jan was asking with great enthusiasm on one such occasion. Nate did not seed gossip to that effect for the children to overhear earlier, because that would have been hilarious and mean. The kids liking Terran media in Commercial English had its perks

"Uh… well kinda," Keven said in the almost sing-song accents of a frontier colonist, "it was probably different against the grubs."

The middle brother, Brix, didn't give the beleaguered veteran any reprieve, "But you use the same kinda gun, right?"

"I think the Anti-Personnel Long-Range Magacc Model forty-two B got phased out around forty years ago," Keven answered blinking.

"So they took away the sniper gun?" The youngest of the three brothers asked with wide eyes and plush Human toy clutched tightly to his chest in shock.

"No, they invented a new model that works a little better," Keven quickly clarified as if he was afraid the young boy would cry at the change.

"Oh, that makes sense," Jan said with the sage nod of the oldest brother who clearly knows the most. "Did you ever shoot any bad guys like Sneaky did?"

Nate suddenly watched the interaction much more sharply, but he needn't have worried. "I did my duty, and I don't think I want to talk about who I shot," Keven said quietly, and that was what it finally took for the children to realize he was uncomfortable. They started to mutter shamefaced apologies, which of course made Keven panic ever so slightly, "No, no, no, it's okay. You didn't do anything bad. It's okay, it's okay."

Rescuing Keven from kids was out of the question, but rescuing Keven from Keven was Nate's job. "Hey kids," he said as he stepped closer, "I have some boring grown-up stuff to talk to Keven about."

"Like what?" Brix asked with suspicion.

"Taxes," Nate answered without missing a beat, and that got the three to scatter on the spot.

"Thanks again," Kevin half whispered, half croaked.

"In and out, breathe, son. You did fine, you didn't traumatize any children by not telling them the things that won't go away when you close your eyes. You made a good call, they don't need to hear war stories, they only think they do because they're little boys."

"I remember being a boy," the younger man said as he stared at his trembling hands, "I remember when war stories were the coolest shit ever. Hell, I still don't mind hearing a brother talk about what he did on his drops. It's just all of my drops lead to…"

"In and out, son."

Keven followed the instructions and just focused on his breathing for a while, and when the trembling stopped he said, "Thank you sir."

"I'm Nate now," Nate snorted, and Kevin looked chagrinned, "actual Navy men don't get hung up on that the way you dirtpounders do."

"Please tell me you don't actually have to talk to me about taxes, because if you do I might walk out the airlock."

"Nah, I don't hate you. I did want to see about what we discussed the other day."

"I kinda thought the engine room would be okay, since I'm better with machines than people…"

"But?"

Kevin winced and pushed air out through his teeth before taking a sharp breath and saying, "It took me back to the collapse. The noise, the shadows… the… but uh, I…"

"You think you're going to have to actually be around people?" Nate said in mock horror.

"Shut up," Keven growled as he thumped the older man's arm, "they all expect me to be some kind of hero, like Greg George. Doesn't help that I have a similar MOS."

"I met him once, you know." Nate had the immense pleasure of seeing the younger man's face go slack in wide-eyed shock and amazement. "He was quietly friendly, and before you ask, he liked the nickname. He thought being called Sneaky by half of known space was hilarious, and I suspect he liked that nickname better than getting called The Report."

"Jesus Mary and Joseph," Keven swore.

"You might have noticed that I'm old," Nate laughed before saying, "I made a fool of myself and asked for an autograph, stars in my eyes and head full of stories about The Report. He asked me why I wanted his autograph, and I told him it was because he was a hero. He told me that he didn't know if he was a hero or not, but he knew that he was just a man like me. That's always stuck with me."

"After everything he did he-"

"Still didn't let it blow up his head," Nate said firmly. "I didn't feel let down or disappointed when I realized that he was a mortal like me."

"I-" Nate ignored the choking sounds and the rapid blinking from the younger man and waited for him to continue, "thank you."

"Now, I have a bit of an idea."

"Hm?"

"It's December Tenth."

Keven looked at Nate in complete and utter bafflement as he spun his hand in a circular motion as if encouraging the gears in Keven's head to turn. Slowly, he said, "And we're on a ship that likes Terran stuff more than normal… and I could…" and here the light finally went on for Keven, "I could share some of the traditions I grew up with to celebrate Christmas!"

"Got there eventually."

Keven scowled at Nate. ...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1hmc8rn/tree_hunt/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Speedhump23 on 2024-12-25 23:50:29+00:00.

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After some struggle, the humans have deep space travel capabilities.

They have spent the next 100 years exploring the galaxy.

Other races they contact are amazed that they have made it to them, maybe one in one thousand races make it to deep space.

Space is dangerous, things are out in the void that can kill ships.

The humans always smile and pat their pocket AIs whenever asked how they did it.

 

Captain Flex- Ress of the human DSF- Coleambally (deep space freighter) had just landed on Proxima b, and was talking to the owner of the capital city’s largest airfield, while waiting for the planet’s leading council to arrive.

Pox b’s leaders had been communicating with the Terrans ever since the Coleambally had made orbit, while the Terran ship waited permission to land. Trade would be a major aspect, but the primary mission of this trip was to help the inhabitant of Proxima b to get into space. The leadership of Proxima b were having trouble understanding why anyone would be so “nice to them”.

 

As with most planet locked races, the Prox’ bs had run into the same list of issues that kept most other races planet locked. Once they got rockets to actually get into space, they hit issue after issue, and had trouble combating them before dying. From the green Xenomorph “Gremlins” who floated through space, and attached themselves to ships. While mostly harmless, in great numbers, they would block view ports, engine exhausts etc.  To the long dead xenophobic “Builders”, an advanced race which had made it to space, only to be the most xenophobic beings in the galaxy. Their robot ships were nicknamed the “Berserkers” by the Terrans (For some ancient reason), and tended to try to wipe any new races they encountered. Luckily for the Porxies, the Berserker ship that had just entered the system had been there at the same time as the Terrain merchant fleet. The Berserker likely did not even get a message off that it was under attack, before it was dead. The Terran missile systems had the range and stealth abilities to take our a berserker before it even knew it was under fire. When asked about the extraordinary missiles launched by the Merchants (Which seemed like a battleship weapon, not a trader’s one) Flex-Ress just patted his pocket AI and mentioned “Ghost riders”.

 

Over the next hundred years, the Proxima b society was carefully and helpfully raised to an equal technical level to that of the Terran alliance. Any time an issue arose which looked set to crush their advancement, the Terrans would offer a few solutions already set out and easy to follow and implement. At no time did the Terrain alliance enforce or impose any of the fixes, neither did they charge for the information. After the Proxima b society finally got to an equal footing to that of the Terrans, the head of the Alliance contacted the leading council of “Homeworld” (The local name for Proxima, now that they were spread out on a few planets in nearby systems) and offered them full and equal access to the “secret” to their success.

 

Proxima b had an entertainment industry, they had artists, musicians and story writers. The stories tended to deal with issues on the planet, such as building houses in the great flowing sand lands, their music on how to find love when the moon was hidden by clouds… but they had nothing as detailed or imaginative as that of the Terran race. It seemed that everything that any race would ever encounter on their home world, or in the struggle to reach space, even anything needed to emerge victorious in battle, the Terrans had written numerous stories about it. They did not stop there though, each story had then been analysed, then students studied them, and even in depth “fan fics” (An old Earth word for some sort of learned thesis) on the subjects, were written. The stories had been dissected and analysed to the point where the answers to meet any possible issues had been worked out well in advance.  The system was not stagnant though, with new stories and studies being added on almost a daily basis.

 

The Pocket AIs carried by all humans had this information ready at a moment’s notice. The analysis of a thousand generations, experts in fields many people did not even know they needed, was ready to help.  From how to deal with the pesky “Green Gremlins”, such as using electrified hulls which repel them when they try to latch on to the ship. (An idea credited to something called “Churchill’s Statue”), to things to look out for when landing a ship on an asteroid (Such as “Do not land inside a cave on an asteroid, before you check it is not alive.”)

 

The council of Proxima b were amazed at the concept of this guide, and were very grateful to be given access to them on top of all the other help they had received. The news that they could add their own stories and learnt lessons to the network was also appreciated.

 

Looking at his new AI, councilmen Hert looked at the plastic container for the guide and asked a question... “Why does it have “Don’t Panic” on the cover?”

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Coyote_Havoc on 2024-12-25 23:27:45+00:00.

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First Previous [Next]

"Lo, there do I see my Father. Lo, there do I see my mother and my brothers and my sisters. Lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning. Lo, they do call to me, they bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla where the brave may live forever."

-The Viking Prayer-

"Like the face of the moon, chaotic, crater ridden, uninhabitable, awful."

The poet Wilfred Owen used these words to describe the no man's land of World War One, and those words were apt to the destruction then on earth as well as now in what remained of this battlefield. Even if it were just these descriptions of what remained from the attack they would due, but Wilfred Owen had one final description that also fit most appropriately.

"The Abode of madness."

No structure on this side of the Ashlea remained in tact and many had been erased completely. The torn remains of assault carriers and escorts mingled with the bloody chunks of gore that had been pilots, crews and soldiers. Craters 7 and a half meters wide and 3 and a half meters deep replaced the once vibrant grassy fields just beyond the town. For an orbital bombardment or heavy artillery this destruction would be expected, but this...

This had been inflicted by one company of infantry. 100 humans who had slapped together whatever they could find to wreak annihilation on a superior force, wiping them from the field as if they were nothing more than annoying insects. This was the power of these humans, these Gallóglaigh, and Commander Ertha could see how they had earned their moniker from Dexian mythology as Flamewalkers.

"What happens now?"

Lieutenant Aubrey took a seat on a pile of rocks that had once been a house or a barn.

"That depends on you and yours."

"What would you ask of us?" Ertha questioned. "There are not many Dex left who are uninjured."

A grim smile crossed Aubrey's face. "The Regiment XO told me of this thing that humans use to do to their enemies. Prisoners would be made prone, then their backs would be opened by severing the ribs from the spine, lastly their lungs would be pulled out and positioned to resemble wings."

Ertha could feel the blood drain from his face and anxiety clutched his heart.

"Why... what purpose would that serve?"

"There is another option on the table. We have four dead and are in need of a burial detail."

Ertha knew he was being played, but he didn't want to take his chances either.

"Im not versed in human funerary rites, but I opt for the later."

"Im not versed in the meaning of funeral rites, up until about a year ago I was part of a Convict Regiment."

"Youre a criminal?"

Aubry snickered darkly at the question. "I'm Gallóglaigh, that is all you need to be concerned with."

/////

"You willingly gave aid and comfort the the enemy?'

Admiral Freng's eyes belied what she had expected of Ertha and his troops, and death was just a part of her orders that needed to be carried out. She hadn't been there to witness the battle and she hadn't had to weigh the option of death by torture either.

"I made the decision to save as many Dex as remained."

"You made that decision?"

"And I would do it again." Ertha responded. "Tell me Admiral, how many Dex have died already?"

"He made the best decision Admiral." General Thall commented, intentionally drawing her attention away from the disgraced commander.

"How many lives did.you save Ertha?"

"One hundred and twelve."

"From an entire division with engineer support as well as your own forces, to save one hundred and twelve. From your description of events, it seems that you were fortunate. We can use that to our favor."

Thall Crissed from Ertha over to Admiral Freng with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"Admiral, it appears that the initial scouting of this planet was inaccurate, or that the enemy had reinforced before you arrived. It doesn't matter which at this point in time, but it would warrent immediate reinforcements."

Freng knew where this was going. Neither would have to loose face in the eyes of high command for failure to take the planet and any inquiry as to why their primary mission had been halted could be explained by a gap in intelligence. Invasions are particularly dangerous endeavors, with a success rate between 30-40 percent. That alone is an accepted universal truth.

"Commander," Admiral Freng spoke softly, "you are herby reinstated to your rank and the troops you saved are placed under your direct command. In addition, you and your forces are to be reassigned to the Frigate D'atall while your troops recover. Dismissed."

"One last question," Thall broke in, "would you describe the burial you performed one more time?"

"Yes sir," Commander Ertha replied, relief flooding.his body, "we were ordered to place the bodied next to each other in a crater next to the main road. Afterward we piled dirt over the bodies and finally placed a ring of standing stones around the burial. Afterward I was informed by Lieutenant Aubery that we could follow the river back to Brodick."

"Thank you commander."

General Thall remained silent as Ertha left the room, more focused on the map than anything else.

"What was that all about?" Admiral Freng demanded after a moment.

"We are going to need reinforcements in the near future if we are yo successfully take this planet."

"Not that, the burial."

"The burial," Thall chuckled, "the ring of stones indicate that they are not just burying their dead or marking their place. They are honoring their dead."

"They're mourning them." Admiral Freng nodded in understanding. "Perhaps we should give them some time to come.to terms."

"Exactly my thought Admiral," Thall smiled wickedly, "while they are otherwise occupied we could send out raids with our remaining forces, capture some more of the planet, and when reinforcements arrive we can corner them here."

"That is utterly deplorable," Thall mocked, "the closest settlements are Rathlin, Islay and Jura in this quadrant. Islay is the most populated and not far from Jura which seems to be focused on Agriculture. I suggest we start there."

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Maxton1811 on 2024-12-25 22:06:00+00:00.

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First...Previous

August 26, 2025

Harsh waves of unfamiliar sound bounced violently off the walls of our transport as Will dutifully kept it speeding down the otherwise empty road. “This is our most popular song,” began Lucas, pointing toward the van’s dashboard at a built-in black box that they had used to conjure forth these noises. “It’s called ‘Redshift’. Like it?”

“It’s… Very energetic…” I replied, unsure of how else to describe this bizarre cacophony accompanied on occasion the voice of Lucas himself. “How do you make those noises?”

“Which ones?” Asked Olli, appearing somewhat puzzled by my inquiry. Up front, Will reached for a small knob on the dashboard and twisted it to incrementally decrease the music’s volume until it no longer ripped quite so aggressively against my ‘skin’.

Paying close attention to the unfamiliar sounds and isolating their individual rhythms, I carefully searched my mind for the correct descriptors. “I can tell you’re hitting something to make that thumping noise, but how do you get that weird screech?”

“What, you’ve never heard someone playing a guitar before?” Asked Jack, his eyes going wide with newfound incredulity. “What kind of rock have you been living under all your life?”

Confusion twisted my falsified human features as I contemplated what to even say in response to such a bizarre question. Fortunately, Lucas seemed to take note of my discomfort, promptly speaking up on my behalf. “Don’t be an asshole, Jack!” He grinned to his compatriot, the term clearly intended as an insult but nevertheless spoken in this case with a certain friendly endearment. “I feel like it should be pretty obvious at this point where Sam comes from.”

“You think it’s obvious?” I asked, attempting to conceal panic that saturated my cells in response to this revelation. If a single human could see through my disguise so easily, then I clearly had no chance of blending into civilization at large. For a moment, I contemplated cutting my losses and taking off—after all, I had no idea what these humans would do now that at least one of them knew my true nature.

“Your parents are Amish, aren’t they?” Lucas continued, immediately replacing my fear with utter confusion. I had no idea what ‘Amish’ was, but I was pretty sure it didn’t pertain to my actual mode of being. “You don’t have to be embarrassed—there’s nothing wrong with it!”

With my cover still very much intact, I decided that perhaps my best option was to simply accept whatever explanations they came up with. “Uhh… How did you know?”

“No offense, man, but it’s pretty obvious!” Grinned Lucas, draping his arm around my shoulders as he explained. “I mean, c’mon: the religious name, the aversion to music, not knowing what a guitar is—it all makes perfect sense.”

Apparently, Jack found this to be a satisfying explanation, almost immediately doing away with his prior incredulity. “Sorry, man…” He began, his lips curling upward into a strained grin. “I didn’t mean to disparage that kinda lifestyle, I just couldn’t connect the dots. No offense to your family, of course!”

“None taken,” I replied, deciding it best to steer the conversation away from my origins before I said something that could clear the misunderstanding. “Honestly, I’d prefer not to discuss it if that’s okay with you all…”

“Falling out with the folks?” Asked Olli from his seat beside the driver, looking back upon me with an expression of sympathy. “You don’t gotta answer that if it’s not something you’re comfortable with.”

“I suppose one could say that…” I affirmed, thinking back despite myself to when I first came hurtling down onto this planet’s surface. I wasn’t even sure if I had ‘folks’ the same way these humans did, but whatever gave rise to me clearly wasn’t all that interested in keeping me around. 

Reaching across from his seat, Olli haphazardly sifted through the pile of bags belonging mostly to the band. For the briefest moment, I recoiled as his hand came into contact with my biomass ‘bag’ before immediately moving on to grab the one next to it. Cocking my head quizzically, I eyed the oddly-shaped case, taking note of its bulky body and long, slender protrusion reminiscent of a neck. “You wanted to know how the sound was made, didn’t you?” Olli asked, popping open the case to reveal inside a perfectly-fitting device with strings running down its slender length from a selection of knobs at the top. “This is my guitar. When I plug it in and pluck the strings, it makes those noises.”

“Interesting…” I replied, tentatively reaching forth and gently running my finger along the instrument’s length, drawing forth from it a light thrumming sound. “So you use this one and Lucas uses his voice. What about Jack and Will?”

“I do drums,” answered Jack, clasping his hands into fists and mimicking the motion of hitting something with them. “That banging noise is all me! Will’s on bass—sorta like the guitar, but shaped differently.”

“And all the people like this?” I asked.

From the driver’s seat, Will let out a light chuckle. “Everyone’s got their own taste in music, but the people who like what we make pay us well.”

“Pay?” Contemplating that word, it came up in my mind with associations of exchange and the trading of goods. Thanks to the bad ones I’d devoured, I understood human words, but putting them into context without any experience was difficult.

“Right: you guys are like, super communal, aren’t you?” Asked Olli, presumably once again in reference to these ‘Amish’. Were they a subspecies, perhaps? “Most people use money—coins and paper bills—to represent value and trade for what they need…”

All this was very fascinating, and as such I continued to inquire on how ‘currency’ operated. Such knowledge, I imagined, would be very useful for blending into human society. After a few minutes of inquiry followed graciously by answers from the group, Will began to peer quizzically at the van’s dashboard. “Looks like we’re low on gas,” he said—another absolutely baffling statement.

“How are we ‘low’ on gas?” I asked, inhaling to make sure there was nothing wrong with the air around us. “It’s everywhere on this planet, is it not?”

“He means ‘gasoline’,” replied Lucas matter-of-factly. “It’s the stuff that keeps our van moving. There should be a gas station about three miles from here where we can get more.”

Within a few minutes, we came upon a small building with lights inside and a line of mysterious nozzled devices lined up out front. Pulling up to this odd building and stopping the vehicle just beside one of the nozzles, Will stepped out from the driver’s side and began fiddling with some kind of control panel. “You guys can go inside: I’ll fill ‘er up,” he said, reaching into a fold formerly occupying his pocket before handing me a piece of green paper. “Grab me a soda and the rest is yours, Sam.”

Following the other three band members into this building, I glanced about in search of this ‘soda’ I was told to retrieve. “Sodas are near the back,” said Olli, taking note of my confusion as he pointed toward the far wall to where various roughly-cylindrical containers stood in rows upon a door-covered shelf.

Approaching this display and searching through these containers, I murmured the descriptions beneath my breath. “Raspberry energy drink… Cool blue sport drink… Orange-flavored soda!” Opening the door and reaching in to take hold of the container, I looked it over curiously. Turning the container and viewing its contents, I immediately recognized most of the chemical names. Much to my surprise and delight, this liquid was almost pure sugar! 

Placing Will’s drink under my shoulder and grabbing a few for myself, I consulted with the others on how best to spend the remainder of my currency. “Those drinks are a dollar-fifty each, so you’ve got about four dollars left,” said Lucas, reaching into his pocket and handing me another few coins. “This should cover whatever tax there is.”

As I said before, the counting system of these creatures was foreign to me. After experiencing it once, however, I was able to rather quickly get the general gist of how counting worked. Holding up four fingers to represent my remaining currency, I searched the surrounding area for anything that could be worth spending it on. Soon enough, my search came to a halt in front of a sign. ‘Hot dogs: 1$’. Above these words were tubes of what appeared to be flesh, each one nestled into some kind of edible holder.

Grabbing a single paper basket from beside the display and piling four of these ‘hot dogs’ onto it, I approached the front counter where the others awaited me and handed the stranger up front my bill and coins. “Are those all for you?” Asked Olli, pointing toward my hot dogs.

“I intend them to be,” I shrugged before turning toward him and generously holding out the basket. “Would you like one?”

“No thanks, man,” replied the guitarist. In all honesty, I was glad that he didn’t want one. Willing though I was to share my meal, that didn’t necessarily mean I wanted to. Carrying this bounty back out to the van, I carefully the food I intended to consume down onto my seat before approaching Will and ...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/sjanevardsson on 2024-12-25 20:31:29+00:00.

---

In the time before the devouring horde, humanity, thinking themselves alone, stretched out among the stars. They made barren worlds habitable, and in generations turned them into paradises. There was no part of the galaxy they considered off-limits.

When the first unmistakable, non-human, artificial signal caught their attention, humanity celebrated. They were no longer alone. While humans were still trying to work out how to respond, They showed up.

Hundreds of thousands of ships, joined together into a traveling city the size of a moon, materialized in a system where humans populated three planets and eight moons. Instead of attempts to communicate, the city broke apart into its constituent ships.

Like a swarm, the ships descended on the planets and moons. Large, rectangular processor ships hung in the sky above the descender ships.

Smaller cubic ships, a kilometer long on each side, headed to the ground and stripped everything they found. Any lifeforms they encountered stood no chance, whether plant, fungus, or animal, megafauna or bacteria. It didn’t matter to the machines that landed, burrowed down half a kilometer into the crust, then returned to the processor, leaving behind a square crater. The processor ships handled nearly a thousand descenders every second, converting more than six hundred billion kilograms of material into waste. Everything from the descenders they didn’t keep, came out the back of the processor as a fine, dry powder that circled in the upper atmosphere, blocking out the light of the local star.

That was just the first of hundreds of systems the devouring horde stripped bare. Humanity scrambled to fight back. Every ship they destroyed was replaced in a matter of days and did little to slow the advance of the horde. Knowing what sort of signals to look for, humanity found the traveling city to be the only source of the signals, which made it possible to track their movements as they moved ever closer to humanity’s cradle.

The fastest ship in all of the human fleets was the Bonny Marie, said to be able to open a warp space so rapidly, and reaching so far across the stars, as to make reality weep. A converted heavy cargo ship, most of her cargo space taken up with her massive warp engines, she wasn’t as sightly as her name would suggest. Still, she was the only ship to ever pull warp from within a mere handful of kilometers from the event horizon of a black hole. She was also the only ship ever to make it into, and back out of, the horde’s city of connected ships.

Still, even with her lightning-fast strikes, any damage the Bonny Marie did to the horde was like trying to empty an ocean with a coffee mug. That didn’t stop her crew from trying, though. With over a hundred landers and two processors confirmed destroyed, they harassed the horde from system to system. It was when the horde was closing in on Sol that the crew decided they needed to do something drastic.

Despite most of her cargo area being filled with the most overpowered engines, the Bonny Marie had more space yet to give. In humanity’s darkest hour, every available centimeter of her space was filled with multi-gigaton, three-stage hydrogen bombs. To this day, no one knows where they came from or how many there were. Some say they carried nine, others say thirteen, others say fifteen. However, all reports agree that they were all twelve gigaton yield, installed without the shielding due to space constraints, and all attached to a single trigger for concurrent detonation.

The Bonny Marie was waiting for the horde when they phased into the Sol system near Mars. They said their goodbyes to each other and warped into the structure of the devouring horde. At the center of the conglomeration was a massive pile of ore dust.

The captain gave his orders, the pilot took aim, the ship’s engines shuddered, and the Bonny Marie rammed into the pile of ore, triggering the fusion bombs. The flash of the initial fireball was visible on Earth, the fine dust ore that was not vaporized turned into radioactive shrapnel. Tens of thousands of the horde ships were destroyed in the initial blast, with tens of thousands more rendered inoperable as a result of either the EMP emitted by the blast or by heat and radiation.

It was still too little, too late for Mars, Luna, and Earth, although the weakened horde was slowed, allowing the evacuation of those bodies to continue for many months. It was only after the horde had stripped those bodies and left them in a cloud of the dust of their upper crust that the real damage the nukes had done became obvious.

The new ships they churned out from the irradiated ore failed often, some not even making their first flight from the traveling city. When the horde rejoined the city, almost back to full strength and emitting megacuries of gamma and alpha radiation, they attempted to use their phase-space propulsion to travel to the next system.

Instead, a ripple washed over the horde city at the speed of light, barely perceptible. Behind it, the ships it had passed over exploded violently. Their cores were vaporized and the remnants ranged in size from the finest dust to small pieces less than two centimeters in diameter. For the second time, a calamity of the horde was visible from Earth, or would have been if there had been anyone there to see it, and they could see through the dust that blotted out the sun.

The remaining humans, listening for the sounds of the horde transmissions, heard silence for the first time in nearly two decades. Earth was wiped bare, but humanity had survived and destroyed the horde, the remnants of which have slowly spread out into a faint ring around the planet.

All the survivors have joined together again, and now we find no other signals. It is time for humanity to build new homes, new paradises for our children’s children. Alone again, we will spread out among the stars in our new ships that use the phase drives we learned from analyzing the horde.

It is with the greatest of honor that I christen humanity’s new flagship, the Bonny Marie 2. May she lead us to the stars and our uncertain, but promising, future.

Speech by Admiral Marisol Cortez on the christening of the Bonny Marie 2, flagship of the Human Colonization Fleet.

---

prompt: Write a story that starts and ends in the same place.

originally posted at Reedsy

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/micktalian on 2024-12-25 20:11:57+00:00.

---

Part 103 Bearing arms (Part 1) (Part 102)

[Support me of Ko-fi so I can get some character art commissioned ~~and totally not buy a bunch of gundams and toys for my dog~~]

For the vast majority of species in the Galactic Community Council, cybernetic augmentation is seen as either a medical necessity or a highly controversial means of enhancing combat abilities. Replacing lost limbs, substituting improperly functioning organs, or other essential medical procedures are generally considered acceptable, if a bit gruesome at times, by most Ascended life in the galaxy. Even if some people and entire cultures were repulsed by the idea of melding the organic with the mechanical, prejudice or ill-treatment towards cyborgs is essentially unheard of. On the other hand, military-grade cybernetics and the weaponization of one's own body aren't just highly regulated, the concepts utterly horrified most people. Of course, some governments within the GCC believe in the rights of self modification, self defense, and owning personal weapons.

While the Nishnabe culture on Shkegpewen was certainly unique even compared to their closest kin in Sol and the European-Americans that currently occupied their ancestors' homelands, all three shared a very particular set of interests. In America during the 2230s, the enthusiasm surrounding the right to bear arms, including the weaponization of cybernetics, was just as boisterous as it ever was. Similarly, all of the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi Nations now based out of the Aram Chaos Colony on Mars not only encouraged individuals to be willing and able to defend themselves, it was a point of pride. After all, their continued sovereignty and existence as independent governments relied on it. Even if military grade cybernetics weren’t quite as common on Shkegpewen as they were on Earth or Mars, citizens of the Nishnabe Confederacy were just as well armed as their counterparts from Sol.

So much so that the fact Mik was sitting on a park bench style seat in front of his temporary quarters aboard the Kokoji-Wango with his revolver in pieces in front of him wasn't seen as unusual. Though this was a military vessel and every single person was carrying around some sort of weapon, there was an armory where he could be performing this task in private. However, Tens had assured him that it was commonplace for warriors to tinker with their weapons wherever they pleased, so long as they were safe about it. And this way the pair of men could enjoy a smoke and morning beverage while the Wango got into formation with the rest of the ships joining this mission. It would still be another day or so before the battle actually started, but the time was drawing near. If nothing else, Tens wanted his Martian friend to be in a calm and calculating state of mind for when they did finally drop on those fascist crabs.

“I'm still surprised that these little copper things hold enough explosive to safely launch a projectile that fast.” As Tens twisted the finger-sized .45-70 cartridge in his hand, he found the blunt-tipped piece of plastic sticking out the end to be quite fascinating. “And these are what that Tom Ryan guy and his warriors will be using when they breach the Chigagorian cruiser, right?”

“I mean, they're probably runnin’ different calibers, but yeah. It's gonna be some kinda guns.” Mik was clearly distracted as he carefully polished each piece of his disassembled hand cannon. “This particular thang ain't ‘xactly the most practical weapon. Raiders'll probably be usin’ tricked out ZCR-29s ‘r auto-shotties ‘r somethin’ like that. Hell, they may even whip out the big guns for this.”

“The big guns?” With the memory of the weapons demonstration Mik and Sarah had performed back on The Hammer still in his mind, Tens could immediately imagine the kind of firepower being referred to. However, considering just how many different large guns had been shown off, he would only vaguely narrow down the selection. “How big are we talking?”

“I ain't sure.” The Martian professor carefully examined the recoil spring of his revolver with his cybernetic eye. Much like in the original Mateba Unica, that particular component was a failure point in his modified and modernized recreation of that classic firearm. “Tom's bringin’ Gold Team so… Honestly, they might bring the real big guns. ‘Member that gatlin’ gun I showed yah? I know one o’ ‘em borgs loves their spinny boy! Say… Do yah think the fabs on this ship can make me a new one o’ these?”

“Let me see that.” Tens reached over, gently took the spring, and as he brought it close to his face to look it over, he slipped it into the palm of his hand while pretending to toss it away.

“Fucker.” Mik wasn't so easily fooled by such a simple sleight of hand trick but did find it rather humorous. “It's a nickel, chromium, steel alloy. Kinda expensive back on Mars, but I figure y'all could probably forge me a better one.”

“Yeah, the mechanics could make this.” Seeing as his friend reacted with nothing more than a laugh and harsh retort, Tens could only smile as he revealed the spring to still be in his hand before giving it back. “Just tell them the specs and they'll come up with something. But, anyways, about those big guns…”

“If yah wanna know what the Raiders're runnin’ just ask-” Mik had taken his revolver’s recoil spring back with a bit of force but hadn't even had a chance to set it down yet before a very recognizable voice call out.

“Mik! Tens! There you two are!” Both Mik and Tens looked over to see General Tom Ryan marching towards them with War Chief Msko Pkwenech at his side.

“Why the hell yah yellin’, Ryan?” The Martian professor turned his attention back towards his disassembled gun and began putting the parts back together.

“I need you two to settle something for us!”

“Pffft.” Mik forced out a sarcastic scoff. Regardless of how tough he pretended to be, he was still a bit scared of the cyborg Marine General. “Whatever it is, Msko's right!”

“Which are better, our guns or the Nishnabe’s mag-slings?”

While Tens was confused as to why this was being debated, Mik had a far more extreme reaction. As soon as General Ryan asked that question, the Martian professor set down the components in his hands, stared straight ahead, then slowly turned towards the pair of quickly approaching older men with his head tilted at a slight angle. For the few seconds it took for Tom and Msko to close the gap and begin standing in front of the bench, Mik had a blank expression on his scared face. Of all the possible questions that he could have been asked, that was one he had not been expecting. Though the look on his face was still, his eyes gave away the inner conflict that the cyborg had just forced onto him.

As an academic, Mik knew that the highly advanced technologies that went into the Nishnabe mag-slings were supreme. Those particular weapons were not only surprisingly quiet, highly modular, and had a wide variety of munitions they could put down range, they were also incredibly deadly. With the ability to switch between rapid fire and single devastating shots at the flip of a switch, nothing from Sol could really compare. However, firearms were versatile and dependable in ways that simply couldn't be denied. Where mag-slings could be effective in multiple roles with just the changing of a setting or minor modifications, purpose-built guns could fill those specific roles as well, if not better. So long as the ammo was just as good as the shooter, which applied to both types of weapon, Mik couldn't honestly say which was better without his personal biases slipping through.

“Shit, man…” After staring for so long that Tens was actually starting to get concerned, Mik finally broke his silence. “I couldn't tell yah! Like askin’ if I'd rather have an original numbers matchin’ Cuda or a GTO Judge!”

“You know there is one way we could settle this…” Tens chimed in while shooting Msko a rather befuddled look. “After this mission, just compare the combat efficiency data from this guy's warriors to our breacher teams. Give them a handicap since it's their first mission and-”

“My marines don't need a goddamn handicap!” General Ryan seemed personally insulted by that suggestion.

“He hasn't seen any of the reports from the combat sims your teams have been participating in, Tom.” Msko quickly gave Tens a somewhat serious look, which only added to the younger warrior's confusion. “Our breacher teams may actually have trouble keeping up with Ryan's Raiders. But the reason why we're trying to settle this debate is because we need to figure out which weapons we should train our new recruits from Sol on.”

“Why can't they just build their own weapons the way we do?” For Tens and every other member of Nishnabe Militia, assembling and customizing their own mag-slings was a right of passage. “I mean, look at Mik here. He built this thing.”

“Son, do you have any idea how many people who've already applied to join the UHDF?” Tom asked with a vaguely patronizing tone. “We aren't about to waste that kind of time or money just so two million people can say they built their own gun.”

“Two million?!?” From a brief moment, all Tens could do was stare with a wide-eyed, dumbfounded expr...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Clokw8rk on 2024-12-25 19:41:52+00:00.

---

Let me just say, people are dumb. Do you know what the hardest part of hunting a vampire is? No, it’s not sneaking into their lair during the day and sidestepping their thralls to get to the overgrown leech. Nor is it accidentally waking it when you drop its coffin lid on your foot and having to engage in bloody fisticuffs with a creature that could tear your own arms off and beat you to death with them. No, the hardest part is not getting charged with murder, because, “Vampires don’t exist” or “you’re a delusional psychopath” and, “why are you covered in blood?” which by the way, the correct answer most certainly is not “don't worry, it’s not my blood.”

The best one so far was “She was such a sweet old lady.” Never mind the fact that the previous night she jumped two stories and turned the neighbor's dog into the world’s most screwed up Capri-sun. Nevermind the fact she only went out at two in the morning to gas station convenience stores to seduce the most missable people she could find, despite the fact she looked like an emaciated Betty White with the face of a tube sock full of ground chuck roast and a personality half as nice. Nevermind the fact that the city started putting up missing person posters of pimply seventeen year olds with no future, the disappearances of which could be traced to a ten mile radius of her den, two police officers had gone missing, slurpee sales were down, and nobody would imagine that some frail old bag of bones who looked like she went to summer camp with Andrew Jackson could be responsible for the mutilated bodies. Like I said, people are dumb.

And yet, here I was, sitting outside this high school in a van that was a spray-painted sign reading “Free candy” away from putting me on a list. Who in their right mind would suspect that the old math teacher Mr. Hapsfield would have been a vampire? Well, if you overlooked the fact that nobody knew when he started working there, because he had been at the school longer than anyone, and anyone with half a brain and a library card could see that he had been in the yearbook since 1886. And the fact he didn’t appear in mirrors, I would know, I saw him in the bathroom while I was in a stall when I had his class ten years ago, by the way, he gave me a D. and also, his nickname in school has literally been “The Count” since sesame street first aired. 

The bell had rung, my garlic chicken Chinese takeout was empty, and my new shift as the school custodian had begun. I only had a few hours to act between when the Count would retire to his coffin and night began. I’d looked into the architectural drawings of this school and noticed a subterranean boiler room that was no longer in use. That made sense as I was sure this guy was at fault for the perpetuation of the myth that teachers lived at the school. I loaded my gear into a wheelie bin and made my way back into the world’s worst babysitting service. 

I swept the floors, took the trash out, and kept my eye on his room. Low pay, long hours, no dental, and a blood drinking math teacher that roams about, what’s more to want? The Count’s door opened and the lanky bean stock that was Mr. Hapsfield slithered out. He looked directly at me and approached with the facial expression of what I could only surmise as some sort of extinct desert tortoise with IBS. he made it about five feet away from my mop cart before he had to stop, his eyes teared up and his throat cleared a few times before taking a step back.

“Must you make such a dreadful concoction?”

I threw an innocent smile his way; the mop cart was full of the most powerful disinfectants I could find just so he couldn’t pick up my hormones with his fancy vampire sniffer.

“Oh, sorry there Mr. Hapsfield, apparently there was a biohazard incident in the science class, some kid got cut or something and I gotta go make sure it’s all properly sanitized.”

Bait was set.

The Count cleared his throat.

“A cut you say? Bad enough to warrant special cleaning as it were?

Ooh he’s nibbling.

“That’s what I was told, I hope the kid doesn’t have to get stitches.”

“Indeed, Say, you aren’t infor… Hold on a second.”

Uh oh.

The Count looked at me with a newfound curiosity of which I did not want for obvious reasons.

“I believe I know you.”

The Count snapped his fingers as he reached for that file in his mental filing cabinet of names, right next to information on sun lotion brands and Bram Stoker novels.

“Mckowski!”

I cringed at the mention of my name.

“Yep, that’s me.”

“So, you’re the new custodian. I must say, I’m not surprised by this turn of events.”

I could feel my eyebrows furrowing, the man had a voice that was about as exciting as a commercial for a class action lawsuit.

“Well, this is only a side job, I also run a rather successful extermination business.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Oh yeah, I found out I’m rather good at rooting out dangerous parasites. I think it might be my calling.”

The Count looked at me like he was trying to look into my soul.

“Well, I’d be careful, some pests, as you put it, are more dangerous than others”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, but I have to finish up here, so I’ll have to talk to you later”

I walked towards him and reached out to shake hands with the devil.

“If you are as good an exterminator as you were as a student then I imagine that we will.”

The joy I will feel when I’m staking you like a naughty tent will be life changing.

The Count took my hand and immediately winced in pain. We both looked down to see my sanctified rosary beads burning into his skin. The Count let go with a hiss.

“Oops, did the pin get you? So sorry!” I said with an involuntary smirk.

“Just clean my floors, Mckowski.” The count strode away with all the humbleness of a peacock.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m great at dealing with messes!”

 I let out the breath I had been holding. I knew he wouldn’t attack me in the middle of the school, but he knew what I was here for. What I also knew is that he had to rest, and I just so happened to know where he would be napping. After around an hour, I wheeled my bin full of toys to the entrance of the boiler room and made my way down. Everything was slightly damp and reeked of mold. It was clear that no one had come down there to clean in a long time and I was a very good custodian. In the corner of the room was a pine coffin. I set up my equipment and started to open the box. The lid of that pine box flew off of the coffin and cracked me in the nose. I reeled back holding my face as The Count hissed in a rage and stood over me. That was of course, when I activated the UV lights I had set up. The Count screamed in pain as he fell over and writhed on the ground. I pulled four crucifixes and placed them on each of his limbs to hold him in place. With a stake brandished I looked down at him. There was no doubt in my mind that he was anything more than feral at this point.

“Too bad you weren’t a better vampire than you were a teacher.”

I plunged the stake down into his chest. He hissed in agony as he died for a second time. I caught my breath for a moment and started cleaning up. All of my equipment in one bin, Mr. Hapsfield in the other. No one would question a custodian pushing two wheelie bins full of full trash bags. Like I said before, people are dumb, of course, that was all more reason to protect them. Killing things that messed with those poor dumb people was my business, and business was booming.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/noobvs_aeternvm on 2024-12-25 19:12:17+00:00.

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LINKA’RA

Today

11:03

Mark, hi. You know anything about Ba’Rin? I can’t reach him since yesterday 😢 

Yeah, he’s right here. Crashed on my couch 

Why is he on your couch? 😡 

11:04

We were one guy short for poker night, so I kidnaped him for a tiny lil bitty 

You just grabbed him like dat?? 

Sorry, girl. It was a last minute thing, one of the guys couldn’t make it 

Then why didn’t he come home? Why is he on your couch? 🤨🤨

11:05

Don’t worry about it 

I very much do

11:06

It’s nothing 

Mark, stop stalling me! 😡 

11:07

Kay, full disclosure. I might have made an oopsie dosie 

Wat did U do???

I might have given him a small bowl of garlic chips

He’s highly allergic 😮😮😮

Yeap. He sure is.

Is he ok????

11:08

Yeah, yeah. He’s fine now, just need to rest a bit.

Wat do you mean he’s fine NOW? Can I talk to him?

11:09

Doc put him on some pretty heavy meds. Don’t think I can wake him even if I tried

Doc? As in doctor? 😱 How much garlic did you give him? 😵‍💫

Look, I screwed up K? I know dat, no need to tell me

Damn right I’m gonna tell you! You poisoned my boyfriend! 😡🤬😡

I didn’t know K?

How? How didn’t you know of something that can KILL him?! Aren’t you guys friends since forever?

Yeah, but we don’t talk bout dat stuff. 

U R the worst Mark! 😡 Don’t think you 2 will be hanging out any time soon

Look, yell at me as much as you want, just leave the guy be for now K?

Can I see him?

11:10

I don’t think this a good idea

Please 🥹

11:11

Trust me Linka’ra, you don’t wanna

Pretty please 🥹🥹🥹

11:13

Hang on

11:18

Image received  open | download

What on the cursed plane happened???? 😱😱😱

Told’ya you’d not wanna see it

You should have called me! 😭

He didn’t wanna upset you. He knows how bothered you are with that girl from work

You don’t know half of it

Do tell

11:41

Audio message (23min 13s) play | download

11:43

Wow, that’s crazy!

Right?

11:44

So, that’s why he didn’t wanna bother you

Still, you should have texted me, let me know he was staying at your place

He asked me, I kinda forgot

WTF Mark 😤

Ma bad

11:45

I’m coming over

No, no need. Now it’s just wait the meds do their thing. Look, why don’t you bake him some of dat pie he likes, while I watch over the big guy? When he’s good to go, I’ll drive him home.

That’s the least you can do after almost killing him! 🤬

Yeah I know. So, deal?

Right, I’ll be waiting

Cya soon 👋

BA’RIN

Today

11:45

Bruh, where r u? Yo girl is beyond pissed! I, and a certain AI image generator, managed to get her off your scent, but I need to drive you home or ur in BIG TROUBLE. Call me as soon as you see this, dude

Meanwhile:

“Alright Ba’rin, no need to panic. Yes, your phone is dead, your hovercraft is dead and you’re on a forgotten road in the middle of nowhere with no food or water, but soon enough someone will miss you and come looking for you.”

___

Tks for reading. More primate bros here.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/noobvs_aeternvm on 2024-12-25 19:04:53+00:00.

---

This is part of the anthology started with Best Job I Ever Had. Enjoy!

___

-Do you smell rain?

-Why you wanna smell rain when we can smell this awesome kill?

-Speaking of, that’s a lotta kill.

-Yeah, so much awesomeness!

-Do you see any rain cloud?

-Bro, what’s with you and rain?

-They took the fire inside.

-So?

-Have they ever done this before?

-They never dug a huge ass hole till a few days ago, did they?

-They didn’t.

-And you kept asking your dumb ass questions while we were digging, didn’t you?

-I did.

-Then what happened?

-We got a mammoth.

-Yeah, bro. We got a freaking mammoth!!!

-After a whole day cashing it.

-Yeah.

-And several more guarding the carcass.

-Yeah.

-And we haven’t eaten any of it yet.

-Patience, bro. Our wait is almost over.

-How can you tell?

-The naked apes hunt the kill, burn the kill and share the kill. That’s how it’s always been.

-But always outside.

-We got a mammoth, bro. We got a huge, damn, juicy mammoth! Can’t you just be happy about it?

-Just saying, dude. If we knew what the naked apes were up to, we could be of better use, maybe find a way to get there faster.

-You think you’re smarter than the naked apes?

-Not saying that, but the pack works better if everyone is in on the plan.

-Whatever, bro. You go out there smell rain, I’m staying here smelling this awesome kill.

-You just gonna sit there smelling smoke?

-Yeap! I’d smell this the whole day if I could.

A while later:

-Still here, hum?

-Yeap. Found any rain?

-Nope. Noticed anything strange?

-No. Why?

-Really, nothing at all?

-Bro, spill it out.

-We’re not eating!!!

-Yeah. So?

-Dude, how long will they let it burn???

-Don’t know, bro. That’s a lotta kill.

-Dude, you’ve been sitting here since sunrise!

-And…?

-The Sun is way up!

-Bro, keep calm and trust the naked apes.

A little much while latter:

-This, is taking a bit long.

-See?!

-Is there something wrong with the kill?

-Do you smell something wrong?

-I only smell awesome.

-Cuz there’s nothing wrong with the kill. Something’s wrong with us!

-You’re crazy!

-Dude! The naked apes are not sharing the kill. We screwed up!

-Like where?

-I don’t know! That’s why I ask questions, so we don’t screw up in the first place!

-You’re imagining things! Something’s up with that kill, I’m gonna check it out.

“Shhhhhhh!”

-Shhh?

-See, dude? They’re telling us to stay away from the kill!

-But… but… We’ve been goodbois!

-Obviously not!

The sun is out. Floo-Hoe is sat, letting out a faint cry into the skies, while Poopiu is frantically walking in circles.

-We messed up! wE mEsSeD uP!! WE MESSED UP!!!

-Pleeeeeeeeease! We learned our lesson, whatever the lesson is!!!

-Linda will never let us snuggle with her pup again!

-Pleeeeeeeeease! We’ll be goodbois! Let us have a share of the kill!

-Worse! She’ll have us snug it all the time, as fur coats!!!

-Pleeeeeeeeease! Just a tiny little bite!

-We’re too young, pretty and one of us too smart to be stabbed to death!

-Pleeeeeeeeease! We’ve been drowning on this smell all day! Let us have a piece before we die!

A naked ape walks into the tent. Poopiu quickly moves to follow it, before once again being shushed away. With its bare paws, it takes a tiny piece of the kill and chews it for a long while. After letting out a low growl of satisfaction, it brings its paws to the kill once again and takes a large chunk out of it.

Leaving the tent, it splits the kill’s chunk into two smaller ones, placing them in front of the two friends. For a single moment, they look at each other. Then, their heads teleport to it and start to chow it down. 

Almost without being perceived, the naked ape’s paws park over the friends’ heads.

“Goodbois!”

___

Tks for reading. More goodbois, gods, faeries and aliens here.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/OpinionatedIMO on 2024-12-25 17:38:57+00:00.

---

Confidential Dossier: Top Secret brief!

(This intercepted alien transmission has been translated from phonetic ‘Yestos’ into English and other languages. Disseminate this official intelligence brief immediately to all appropriate agencies, military authorities, and relevant individuals.)

---

“High commander, I bid you respectful salutations! May our murky Yestos empire of doom thrive for eternity!

I’ve just completed phase two of our mission to study the fleshy meatbags and their liquid-covered bluish planet. Theirs is an extreme society with chaotic contradictions and puzzling behaviors such as we have never seen. I could hardly believe some of the bizarre activities I witnessed during my covert observational period. I will detail these curious discoveries in the organized report listed below, along with my official recommendations. I am also officially requesting significant leave time to decompress and heal from the disgusting horrors of Earth which I witnessed.

Reproduction and life cycle: The meatbag life cycle varies from individual to individual! To clarify, I have triple confirmed this startling anomaly. They define the duration of their lifespans based upon solar units of their dominant star. Some of these flesh-sacks live many times longer than others! Nutrition, socioeconomic class, and numerous other random factors affect their lifecycle as well.

Regarding reproduction. The news is distasteful and disturbing, Sir. Brace yourself. They utilize a creepy form of chemical bonding known as ‘mating’ or ‘sex’ where one meatbag will share its unique DNA with another of their species via a biological connection tether. As disgusting as it sounds, this pollination tether is placed INSIDE another of their kind to deposit a transfer of… viscous fluids.

Despite hundreds of millions of instructional tutorials which they study intently for practice purposes, the reproductive success rate of these grotesque mating sessions is quite low. At first I thought this news was excellent for us, but I learned these unsuccessful attempts are actually deliberate, in nature. Their fertility rate would ordinarily be very high but they actually avoid completing the full reproductive process! Instead, they mate frequently for enjoyment sake alone!

I shuddered at the thought of such primitive, baffling, ritualistic behavior as you probably are. It speaks of their lurid willingness to practice pointless activities until they’ve perfected it. At any moment they could simply mate and reproduce fully to triple their fighting population! Imagine producing unlimited fleshbag soldiers upon demand! I felt it was imperative I point out the significant military advantage they have over us, but the bad news doesn’t stop there, I’m afraid.

Feeding habits and infrastructure: Meatbag or ‘human’ nutrition comes from an enormous range of terrestrial organic sources. They produce many developing lower species simply for the purpose of feeding themselves! The immature Earthlings even feed off of the adults of the same subspecies at the beginning of their lives. This suckling or ‘breastfeeding’ is a form of accepted cannibalism! The Infants start out feeding on their biological donors in order to toughen themselves or promote the survival of the fittest. At least that’s my working theory.

Then they are taught to eat the flesh of lower creatures in a deliberate act of carnal dominance! Ironically, the lower food supply species fully trust them and do not suspect or fear their own demise. It’s beyond sadistic, but the barbarism doesn’t end there. They also introduce toxins into their own food! (Possibly to immunize against potential biowarfare attacks from enemies like us).

The fact they deliberately inject their food supply with harmful additives and poison the very environment they live in with deadly chemicals speaks volumes! We can’t harm a lunatic species which has already poisoned itself in defiant preparation! They may be vile bags of organic flesh but it’s difficult not to recognize their superior invincibility in matters of clever invasion prep.

Belief systems and determination: The dominant ones have a dizzying array of unusual deities they communicate regularly with. So far I’ve been unable to locate any of these sacred gods but from the undeniable communications I’ve deciphered, their higher beings are omnipotent and all powerful! The humans who pray to them are actually excited about death and the cessation of their lives because they will be reborn into an indestructible, non-corporal form!

That terrifying fact alone makes an invasion of their swampy planet a terrible idea! It would quickly bring utter ruin to our superior civilization. This skin race is dangerous, fiercely primitive, and an unpredictable enigma. I cannot stress deeply enough the importance of avoiding all conflict with them! From everything I have read in their literature and film entertainment media, the meatbags rule the entire universe! They’ve stated this many, many times. We must avoid them at all costs.

Signing off secret transmission, Katorz Tirate of Yestos Three.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Moravian_descendant on 2024-12-25 15:37:14+00:00.

---

Ship leader's journal: 17th Blekaan 203 of the interstellar age

My name is Kraahak of the mighty Erdroo empire, I was entrusted the command of this majestic vessel by his grace the Emperor himself. Our goal is to explore and expand the might of our great civilisation even to the darkest and most barbaric corners of this galaxy. This is the first entry to this journal, surely one of many to mark our success.

Ship leader's journal: 30th Blekaan 203 of the interstellar age

Today we left the borders of our great empire. I have given out the command to start the FTL engines, oh what a glorious day to be alive. The crew is in high spirits

Ship leader's journal: 8th Valkaan 203 of the interstellar age

At the start of this rotation, our scanners have detected a habitable planet, there seems to be a sentient population. What an opportunity to introduce civilisation to these primitives. In 2 hours we will land on the surface.

Ship leader's journal: 35th Valkaan 203 of the interstellar age

The planet was inhabited by pre-FTL civilisation, a primitive reptilian civilisation they were freshly united and easily subdued by our superior tactics and technology. The planet is mostly temperate with an average temperature of 308 units. It is perfect for colonization by our mighty empire and it will be far better than if these creatures called it home any longer.

We shall resupply, send a report back to beloved Erdroo and continue on our journey.

Ship leader's journal: 25th Mikkaan 203 of the interstellar age

It was almost 2 rotations since we found a worthy planet for colonization, but today we arrived at an interesting system, a single star, 4 rocky planets, 2 gas giants, 2 asteroid belts and 2 Ice giants. This should bring my name back to the Emperor as soon as we capture it. I will be the most famous explorer in this program I can see the rewards already, additional ships perhaps, a promotion for sure.

The species in this system seem to be as primitive as was the last.

Ship leader's journal: 28th Mikkaan 203 of the interstellar age

*data corrupted*

Ship leader's journal: 30th Mikkaan 203 of the interstellar age

The planet <data corrupted> ancient technology <data corrupted> civilization. <data corrupted> We called for reinforcements.

Losses estimated at <data corrupted> retreat <data corrupted>

**Ship leader's journal: <**data corrupted> 203 of the interstellar age

**Ship leader's journal: <**data corrupted> 204 of the interstellar age

**Ship leader's journal: <**data corrupted> 204 of the interstellar age

Ship leader's journal: 6th Klinkaan 204 of the interstellar age

This is the last entry, the <data corrupted> damaged our great vessel gravely. The reinforcements will arrive in a matter of several rotations, but by then our life-support systems will fail.

Long live the mighty Erdroo Empire! Long live the Emperor <data corrupted>

"That's all we got Ord'a?" Asked the captain of the ship. "That is all captain. The data could not be recovered further, it is a miracle we could download it, let alone translate it," replied Ord'a.

"Fine by me, how old is it anyway, I don't remember hearing of any Erdroo empire."

Ord'a raised his digit as a gesture to ask for more time. "It is roughly 350 years old and according to what we could salvage from their databanks we know Erdroo planet is in the northern part of the second quadrant of the Galaxy. And we can locate some of the planets this ship visited if you grant my team a rotation to do so.

"Take all the time you need as long as you get the results, meanwhile as much as I would like to explore the system I cannot ignore the signs." Said the captain as he looked at the cemetery of ships on the horizon. "Anyway, communication officer Krak, send a message to the Council to put this system on the danger zones list and request aid for further investigation.

Several cycles have passed and the aid arrived in the form of 3 frigates and 3 support ships with various specialists. As soon as they passed the first asteroid belt they received a message to everyone's horror directly translated into the Kjawran dialect of galactic common.

"You are entering into Terran core domain, shall you bring hostility into this sacred place you shall be utterly annihilated without mercy. Shall you come in peace disable your weapons and proceed to the 4th rocky planet from our star, there you shall be met by our ambassadors."

"It's Kjawran dialect, what shall we do captain? What if it is a trap?" Asked the frightened communications officer Krak.

"Disable our weapons if they know Kjawran and live then we stand no chance with 3 frigates." The captain replied while memories of the horrors he saw in the Kjawran grand crusade against his species played in his mind.

As the fleet approached the place where they should meet this mysterious species they saw all manner of destroyed ships many of them they did not recognize but the sight of Kjawran mothership split precisely in half was enough to confirm his fears. Suddenly came a transmission, all 4 of the captain's eyes fixed on the screen, this time in proper galactic common.

"This is space station Carthago of the Terran politeia, please dock your ambassador ship to port 34D as sent in the message together with coordination." As soon as the ship docked Captain was greeted by a bipedal creature roughly 2 units tall with 2 arms and fur only the lower part of its face was pale in comparison to the Captain who looked like a bipedal Terran Blue tiger with 4 eyes.

The creature raised its arm in front of it, which the captain recognised as a formal greeting so he reciprocated the gesture. "I am ambassador Séthanta O'Malley of Celtic Union and I would like to formally welcome you to the Terran system. This is space station Carthago named after an ancient city known for trade and cultural exchange. If you have any questions please do ask.

"I am Captain Voorhas of Ulurian hegemony and a leader of expedicion to deep space for Galactic union. Thank you for your warm welcome, but I do have two questions: Why did you Greet us in Kjawran dialect and then changed to standard galactic common and how did you manage to destroy Kjawran mothership in half?"

Ambasador Séthanta gestured to follow him and while at it began explaining. "The answer is frankly simple, we saw your ship models in their database and then we scanned your communications and updated our translator. And we probably cut them in half with one of the laser defence turrets."

"I see, so you have such superweapons here?" Asked Voorhas.

"I would not say that they are superweapons, but yes, they are quite powerful." This worried Voorhas visibly. "Do not worry captain you are safe as long as you are not hostile." Séthanta tried to soothe him.

"So we found a transmission of some Erdroo empire, do you happen to know something about them? We could not trace them down because the data we found were corrupted and estimated to be about 350 years old."

The ambassador stroked his beard and thought. "Erdroo empire you say? Yes I remember hearing that name among the list of Empires destroyed by our species, let me check the list." The man entered something on the vambrace-looking device on his forearm, hologram appeared and after a while Séthanta grinned. "Yes, they are apparently species that attacked Sol, that is abbreviation for Solar system about 435 years ago, that was in the age of rebuilding.

"Oh and we are here." They stopped at a large wooden door. "We call this first contact room you will see copies of our key historical artefacts and art in here. Please do not be frightened, some of them can be unsettling for some species."

"I served in the military, so I believe I will be fine." Replied Captain Voorhas.

Ambassador simply nodded and opened the door. The room was decoraded with golden and silver lining with marble pillars and frescos of arious events. Hunting of a mammoth, March of Legions trough Rome, Destruction of Rome, The middle ages and so on. There were also all sorts of statues and weapons together with a fireplace. In the middle of the room there was a grand table with massive chairs that still looked comfortable.

The two sat across eachother and exchanged basic information for about 2 terran hours, then a second Terran joined them. "This is Kristina Biela she is our expert historian she can explain your questions regarding our history. It was a pleasure to meet you."

---

This is my first story, I plan to write the part 2 today. It is a story from my original universe that I created so I have content for further stories if there would be interest in them.

Furthermore this is a shortened version of the story with less descriptions and conversations if you would like I could expand it, besides that I will be glad for suggestions on how to make my stories better.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LordsOfJoop on 2024-12-25 16:16:59+00:00.

---

"Sir."

The young, frightened private looked to the somewhat distracted veteran lieutenant, motioning to the war-zone outside of the habitat module; in the space between the door and the horizon lay a wasteland of bodies, heaped upon each like discarded toys, and a faint, still-tangible sensation of a tidal force having only withdrawn for the time being, not forever.

"Yes, private?"

The private shuffled nervously, his skin flushed with embarrassment, and then cleared his throat before speaking. "Sir, we.. that is, I.. regret to inform you that our sergeant is, uh.."

"He's dead."

"Sir, yes, sir."

A crude, sloppy salute follows this for some inadequately explored reason, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the lieutenant.

"Good to know. Reinforcements will be here within six to eight hours. We have twice that until the sun rises again. Between then and now, collect up the remaining firepower, organize the wounded, if there are any this time, and set the perimeter guard." The lieutenant paused for a moment. "Also, see to yourself being promoted to corporal, and inform the corporal who was just here she just made sergeant. As you were."

With wide eyes and a slight tremble, the newly-minted corporal could only provide a more assured salute, then give a sharp, short, "Sir-yes-sir" in the proud tradition of the clueless slowly becoming aware of how truly desperate times can become. With that accomplished, the corporal withdrew and the lieutenant was left alone again, still looking out of the window in the habitat.

"We could have made a bridge," he mused, shaking his head softly, his voice a whisper. "Instead, we threw rocks. Shame, really." As he turned, he caught a glimpse of something on one of the command and control monitors - an outlying recon body-cam, still active, capturing video of an enemy troop, one of the mobile horrors which had been assailing his encampment for the last four solid days - always attacking at dawn, when his people were less visually capable, some of them barely awake. A time-honored battle strategy, that.

Approaching the monitor he could see the beast, snuffling loudly, and grunting to its off-screen compatriots, or perhaps talking to itself. That had been observed more than a few times - prayers, perhaps, or just an idle thing, done by the idle soldiery, a constant of the cosmos.

Still, he watched as the monitor told the same story his recon team survivor had, as had the satellite telemetry until it failed and as did the post-mortem of the scant bodies which were recovered from the initial ambush scene. On the screen he could see the beast as it snuffled, drawing in vast amounts of air, and according to reports, memorizing scents for later tracking purposes; reportedly, they could do the same by taste, which elicited more questions that it ever answered, yet that fact, like a rotten tooth, swelled in his mind and lay horrible and eternal.

The beast picked up several shattered weapons, holding them aloft, then began to disassemble them; their reported capabilities as tool-users was far from accurate - the species seemed built to tinker and fiddle and even invent, and his command structure barely accepted them as fellow sapients. After bearing witness to what the "barely sapients" could do, the lieutenant imagined the high command being forced to listen to a sunrise full of shrieks and moans of all-too-familiar voices, faces soon to be erased from future and hope itself.

Again, it began to assemble something anew - endlessly creative, their initial efforts seemed to be based around clubs, then sharpened edges and finally, crude projectiles. Seeing an advanced photon arm-cannon, still oozing the original operator's blood and with two bones jutting from the end of it, as it is being forced into the form of a simple, inelegant spear, it does wonders to one's morale - namely, it gives it a summary execution and a burial in the mud.

What he saw on the monitor, though, it chilled him to the marrow. It held up the gun, in that case a phased plasma rifle, and then chambered a fresh round with a low, ominous humming sound. As the bolt ratcheted back and the primary fuel chamber filled, thus arming the weapon and preparing it to discharge the titanium-beryllium fragment dart at eighteen times the speed of sound, he saw the glee in the beast's eyes as he finally grasped how the world was going to burn, having just mastered the fine art of arson.

"..oh, we are so fucked.."

That assessment had barely left his lips when he heard a smartly-dressed officer enter the habitat by way of the permanently-opened doorway, and cough as to introduce themselves. Turning to face them, his hand was already raised in a salute, crisp and authentic, if automatic, at the officer in question. "Sir," he said, his mouth moving independently. "Welcome to Firebase Six. How can I help? Sir." The last "sir", a hitchhiker to the sentence, leaped away, leaving the saluting lieutenant staring down at what must be the highest-ranking officer yet to visit the planet itself - it being just a backwater hellhole on the ragged edge of contested space, barely worth the munitions it took to destroy what sparse habitation existed on its surface.

"As you were, lieutenant," the colonel said, then migrated to the lieutenant's desk, claiming his chair; being it was once in the custody of the captain running the combat unit to which the fire-base belonged, it becoming elevated in social standing was par for the course. "I'll need refreshments, someone to clean my bunker and an update on the current situation. Command has seen fit to have me oversee what's left of this fight. Your reinforcements are due within the hour." Smirking, the colonel put his feet on the desk, dislodging a few chunks of muddy earth onto some loose, barely-defined paperwork, and then sighed dramatically. "Well?"

Without pause nor apparent inward reflection, the lieutenant spoke candidly. "Sir," he began, "I'd say we have about eighteen or so hours before this isn't our planet any longer." Then he pointed to the monitor. "I just witnessed, as in, within the previous one hundred seconds or so, one of them arming and preparing a Clarvell-Briss phased plasma rifle, then .." He paused. "You.. you really don't know about what happened, do you, sir?"

The colonel, his amusement vanishing rapidly, stood slowly and approached the lieutenant. "You," he began, putting his index finger against the lieutenant's sternum. "Will never presume my knowledge nor experience. I was appraised of your previous commander's absolute and abject failure to maintain order, discipline, sensible conduct and regular communications with high command. Frankly, corporal, and oh yes, it will be corporal by end of day, of this I can assure you, you are being held liable for the failures still echoing. Does this idea penetrate?" With a smirk, he looked down at his subordinate and glared with pride.

To this, the former-lieutenant nodded gravely and spoke with quiet conviction. "With all due respect," he began, "They are only killing the officers and leave the enlisted alone. So, thank you.. sir." Then he beamed brightly, and walked a step back, saluting proudly, and in full line of sight to the doorway - the same one which had been ripped off of the hinges on the first dawn of the attacks, courtesy of just one of the beasts' least efforts. When it pried the captain's head off of his shoulders and did that.. obscene.. biological process to the stump, that seemed the more strenuous activity.

The colonel had only time enough to blink before he turned, facing the doorway, and realized how absurd of a quality target he was - backlit by a monitor, captured in the early evening hours, and with no obstruction provided, a child could make that shot count, and whomever it was, they very much did that very thing.

The hole was the size of a fist when it began at his sternum, and his internal organs simultaneously vaporized and were turned into a thin slurry by the fast-moving darts in the cloud of super-heated hydrogen gas, and his last breath was thrown through the monitor behind him, robbing him of even words at his own demise. Without further ado, the former commanding officer of Firebase Six hit the floor, his wounds dried and devoid of mess - the weapon was known to cauterize what little fluids might leak, what with the majority being drawn from the body so rapidly they tended to look like extended tentacles before splashing to the ground.

As he stripped his uniform of all rank insignia, the newly-minted corporal walked outside, looking up at the deep, rich blue skies overhead, then sighed, relief and joy filling his expression as he saw the first of the beasts beginning to thread their way back into the encampment; as before, none of the enlisted were threatened, simply ignored, as they began their new search for officers to engage in wanton, abject cruelty. It was not the enlisted men who had bombed their homes, shattered the lives and stolen their world - true, some did fight, and those who did were torn asunder, to rise as flame and fall as ashes.

The smarter, wiser troops simply allowed it to happen, and of those, most began to remove their uniforms, walking into the jungle so very much like the ones on their collective home-world. To fight and die on behalf of the distant elite stopped mattering. And so did the corporal join them, merging with the woods, vanishing body and soul, never to emerge again.

B...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1hm3jub/behind_thick_walls/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Spooker0 on 2024-12-25 15:42:34+00:00.

---

Previous

First | Series Index | Website (for links)

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

21 Teamwork I

Grantor City State Security HQ, Grantor-3

POV: Sprabr, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Eleven Whiskers)

“What exactly is the problem here, Administrator Krelnos?” Sprabr asked the shorter female figure in front of him as patiently as he could. This new station director had been giving him a headache for the past couple months. If that Director Svatken hadn’t promoted this one herself, he’d have already done something about her meddling whiskers weeks ago. As it was, she was testing his patience.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Navy Eleven Whiskers,” she answered haughtily, putting a special emphasis on his service as if it were a pejorative. “This is a matter of State Security, not a problem you can simply blow up with one of your ships.”

Sprabr gave her an amused expression. “Station Director Krelnos, I think you will find it easier to do your job here if you can brief us on your intentions so my spacers and Marines can better help—”

“Do not forget your place, Sprabr,” Krelnos replied sharply. “You may be an Eleven Whiskers in the Navy, but the security of this planet is both my responsibility and mine to command. As is the task of wiping out these new Great Predators you people declined to brief me on before your fleet went missing looking for their home system.”

That disastrous decision made by your superiors. Your department… Somehow, you seem to all think it’s my fault now.

He gave her an exasperated sigh. “Of course, Station Director. What do you need from us?”

“Twelve divisions of Marines for the security of Grantor City.”

“Twelve divisions?!” Sprabr exclaimed.

“Do you think that’s too little?” she asked.

“No, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were about to exterminate a whole new predator infestation with that kind of force! There is at most a platoon of Great Predators in Grantor City! Perhaps a more judicious use of force would be an appropriate solution—”

“What’s the problem, Eleven Whiskers?” Krelnos asked silkily. “Is your troop readiness inadequate to supply us with the force we need? Would you like to take full responsibility for that now?”

“That’s not my point—” Sprabr paused and took a deep breath. “Station Director, we are supposed to be withdrawing from this planet soon. Bringing in and landing that many Marines will create logistical issues in even the most well-prepared fleets. And they are additional people that we will either have to evacuate with the fleet or take responsibility for when they fail in their ultimately futile mission in the next few months.”

“Oh yes. Futile! In its infinite wisdom, it appears the Navy has decided that Grantor will be given up on!” she snapped. “That we are going to abandon an entire system— no, an entire constellation of the Dominion to the predators without a fight!”

“Station Director Krelnos, that decision is also corroborated by the calculations and analysis of our—”

“How convenient! That your Digital Guides simply supply you with the exact policy directives that align with your personal preferences!”

Sprabr tilted his head. “What exactly are you insinuating here, Station Director? That I’ve tampered—”

She ignored his question. “Unlike your defeatist officers, Eleven Whiskers Sprabr, I intend to do my job here. Until the abominations invade this system, land their troops on the surface, and physically come here to remove me, I will continue to do the job I was charged to do by my Dominion: pacifying the predators on this planet and preparing it for future Dominion colonization. Until new orders arrive from Znos, I will not assume otherwise and assist you in your scheme to dismantle our own defenses here.”

“That is bordering on— I wish you good luck in completing your mission, Station—”

Krelnos continued without breaking pace, “And for that purpose, I require twelve divisions of your Marines. And well-trained ones this time, not those conscripts you’ve dressed up as Marines like you tried to pull on us last week. I want a well-formulated plan for transporting them here and integrating them into our Grantor City security plans by the end of the week.”

He hid a frustrated sigh. “Yes, Station Director. If that is your directive.”

“It is,” she said imperiously before redirecting her attention back down to the datapad on her desk.

Sprabr waited patiently a moment before he asked, “Can I leave now, Station Director? I have some Navy business to attend to.”

She looked up and smiled thinly at him. “Yes. But your afternoon flight has been cancelled.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your flight. Back up to the fleet. That supply shuttle. I have cancelled it for you.”

His jaw dropped. “May I ask why?”

“You may. You are not allowed to leave Grantor City. Therefore, I have cancelled your flight.”

“Not allowed to— Am I under formal investigation?” he asked, keeping the nervousness out of his voice.

“No. But until you have completed your tasks on Grantor that I have ordered from you, you will stay here. When they are complete, you will be allowed to leave.”

“This is highly irregular!” Sprabr protested. “My duties require that I be with the fleet over Grantor!”

“Do you not recognize my authority — State Security’s authority — over you?” she asked dangerously.

“Of course I recognize your authority, but there is no need for this micromanagement! It is— it is highly inefficient!”

“No matters of State Security are to be considered inefficient,” Krelnos replied matter-of-factly. “Would you like to file a formal complaint against my inefficiency?”

Sprabr waited five heartbeats to calm himself down before he replied, “No. That will not be necessary.”

“Good, I am glad we have an understanding, Eleven Whiskers,” she replied. “If you have any questions about the task I have assigned you, my office is always open to you.”

She didn’t even bother to hide the smug look on her face as Sprabr turned around to leave.

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

Grantor City Safehouse Yankee, Grantor-3

POV: Torsad, Grantor Underground (Department Leader)

As the Grantor Underground expanded its operations across the planet, more areas were now considered safe to operate in, and the Republic operators moved most of their equipment into the basement of a pre-war history museum. The aboveground floors had been ransacked and now served as temporary shelter for hundreds of refugees from the rural areas around Grantor. Sealing off the internal stairways and digging additional escape routes at the insistence of their Terran advisors proved relatively straightforward.

Importantly, the underground sections were powered by backup generators before the Znosian occupation began. The generators were no longer there — looted and taken away long ago, but the separate power infrastructure built into its walls still worked; connecting the adaptive Terran equipment proved trivial.

Department Leader Torsad looked around at their new operations room with pride. It was only accessible to the Terrans and a handful of Granti who had been “read in” into the program, but they’d done their best to make it their new home. More people had been made aware of the Terrans’ existence in the underground since the Battle of Sol, but the Terran Reconnaissance Office still liked its secrets on Grantor kept behind closed doors, armed guards, and self-destructing brain chips.

Today, there were five of them, not counting the Terrans.

Torsad read her latest update from her new tablet, “My action cells are progressing nicely along the metrics we’ve recently set. We’ve cut back further on direct operations and focused more on recruitment training. We are up to two regular divisions in the city in terms of quantity. And they have been trained to activate from cell to army at a moment’s notice… as you’ve instructed. That is the good news for our action cells. The bad news is that supplying them continues to be a challenge.”

Kara nodded. “That is expected. I think we were a little too efficient in sabotaging the Znosian war production facilities in the city. They’re moving the important machinery out to the secondary cities.”

“Possibly,” Torsad admitted. “And it is difficult to smuggle weapons in mass quantities into Grantor City in such a short amount of time, even with the development of our new dedicated logistics cells. If we make them too efficient—”

Mark interjected, “The Buns will find out, yeah. That’s fine. Two understrength divisions are still very good. As long as they can learn and they can fight, we can use them. Keep them on the training programs, keep feeding them, and tell them to keep up the good work.”

“Yes, Director,” Torsad smiled. “On the intelligence front, there is even better news.”

“Better news?” Mark arched an eyebrow.

“We have broken into the State Security main branch office here in Grantor City,” Torsad said to gasps and surprised looks around the circle. “We got ahold of their list of secret collaborators at the office, and a couple of them proved… cooperative with us when given the right incentive.”

“You should have led with that one!” Mark exclaimed. “I thought they stopped using collaborators in their critical installations after that Navy base raid la...

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---

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

Prev | Next

The first Road.

Tarin and Naru both lie on little nests of twigs and leaves in front of me. Mari stands nearby, her usual confident demeanor marred by an anxious wringing of her wings—she knows what this means. Knows what we're risking. There's a decent chance that if I give Naru the ability to remember, he'll... well, he'll have the chance to use it against me.

But I've already decided what to do. The only thing that's right. If it backfires, if he tries to betray me, I'll deal with it then.

For what it's worth, I don't think he will. What he did to try to remember...

I shake my head. All kinds of extreme.

"Are you ready?" I ask. Tarin nods. Mari doesn't speak, although I can tell she's worried. She's trying her best to suppress that worry, to be the pillar of the family in a time of need.

It's unspoken, but we all know that there's a chance this could go very, very wrong. I'm already prepared to pull back and abort on the off chance that I'm not yet strong enough to do what I need to do. If it looks for even a moment like Tarin or Naru are breaking, I'll have seconds to fix whatever happened and repair it or reverse the procedure entirely.

The question is more for myself, really. Ahkelios and Guard stand by at the side, in case something goes awry and they need to help, but the main factor in all this is me. Firmament Control, the Abstract Crown—those things have to be enough for me to figure out what's wrong with Naru's core and repair it. They have to be enough for me to move a piece of the Interface, a Firmament construct so complex I've barely even scratched the surface of what it can do.

I take a deep breath and begin.

"That feel weird," Tarin complains almost immediately. I shoot a look at him and he quiets, though not without shooting me a half-grin that tells me he's messing with me.

I'm going to miss the old crow. No going back after this.

His core is... strange. I feel it out first with my senses, and then with Firmament Control. It's so vastly different from my own that it's hard to even recognize that it's a core at first—it takes me a moment to realize that that's because he's a layer or two beneath me, and his soul isn't quite as clearly defined as mine is.

It's still very much him. I can feel static and lighting sparking against my power as I reach into him with a mixture of Firmament Control and the partial affinity granted by the Abstract Crown. I can feel the Interface shard lodged inside of him, and just looking at it with my senses tells me my instincts were correct.

It isn't just Firmament. Firmament is a bulk of it, yes—the Interface is acting almost like... a receiver? I can't tell what it does, but I can tell that it's a shard of my Interface, and that there's a sort of identifier associated with it. Something that says that this is not just a Trialgoer but the Trialgoer, the center of the loop; something that says that when all of time is reset and rewound, this person's memories must not be touched.

And then accompanying that, there's a Concept. What that Concept is I'm not entirely sure. It takes a moment or two of examination, of trying to pinpoint exactly what it encapsulates, but it makes sense the moment I grasp it.

The Concept of a Fixture. A fixed point in the world as time moves around it. No doubt that same Concept is within me, rooted in every part of my core in just the same way.

In Tarin, though? It's wound around the shard of Interface and digs roots into his core, beating in time with every pulse of Firmament from the Interface. Almost like a heart, actually.

Now that I look more closely at it, it resembles the kind of damage that's been done to Naru. I frown a bit—the pattern of the roots resembles the pattern of the cracks in Naru's core. Surely that's not a coincidence?

The difference, of course, is that the roots do no damage to Tarin's soul. If anything, they create a region of strengthened soul-stuff, around which Firmament seems to be gathering.

A thought strikes me and I pause. I narrow my eyes, examining what's happening more carefully, trying to understand. What if—

"What?" Tarin squawks, looking at me, then at Mari, then at me again. "What happening?"

"I'm still just looking," I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. As much as I understand the anxiety, Tarin keeps twitching in a way that's distracting; I'm starting to worry that he'll talk at the wrong moment and distract me. Maybe we should have put Tarin to sleep for this; I'd suggested it earlier, but Tarin had staunchly refused.

But Mari's got to have a few herbs we could feed to him. Even if she doesn't, Akar almost definitely does. I'm willing to bet she's had to do all this before. "Listen, Tarin, maybe we should just let you sleep through this—"

"No!" Tarin says immediately. "I want see!"

Of course he does. It's the same thing he said before. I sigh, though not without a bit of fond exasperation, and turn my attention back to that region of strengthened soul-stuff.

I'm going to just... ignore the way Tarin twitches at me.

It's hard to put into words exactly what a soul or a core is. It isn't just Firmament, though Firmament makes up a large part of it. It's something more fundamental than that. I struggle to find the word for it. A container?

It's the best word I can think of, though it still doesn't feel... right, exactly. It's a form of Firmament that can create and hold other types of Firmament. It's Firmament that's uniquely yours, that generates and distills and interprets everything else you come into contact with.

Your soul, in other words. Soul Firmament, maybe?

That feels about right. Not perfect, but right. It might be more accurate to simply replace the word "Soul" with the name of the practitioner; Tarin's core is made of Tarin Firmament, for instance. And that shard of the Interface is reinforcing that base layer of Firmament. Reinforcing the element of the soul in one area over all the rest, making one section more... Tarin.

I'm going to stick with the "Soul" term, I think. Mostly for my own sanity.

Either way, that area of reinforced soul is causing all the rest of the Firmament within Tarin to slowly collect around the Interface shard. Around the center of his soul. It's almost like—

[Thread of Insight activated!]

—almost like a proper, fully-formed core.

Like mine.

The Interface helps Trialgoers achieve phase shifts. Is this how it does it? A passive soul-reinforcement that accelerates the gathering of Firmament over time? If I'm right, this makes Tarin a second-layer practitioner, and the action of the Interface shard is slowly nudging him toward the third layer. It'll take time for him to get there, at this rate, but it is helping him.

The notification about the Thread barely registers to me. I blink once to dismiss it, then turn my attention to figuring out how to remove it. If it's so deeply entrenched within Tarin, if it's actually helping him shift to the third layer, then it's going to be even harder to remove. Maybe if I can reinforce it myself, somehow, thread a Concept through those roots to replace the Fixture...

I move away from Tarin for a moment and examine Naru instead, trying to understand the differences, and almost immediately understand what I couldn't before.

The cracks are only cracks because the Concept that once filled them has been withdrawn. I can sense a remnant of them, a sort of residue left behind—Naru's appears to have been Destruction. The Interface fragment within him, however, is a dead thing; it remains connected to the greater constructed, but it doesn't pulse the way mine does.

It's keeping him contained.

That's the first thought that comes to mind. Naru and Versa have both talked about their ability to gain credits from helping in the Trial, but neither of them have talked about progressing in their phase shift—and why wouldn't they, if phase shifts are so important? If a phase shift represents a change in power so drastic that it bridges the gap between skill rarities, then why wouldn't they chase that instead of more skills?

The answer has to be that they can't phase shift anymore. At the very least, it has to be difficult, if the Interface no longer supports the process. Withdrawing those Concept tendrils does a sort of permanent damage that would interfere with any future attempt. It'd be easier to phase shift if they'd just never made contact with the Interface at all.

So... what picture does this paint, exactly? Trialgoers are gathered up for Trials and offered the chance at power. If they succeed, they become leaders on their home planet, nearly unbeatable because of the sheer power they possess compared to the rest of the population. Even when everyone has access to Firmament, the advantage given to the Trialgoers by their skills is insurmountable unless you're a layer or two above them, and without the Interface, no local population is going to be able to reach that point.

But in exchange, those Trialgoers also give up the opportunity for any future, meaningful growth. They can't grow enough to become a th...

---

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---

(I can't believe I forgot to post this back in 2022. PSA: Re-read your story folder to see what your drafts are up to.)

A very young Frey-esh had been stooging round a small solar system on the cold edge of the galaxy, scooping hydrogen from a Zell class system’s gas giant, when he detected the transmissions. After a quick detour, he came across the ship. It was bleeding gasses and broadcasting radio across all spectrums. Scans showed a micro meteoroid had punctured the rear half of the ship. It was a simple repair job for his droids, luckily the rules for first contacts were well written, so he was allowed to help a space faring race. In the time it took his scanners to do their read of the damage, Esh’s computers had analysed and translated the languages in the stricken ship’s data banks. It was odd, Zell class systems rarely had space capabilities.

Captain Loche was surprised when the message came through. At first, he thought it might be the Yanks or the Chinese ships wanted to chat again. The X2056 space race had been a world popular event. The rules were simple, build a ship capable of getting from Mars orbit to the asteroid belt and back, after grabbing a sample form Ceres, Vesta or Hygiea. The first ship to collect the sample and return to earth would win the Space X2 prize. The Scottish entry “Comet II” had used the Solar sails and the ion III boosters to get the early lead, accelerating to their max speed towards Vesta.

After over a month of the acceleration, Loche’s ship had just turned round for the slow down burn (A smart chemical rocket was being used to help give the ions a hand, as the sun was not likely to move to the other side of the solar system, just to allow the solar sails to work.) It was just as the speed had started to drop, that the micro-meteor had hit the ship. The auto systems had blown the booster off and away from the ships as soon as the computers had detected the issue, saving the ship from breaking apart.

Realistically, the chance that one of the other ships would be able to do anything was almost non-existent. While they were required to be able to assist others if needed, the rules had not really been enforced. Loche had sent a message to his family back towards the Phobos tracking station and started to work the problems. Having grown up in a RAF family, Loche knew all the stories about long distance sailors and astronauts who had only themselves and their on-board gear to fix their problems. Sadly, he quickly came to the conclusion that no amount of gaffa tape would allow him to get his Ion III drive working again, and without the chemical engine (Last seen heading up from the elliptical), it would not matter. The Sail and ion drives were good for slow steady acceleration, but the chemical engine was used to help with the deceleration needed for the approach to the asteroid. (The two-part drive would then have been able to be used on the return trip as well.).

 

After a few hours of checking, Loche noticed the flashing light on his comm board. An incoming signal? He had already heard the message from the X2056 Space race committee, they were looking to see what could be done, from a fast burner probe loaded with extra rockets, to seeing if any of the other ships were able to assist. So far, they were working on it. The other ships in the race had all checked in, offering what help they could and his wife had even had time to send a message. No one else was due to contact him for the next few hours, so... who was talking?

 

The voice which came over the radio was obviously a computer generated one, but the surprising thing was when he responded, the answer came back seconds later. “Damaged ship, are you in need of assistance?”

 

The return of the Comet II to Mars was news across the system. The story of the Scottish space ship being towed back to the space station by the “Small” freighter, piloted by the alien being named Frey-esh, would be taught in history books across the Terran system for decades to come. The “alien” who was invited to the Scottish lands owned by Captain Loche’s family, to spend a few weeks in the highlands as a way to say thanks also made the news. It seemed that Frey-esh loved the history of the highlands, and even grew to appreciate the sounds of bagpipes. (Although he had been startled the first evening he heard the piper.)

This first contact opened the human system to the galaxy and spurred trade and technological advancements. The galaxy’s various peoples had been amazed that sentients had evolved on the third planet, having classed it as a death world many millennia ago, and had avoided it since then. It was only that Frey-esh had been scooping hydrogen to refuel his engines that he had been there to hear the distress call.

Humanity would go on to spread across their “sector” of the galaxy, providing a rather unique death worlder’s view on many problems. These ideas, generated and then sold by the humans, would enable them to buy their way up the civilisation ladder and secure their place in their selected systems. This allowed the quality of life in the human held systems to grow to be above the dreams of many of the visiting races. All were welcome as long as they came in friendship.

Being such a successful race did attract a few of the less savory races or organisations in the quadrant. Many thought these newly discovered beings would be a push over and would be enslaved before there could be a response from their patrons.  These same patrons soon learnt that the humans were able to defend themselves. Using weapons and tactics which most attackers would not believe such a young race would have developed to date.

Captain Loche’s family stayed in space, his descendants continued to join the various arms of the United Kingdom or later on, the Kingdom of Scotland’s navies and marine forces.  The family of Frey-esh invested their discovery and rescue bounties well.  Buying a small system in a down spin-ward cluster. Building the system into a great resource and holiday destination. While it was never a rich system, after a few hundred years, Frey-esh and his family were living a comfortable life.

The raiders attacked the main city in the night. Their ships took out the space station and solar light mirrors before Frey-esh could even get out of his bed. The years were starting to take their toll on his frame, even though his species lived for many hundreds of “years” at a time, his had been full, and his joints ached. Looking at the readouts on the forces dropping towards their planet, he realised that they were in trouble. A message was sent off, but the cost of defending such a small system from a group of pirates was mostly out of the range of a planet like theirs. The galaxy was a tough place, and rescuing a small ship was nothing, compared to dedicating space, air and ground forces to defeat pirates.

A local week after the pirates had landed and started to enslave the family and their workers, Frey-esh was looking out the small window in his cell. The pirates had kept him alive to force his family to comply, but were starting to get angry at the continued resistance to their new rule. Just then, Frey-esh say a flash from the sky, as something shot through the sky towards the space port where he had been placed. The pirate’s defence systems did not engage it, as they seemed to think it was just a meteor. As soon as the meteor hit the ground outside the space port, the noise began.

 

Frey-esh heard the sound and started to laugh. His captors came to his cell to demand to know what the sound was, but he was laughing too much to answer. They grabbed one of his daughters and demanded what the sound was, and what it meant. Frey-ews listened for a moment, and started to laugh as well. “Oh, you are all dead… but you might just survive if you surrender now. It is way past the time to run.”

 

The leader of the pirates was no push over. She had claimed a dozen planets for her group, and was wanted in too many systems to count on even her 4 hands. Looking at the eyes of the girl in front of her, she was startled to see the conviction in her captive’s eyes. “What do you mean? Why should we be scared of sound?” Frey-ews looked at the pirate… “if memory serves, the music is “Scotland the Brave”, which has been looping a few times, but dad always told me, once “Caber Feidh” starts to play, you are screwed.”

Just then, the music stopped. The pirate leader looked at Frey-ews, “Ha, the music has stopped, it was nothing... you bluff!” Just then, the music started again, and Frey-esh started to smile… “I know this tune…”

The defensive guns on the grounded pirate ships started to turn towards the sky, then particle beams started to rain down and cleanly pick off the pirate ships and any pirate caught in the open.

Some pirates panicked and tried to run, but none of their ships made it off planet. Any pirate caught outside was killed by a surgical particle beam, shot from a ship too far up to even be seen with the naked eye.

 

The Marine detachment which landed at the space port negotiated the surrender of the last holed up pirates, on the grounds that none of their prisoners were harmed.

Frey-esh was assisted outside to meet the officer in charge. “Sir, Captain Samantha Loche-Winters at your service, glad you are your people are ok.” Frey-esh looked at the force arrayed before him, in parade lines, as if they were ready to meet a primary planet’s le...

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---

Read the first part here: First | Part 2

Other info: My Wiki | My Patreon

---

D’rinn dove behind the console as sparks flew past his helmet, landing with a grunt. The welder-arm of the maintenance bot sputtered like it had a grudge against everything alive, or in D’rinn’s case, unauthorized. “Hey!” D’rinn shouted, peeking out from cover. “You rust bucket! I’m not here to steal your bolts!” The drone froze mid-lurch, its optics flickering erratically. The welder-arm retracted with a jittery motion, but the whirring noise it emitted sounded almost panicked. A garbled, shaky voice followed, a mix of static and distorted syllables: “St, bolts… neg, mine. No steal…ing.”

D’rinn blinked, his antennae twitching. “What the hell was that? Did it just talk?” “It did,” Seriph replied with the vocal equivalent of an eye-roll. “Though its Galactic Standard is, frankly, atrocious. Allow me to translate: ‘Stealing bolts? Negative. My bolts are mine. No stealing.’” D’rinn straightened slightly, his plasma cutter still gripped tightly in one hand. “It thinks I’m here to steal its bolts?!” He laughed incredulously. “What kind of maintenance bot is this?” “The malfunctioning kind,” Seriph replied dryly. “Please avoid further antagonizing it.” The bot’s optics flickered again as it shifted its attention toward D’rinn. Its welder-arm jittered but didn’t extend. A new stream of garbled speech followed. “Unnn-authorizzzed… persss-ss-nel. Danger-sss. Like… othhhh-ersss.” “Translation?” D’rinn prompted, raising a brow.

Seriph sighed. “It says, ‘Unauthorized personnel. Dangerous. Like the others.’” D’rinn lowered his plasma cutter slightly, curiosity overriding his caution. “The others? Wait, there were others? What happened to them?” The drone hesitated, its bent wheel grinding loudly as it shifted its weight. Then it replied, its voice even shakier: “Repelled… otherssss. Success-sssful… mostly. Some… fell… into reactor pit. Not my fault.” D’rinn’s jaw dropped slightly. “Not your fault? Did you just admit to tossing intruders into a pit? !” “It seems logical,” Seriph interjected. “Crude, but efficient. The pit appears to have been the preferred method of conflict resolution.” The bot emitted a high-pitched whirr that might have been agreement. “Protect… ship. Protect protocol-sss. Intruderssss… danger. Must… repel.” D’rinn stared for a long moment, then let out a sharp laugh. “You’re telling me this thing’s been chucking people into a pit for centuries? What kind of ship was this, a deathtrap disguised as a junkyard?”

“Clearly,” Seriph replied, “but it seems you’ve managed to avoid joining the pit’s illustrious list of victims. So far.” “Comforting,” D’rinn muttered. “Real comforting.” D’rinn slowly lowered his plasma cutter completely, taking a step toward the drone. It was in worse shape than he’d initially thought, one wheel wobbled so badly it was barely functional, and several appendages dangled like broken twigs. “Okay,” he said cautiously. “Do you have a name, or do I just call you ‘Rusty’?” The drone whirred loudly, its optics flickering in what seemed like indignation. A burst of garbled noise followed: “Main-ten… ance… Unit 13… tasked… maintain… ship integrity.” Seriph, ever helpful, added, “It says its designation is Maintenance Unit 13. Tasked with maintaining ship integrity.”

D’rinn groaned. “That’s a mouthful. How about Bolt? You know, because you’re clinging to this place like a loose bolt about to fall off.” The drone paused, its optics dimming briefly before replying with a begrudging whirr. “Bolt… designation… accepted… begrudgingly.” “See? Progress.” D’rinn grinned and looked up at the ceiling. “Even you have to admit, that’s better.” “Debatable,” Seriph replied. “Though I’m sure its agreement stems more from desperation than preference.”

D’rinn leaned casually against the console, still catching his breath from their earlier “introduction.” He grinned at the newly-named Bolt. “So, Bolt, what exactly have you been up to on this ancient deathtrap? Because let me tell you, your welcome committee needs work.” Bolt’s optics flickered nervously, and it emitted a jittery whirr before replying in its garbled voice. “Ship… power levels… critical. Protocol active… imminent self-destruction.” The grin melted off D’rinn’s face in an instant. “Wait, what?” He spun toward the ceiling, glaring at nothing. “Seriph, translation. Now.” Seriph’s voice filtered through the comms with its usual dry tone, but there was an unmistakable edge to it this time.

“Ship power critical. New protocol active: Without human restoration, the ship will self-destruct when reserves reach 0.01%.” D’rinn froze, his antennae twitching wildly. “It’s gonna blow itself up?! You couldn’t have mentioned that before I walked in?!” Bolt whirred again, this time with a sound suspiciously like exasperation. “Protocol… standard. Unauthorized… scavenging… must prevent loss… of Terran assets.” “Oh, that’s great. Perfect. The ship’s paranoid. Of course it is.” D’rinn gestured wildly at Bolt. “You’ve built yourself a real palace of sanity, Bolt.” Turning back to Seriph, he asked, “And what’s it at now? 90%? 80%? We’ve got time, right?” Seriph didn’t miss a beat. “0.7%. Time remaining: negligible.” D’rinn threw up his hands. “Oh, fantastic. Why not just blow up now and save us the suspense?” “Logic… flawed,” Bolt interjected, its tone almost affronted. “Cannot… abandon protocol… must protect Terran tech.”

D’rinn groaned, rubbing his temples with his claws. “You’re loyal to a bunch of dead humans who aren’t even here to appreciate it. Fantastic.” He sighed, forcing himself to calm down. “Okay, Bolt, listen to me. How about this: I get you out of here. You ditch this floating death trap, come with me, and—here’s the kicker—I help you find the humans.” Bolt froze, its optics dimming momentarily before flickering back to life. “Humans… real? Locate… possible?” “Possible,” D’rinn replied, shrugging. “Not a guarantee, mind you. I don’t know where they are, but I’m looking for them, too. Call it a mutual project. You help me grab something valuable—a treasure, a relic, something—that might lead us to them, and you can join my crew. Deal?” Bolt whirred, clearly processing. “Join… crew. Temporary authorization? New Captain?” “Yeah, yeah, we can call it temporary,” D’rinn said quickly, waving a hand. “We’ll make it official if we ever find them. What do you say?”

Bolt tilted slightly, a faint grinding noise accompanying the movement. “Terran data… vital. Data core… encrypted. Contains… knowledge. Potential… coordinates.” D’rinn blinked. “The data core? You’re saying it might have coordinates where we can find the humans?” “Possibility… high. Maybe even Earth,” Bolt replied. “But… protocol limits access. Ship… self-destructs without retrieval.” “Well, that’s convenient,” D’rinn muttered, but his expression brightened as he rubbed his hands together. “All right, Bolt. You help me grab that data core, and we’ll make a run for it. Then you’re officially part of my crew.” “Temporary… crew,” Bolt corrected. “Until… humans located.” Seriph sighed audibly. “Wonderful. Now we have two stubborn, outdated relics to deal with.” D’rinn grinned. “Don’t act like you’re not thrilled about it.” He turned back to Bolt. “Now let’s grab that core and get the hell out of here before you and your precious protocols turn us all into space debris.”

The ship shuddered violently as the trio bolted from the control room, the data core clutched tightly in D’rinn’s hands. Bulkheads groaned, and a loud metallic screech echoed through the corridors. “Seriph!” D’rinn shouted. “Give me the fastest way out of here!” “I already have,” Seriph replied. “If you’d stop grandstanding, you might actually make it.” “Helpful as ever,” D’rinn muttered, skidding around a corner. Behind him, Bolt clattered loudly, pausing occasionally to scan a malfunctioning system or realign a wobbling limb. “Bolt, hurry it up! The ship’s gonna blow!” “Integrity… critical. Must… repair.” “Must escape!” D’rinn shouted, yanking the drone forward. “You can fix the next deathtrap, I promise.” The lights flickered again, and a massive section of the corridor collapsed behind them with a deafening crash. “Captain, I suggest less sarcasm and more speed,” Seriph quipped. D’rinn gritted his teeth as the exit hatch came into view. “Almost there, Bolt! You’re not ditching me for a reactor pit today.” The drone whirred loudly; its optics fixed on the hatch. “New Captain… priority. Escape imminent.” They dove through the airlock just as the ship trembled violently, its structure on the verge of total collapse.

D’rinn barely stumbled into the cockpit, clutching the glowing data core as the derelict ship behind them began its final collapse. Alarms blared throughout the Wanderer, the entire vessel trembling from the shockwaves of the detonation. “Get us out of here, Seriph!” D’rinn barked, slamming into the captain’s chair. Seriph’s voice crackled through the comms, as dry as ever. “I was waiting for your dramatic order. Engaging engines now.” The Wanderer lurched forward, engines roaring to life as it rocketed away from the imploding dere...

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Chapter 1

Chapter 12

Sanctum - the following day. 

We were working out when Sarge found us and barked, « Listen up. »

We all dropped our exercises and paid attention to the Sarge. 

« Command wants us to look at this. I don’t know what it’s about but Command was adamant we watched this. So sit your ass down and pay attention. »

We all looked at each other and wondered. Would this be footage of the Fall? 

The stream started and we immediately saw that it wasn’t. It was the video feed from a unit during an op. The screen was split in six squares. All were showing similar footing. The inside of a drop ship.

From the date on the bottom, it was two weeks old. 

It started with deployment from the carrier. Soldiers speaking softly, checking gear, shooting the breeze, checking weapons and ammo. Pretty normal. The soldiers didn’t speak much. Just the usual. Pass me this. All checks done? Normal pre-deployment speak. 

Then it was the launch tubes. God, I hate those things. Sure, I understood the theory. Launch tubes meant deployed personnel was indistinguishable from the rest of the falling garbage the Navy launches ahead of time to camouflage our arrival. We were just one more rock thrown at the planet. Sure, I understood the maths and how proceeding this way increased our chances of hitting the ground by 14.3%. And sure, I understood that the kinetic force of a falling trooper impacting the ground created a crater ten meters in diameter that was cleared of anything offensive. But it still sucked being shot out of a ship at just shy of 200 km/h and sent barrelling towards the ground, usually into incoming flak. According to the numbers, only 24% of deployments ever reached the ground. And let’s not talk about success rates when they were actually on the ground.

Anyway, we watched in dread fascination as soldiers were swatted out of the sky like so many flies. That’s when it hit me, these guys hadn’t been Augmented like us. These were normies. The camera panned from side to side and I saw thousands of troops being deployed. Fuck me ! It wasn't thousands, it was hundreds of thousands, maybe more. In any case, this was one hell of a deployment. Why the Hell weren’t we part of it? Why weren’t we even read in?

There were bursts of plasma coming from the ground and as the camera panned out again, we could now see thousands of flaming meteors falling to the ground. The screams of burning soldiers could be heard even through the screen. The six different angles showed pretty much the same thing.

« This is what we have been throwing at the bugs for the moment. Walls of men and women ready to give their lives so that Terra can endure. »

I felt an irrational anger at the Sarge and, under my breath, I corrected, « Holy Terra. »

The feed cut and now, we were watching the view of point of a soldier on the ground. Evidently, some had made it. Again, the camera panned from side to side and we saw a sight of desolation. It was an alien world in all the meanings of the word. Three rings could be seen in the sky, a strange hew of purple in a sea of red. The landscape was lunar, craters all the way to the horizon. There was a mountain range off to the right. I automatically looked for this soldier’s bearings so I could correct myself. West. Off to the west. As the soldier stayed on target, I realized that these were not just mountains. Some were structures sticking out from the ground. Plasma flak emplacements. As the soldier looked around the red land, we saw that there were already troops on the ground. They were off to the South of the soldier’s view point. About two klicks. Around the soldier, there were people screaming, howls of pain and shrieks of fear. My brain went into high gear and I tuned out the distraction. Focus. Identify the source of danger. Determine location. Type of threat. Number. I could feel my mind accelerate and pull me down a rabbit hole.

Sarge brought me out of it when he added, « At this point, the Silent Watchers had been deployed on the infested moon of Hittath thirteen hours. This is the most « successful » deployment we have had since the beginning of the war. Thirty-four million troops deployed. »

The video went on and through the shaky view, I realised that the ground wasn’t naturally red. The squelching from boots told me all I needed to know about the origins of that red hew. As I watched, I could *feel* their terror, the panic. The erratic movement, the constant shifting of position. Eyes everywhere. Calls for help, for guidance. 

« How many of them made it back, Sarge? »

Sarge coldly said, « Sixty-two. »

No one disputed the number, nor did we comment on it. Sixty-two out of millions. Sixty-two who had looked in the face of death and had come back to tell the tale. 

The feed went on, « Come on, Jimmy! We’ve got to move. Come on! »

The soldier looked at a young man who seemed to be frozen in place. He was white-faced, fear written all over his features. He was clutching his weapon and stammered, « What’s the point? We’re out of ammo. What’s the goddamn point? We’re going to die here. We’re all going to die. »

The soldier slapped « Jimmy » and shouted, « Get it together, soldier. We move, we live. We stop, we die. Now on your feet, Soldier, Terra needs you. »

That seemed shake the soldier out of his state and he got up, saying, « And I answer her call. »

I could feel his pain, his fatigue, his resolve. I looked around the room and saw the same look of pain written on the faces of the other soldiers around me.

There came a crash from the screen and we saw a swarm of Bugs bursting into the area the two soldiers had taken a breather. The feed became chaotic again, broken images of laser bolts, plasma blasts, pincers and stingers. Move, soldier. Incoming left high. I was there with them. Dodge, you bastard, dodge. The feed shifted as this soldier swung his weapon at the bugs, clubbing one on the side of the head. That’s it. Fight! The bug fell to the ground and Jimmy was right there on it, hitting it with the butt of his rifle, striking it again and again and again. 

Plasma rained down upon the two as the soldier ducked behind a rock. He looked around and saw that Jimmy hadn’t been quick enough to take cover. His body fell to the ground slowly, a fist-sized hole burnt into his chest. The soldier shouted, « Jiiiiimmmmmyyy!!!!! »  

The soldier then threw caution to the wind and broke cover. He rushed the swarm, swinging his club, howling like a wounded animal. He would die. He knew that. We knew that. But he would go out swinging. He rushed the Utkan warrior too quickly for it to react. He was within the Utkan’s reach but it could do nothing to stop him. He brought the butt of his rifle down onto one of the bug’s spindly legs, again and again and again. The leg snapped but it didn’t seem to phase the bug all that much. There was an increasing in the clicking but the Utkan have no problem killing their own. The bugs quickly surrounded their wounded comrade but the soldier didn’t seem to have noticed. He was sill trying to break the Utkan’s legs. Not that he was having much luck. A kick from the wounded bug sent the soldier’s weapon flying but he didn’t even seem to notice. With his weapon wrenched from his grip, the soldier resorted to using his fists. He punched and scratched and kicked and bit. In the end, he only stopped when an Utkan struck him in the chest. 

The feed suddenly stopped and we were back in that room as Sarge said, « This is what the common soldiers have been up against. Scenes like this have multiplied over hundreds of the theatres in the region.»

N’Guyen signed himself and muttered, « My God. »

Jenkins called out, « Why weren’t we told, Sarge? »

There was a grumble of assent among us. We could have changed things. Maybe there weren’t enough of us to turn the tides of war but we might have been able to do something. These men were dying by the millions and we are skulking in the dark, killing diplomats?! What the Hell?! This is not what we volunteered for, not what we were built for.

I yelled, « We need to get to the front, Sarge. We need to help. »

« It’s too late, Specialist. The battle is over. We lost. As I said, only sixty-two got out of that hell hole. And those soldiers are broken. »

Hasan’s voice then rang out, cool and collected as usual, « Why did Command want us to see this ? »

Sarge carefully said, « New strategies. »

I looked confused at the Sarge and he added, « Our soldiers’ standard weapons did nothing against the Bugs. Only the heaviest of armour-piercing rounds seem to do anything. »

Blake slowly said, « Crushing their heads in seems to work well enough. »

I nodded, « Melee seems to work on them. »

Sarge nodded, « Exactly. It looks like when the engagement with the Bugs tends to drag on, blunt force trauma is a viable option. »  He then humourlessly scoffed, « With all our technological advances, it still comes down to stick and stones. »

Jenkins drily joked, « Maybe I should get rid of my sniper scope and throw stones at the Bugs instead. »

Blake interjected, « Knock it off, Kitten. »

Kitten and Blake use the RN 13 sniperscope. If you ask me, they’re bitch weapons. Sneaky things sure, they can hit a tango at 6 klicks accurately. Silent as fart in the wind too. These sneaky bastards wo...

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First / Previous / Royal Road

XXX

It was a gentle knock on the door that awoke Pale and Kayla early the next morning. Pale immediately sat up straight in bed, one hand reaching for her knife, while across from her, Kayla let out a wide yawn as she turned over onto her side.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily. "Trick question… whatever time it is, it's too early…"  

"It's about eight in the morning," Pale informed her. "And we should be getting up, considering we have class today."

"Do I have to…?"

"Yes, Kayla."

Kayla let out a disappointed grumble even as she finally sat up in bed and stretched her arms out, another yawn escaping her as she did so. Pale rolled her eyes at the sight of it, but threw the covers off herself all the same and made her way to the door, one hand keeping her knife held behind her back. Truthfully, she didn't want anyone – or Sven, rather – to be dumb enough to try and attack the two of them at this point, but she also wouldn't entirely put it past him, either.

She was relieved when she threw open the door and found Professor Virux standing there instead.

"Good morning," he greeted the two of them.

"Good morning, Professor," Pale replied. "What brings you here?"

"Two things, as a matter of fact," Virux answered. "First, I understand you have another of those weapons. I'm not going to ask where you got it from, both because I don't want to anger you and because I suspect I wouldn't like the answer. Instead, I'm just going to request that you kindly turn it over to me for safekeeping, same as the other two."

Pale frowned, but didn't argue, instead giving him a nod. "Very well. Wait here."

With that, she turned and stepped back into her room, placing her knife on the table and reaching for her shotgun. She worked the action a few times, unloading the shells that had been loaded into it already, then inspected the chamber and magazine tube. After confirming the gun was now empty, she headed for the door again, opening it and offering Virux the weapon stock-first.

"Here," she said.

"Thanks," Virux replied, taking possession of the gun. He went to tuck it under his arm, only for Pale to suddenly hold out a hand.

"Stop," she said, causing him to freeze. "Point the front part skyward and carry it like that."

"Uh, okay," he awkwardly replied as he re-positioned the gun the way she'd requested. "Is there a particular reason for-"

"Peace of mind," Pale specified. "It is currently inert and not capable of firing – I just saw to that myself, in fact – but it's good practice not to go pointing it at anything you don't intend to destroy, even if it's inert."

Virux nodded along with her words. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." Pale breathed a sigh of relief. "What was the second thing you came here for?"

"The headmaster wanted me to inform you that he's granting you and the other survivors the next few days off class," Virux said to her.

Pale's brow furrowed. "I appreciate the gesture, but I don't need-"

"He was adamant that you accept," Virux specified. "Pale, you've been through a lot these past few days. All of you have. This is for your own good."

"Hm. I take it this isn't a request, then?"  

"No. In fact, if I catch you or any of the others in my class over the next few days, I will recommend disciplinary action be taken, as will the other teachers." Virux's gaze softened. "I understand that you're trying to move forward, but everyone has a breaking point, even if it takes a while to reach for some people. Consider this the school intervening before it gets that bad."

"Again, I appreciate the gesture, but if I fall behind because of this-"

"You won't. If you or the other survivors need additional help as a result of skipping classes, we are happy to accommodate you. The important thing now is that you all get some rest and relax. Do you understand?"

Pale let out a tired sigh, but nodded nonetheless. "I understand. I'll take the rest of the week off."

"Good." Virux breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that's all I came here for, really. If you'll excuse me, I have to go prepare for the other students." He peered past Pale into her room. "Kayla, I take it you'll be there?"

Kayla didn't respond. Pale turned around and found that she'd fallen asleep again, her legs stretched off her bed and touching the floor. Pale gave her an un-amused look before turning back to Professor Virux.

"She'll be there," she promised. "I'll make sure of it."

"I know you will," Virux told her. "I must be going, then. I hope you'll take my words to heart and give yourself time to relax, Pale. Gods know you all need it after the nightmare you just went through."

"I will. Thanks, Professor."  

Virux merely gave her a nod, then turned and began to walk down the hall, no doubt heading for his own classroom. Pale didn't bother to watch him go, instead shutting the door behind her as she marched over to Kayla's bed, took hold of the sheets, and pulled as hard as she could. Kayla fell to the ground a few inches below, where she woke with a yelp.

"Hey!" She fixed Pale with a harsh glare. "That was a good dream, Pale!"

"Another hour or so and it would have turned into a nightmare when you accidentally skipped class," Pale informed her.

Kayla gave her a low grumble as she picked herself up off the floor. "What did Virux want, anyway? I remember he stopped by just before I passed out again."

"He came to collect my weapon and force me to take the rest of the week off school." Pale let out a tired sigh. "I tried to tell him I didn't need it, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. So I guess now I have nothing to do during the day for the rest of the week."

"Well, he's not wrong," Kayla pointed out. "Taking it easy for the next few days is probably warranted after what happened."

"You and I both know I've been through way worse than that."

"I know, but still, it's worth heeding his advice. When was the last time you really sat down and tried to relax, anyway? Actually, don't answer that – I know the answer is never." Pale gave her a pointed look, and Kayla rolled her eyes. "Come on, you know I'm right."

"...Okay, maybe so," Pale reluctantly conceded after a moment's pause. "But that leaves me at a loss for things to do in the absence of school. Especially since you won't be around during that time."

"There's plenty to do around here," Kayla pointed out. "You could read through some of the books in the library, or work out, or go out on the town…" A thought occurred to her, and her face lit up. "Wait, wouldn't Valerie have the rest of the week off, too? You and her could do something together. You know, as friends."

Again, Pale hesitated. "...Perhaps."  

"See? You don't hate the idea."

"How do you know?"

"Because six months ago you would have dismissed it outright, but instead, you just implied you'd be open to it." Kayla flashed her a smile. "You're making progress. Not sure towards what, exactly, but hey, progress is progress."  

"I suppose," Pale offered. "You should probably get in the bath and grab some breakfast, Kayla. You don't have much time before class."

"Shoot, you're right. Okay, fine, you've weaseled your way out of this one. But just know that I'm proud of you for being less of a grump than usual."

"A grump…?" Pale echoed, though she didn't get a chance to get Kayla to elaborate before her friend stepped into the attached bathroom and shut the door behind her. Pale exhaled through her nose, then laid back down on her bed, placing her hands behind her head as she did so.

A lot had happened over the past few days, and she was still trying to make sense of it all, but at the very least, Valerie wasn't going to be her enemy anymore. That was a small victory, she supposed.

Of course, it also meant that she was going to have to actually socialize with her, which despite not being completely unappealing, was still not something she was necessarily looking forward to. But if that was the price to pay for having a new confidant, then so be it.

"What are you doing?" Pale asked herself under her breath. "You know this is just going to make leaving even harder. So why keep doing it?"

Somehow, she couldn't come up with an answer either way.

XXX

The rest of their morning played out the way it normally would – Kayla finished up in the shower not long after, and together, her and Pale met Cal and Cynthia in the mess hall for a quick breakfast before the three of them left for class. Pale, meanwhile, stepped out of the cafeteria, and was immediately struck by a feeling of unease.

It didn't take her long to realize what it was.  

"Huh. So that's what boredom feels like."

She'd never been familiar with the feeling before now. There'd always been a mission or a training exercise to run through during her time serving the military, and even when she was spending several decades floating through space, she'd been able to put herself into hibernation. Then she'd arrived planetside, and her mission had continued.

She wasn't used to having this much downtime, and for the first time in her life, Pale didn't know what to think or do.

Kayla had given her some suggestions to help fill the g...

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Baugh took the insult for what it was, an attempt to provoke him into making a mistake. Her arrows had struck true, evident in the corpses around them, and his sword had been lodged in a bone possibly dulling the blade and making it less effective. She wore no armor, but she didn't need any either. As a Dryad, she need only reach a tree before he reached her.

On the other hand...

Baugh relaxed his stance, whiping his sword on a rag and trying to feel for any.damage that would require sharpening.

"You.fight well, I'll grant you that." He said as he carefully probed the sword for any nicks or burrs. "I also acknowledge the ground favors you and your bow. I was on my way back to inform the Wagon Master that we have located the Warren and intend to attack it at dawn."

"I see," Maeve replied, "you don't trust me near the farm boy and my abilities could come in handy as a rear guard. I want a quarter of any bounty and a tenth of any loot."

"A twentieth of any bounty and we split any loot equally." Baugh countered. "Five men are going into that hole, I will not deny them the reward for their work."

"An equal share of nothing is nothing." Maeve pressed. "I have right to two already, I demand the bounty on one you killed as well for my assistance paid now in silver and any I kill while watching the Warren."

She struck a hard bargin but the safety of the caravan was paramount. Any goblins that got past the Bloodhounds he would have to contend with and an archer that could be any place at any time would be an asset if she didn't turn on him.

"Agreed." He said while fishing three coins out of his purse.

"You're coming as well farmer, lest you wander off again."

/////

Tym stood staring into the darkness, just beyond the torch light Dalen and his men had begun their way into the Warren. 'So this is what warriors do' he thought to himself. Dawn was still an hour or so off and this whole thing seemed boring.

"Keep your guard up Farmer," Baugh said, as if reading Tym's mind. "Anything that comes out of that hole ain't going to be friendly."

"Dalen isn't friendly?" Tym asked,sarcasm evident in his words.

Maeve snickered to herself. "His hoe might be dull but his wit is sharp."

Baugh spat but kept his silence, more focused on the cave in the distance than the bait right in front of him. Tym felt the blade on his hoe to see if it really was dull. Maeve didn't have a problem seeing them in the dark, even without the assistance of a torch, and shook her head.

"You humans are no fun at all."

"My hoe isn't that dull." Tym replied.

"Quiet." Baugh commanded.

Light spilled from the cave entrance, the flickering of a torch bearly visible but coming closer.

"Well that's disappointing." Tym said quietly.

Baugh braced in the darkness slowly drawing his sword and moving away from the torch light.

"Quiet damn you."

"I thought being a warrior would be more exciting is all."

"Stupid boy," Baugh breathed, "Dalen went in with a lantern."

"But..."

Before he could get the rest of the words out a pack of Goblins ran into the open hooting and howling, heading strait for Tym. Arrows flew from the shadows to his right as Baugh ran in from the left hacking at anything in his way. Tym was stunned by how many there were. Golden hungry eyes seemed to see only him, twisted hands holding crude weapons ready to smash and slash him.

"MOVE YOU DOLT!"

Another arrow flew just past his ear, taking a hoblin in the eye less that a few paces away and Tym snapped out of his stupor. Swinging his hoe he was able to take down a other but there seemed to be a torrent of the vile creatures.

Broken from the spell of fear, Tym swung wildly into the goblins. The sickening thunk of broken heads and bodies seemed to feed the bile threatening to come.up from his stomach. With every one that fell, another seemed to take its place, baleful eyes and hateful scream ready to strike him down. Their stench was overwhelming, rotted pelts and unwashed bodies, even their foul breath from their wicked teeth seemed to be a weapon designed to inspire terror in the mind of their victims.

Maeve and Baugh worked quickly, and Tym caught the occasional glimpse of a blood coated sword or the whistler of an arrow finding its mark. What had seemed like hundreds before had thined to dozens, bodies stacked hip high, ugly piles left in the growing light as dawn approached. Dalen and his men had made their exit from underground some time in the fierce melee and the goblins that remained had turned to face them, desperate to return to the safety blocked by the Bloodhounds. It was a surreal sight, macabre pillars of greenish grey flesh, but the battle had turned enough that Tym felt a sense of pride swelling inside him.

"TYM!"

Goblins are sneaky by nature, and as Tym began to move in a hand reached out to snare him from the corpses. Another rose up as he fell back, screaming victoriously as it brought a small tree stump down on Tym's head. There was no time to dodge ahead he was pinned by the hand that caught his ankle fast. He could do nothing but watch as the makeshift club followed its path to find his head.

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[First] Prev / Next

“I… I need to go.” I moved to stand, but Anna clung tighter to me.

“Please don’t go.” Her voice was small and soft, making my brain war with my heart on just what action to take.

I reached down and gently took her small hand in mine. “Anna, please,” I whispered, my throat tight.

I felt her fingers dig into my belly painfully as she shook her head against my back. I could feel my shirt growing damp where her face rested against my warming body. “No, Jack. Please stay,” she sniffled.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, struggling to force my breathing to be even. It was a losing battle that I valiantly fought to the end. Eventually, I opened my eyes to the ceiling, feeling the scalding tears course down my cheeks, blurring my vision. “Why? Why couldn’t they all just leave me alone?” I whispered to the air.

As if on cue by a sadistic ringmaster, my memory assaulted me with the faces of those I’d killed. From Marge to the many nameless faces I’d killed just to stay alive while I was homeless and wandering, all the way back to just a few days after graduation. Michael Algoode. A kid with an equally useless power at the time. All he could do was change the color of something. From whatever to whatever.

See, by the end of school, I’d already found that my doors could breach walls and buildings. A somewhat useful ability, but one that was overshadowed by so many others. But not to Michael. He was jealous; and like most jealous kids, he wanted what he couldn’t have. But, as everyone knows, abilities can’t be given or traded. So, he opted for the second approach.

If he couldn’t have it, nobody could.

He cornered me late one evening outside near the slums. I’d gone for a walk to clear my head after panhandling on a corner, heading to a defunct warehouse near the docks that I had been using for shelter.

“Well, if it isn’t the doormat. What’s wrong, Doormat? Parents don’t love you? Nobody there to take a loser like you in?” He snickered, thinking he was clever.

“Come on, Mike. I just wanna go to sleep, man. Can you leave off for the evening?” I remember shifting to my left, trying to keep him in the streetlight.

“You wanna sleep, loser? You don’t deserve that power, you know. Maybe I should let you sleep for good. Let that power go to someone who doesn’t suck at everything.” A knife slipped into his left hand. It glinted in the streetlight.

“Dammit, Mike. Leave me alone.” I held my hands up and started to back away, knowing that I could never outrun him. He had been one of our top sprinters.

“You know you’ll never get out of here alive, don’t you? And your lame ass can’t even fight back. Good thing nobody’ll miss you.” He swiped at my eyes a couple of times in quick succession.

I couldn’t help myself. I turned and ran. I could hear him laughing at me as he chased me, felt my shirt get sliced into ribbons with him just a hairsbreadth from doing me any serious harm. Every so often I felt a hot lance of pain swipe across my back as the tip of his knife scored my tender flesh. Just enough to spur me on.

Eventually I got winded, and tripped over a curb, sliding face first across the concrete. Mike kicked me in the side until I turned onto my back. I saw him brandishing the knife in a duelist's grip, a bloodthirsty grin on his face.

It was the last time he ever smiled. It was also the first time I found out I could create a door not just on a building, but on a person.

A small door appeared on his shoulders, bisecting his head from his body. I saw his eyes roll back in his head as he fell, the door crashing open, arterial blood spurting across the cars and the street. I vomited next to his still-warm corpse in horror. What had I done*?*

Knowing I’d be suspected if it were found, I dissolved my door, and took the knife from his twitching hand. It now rests in a very secure and special place that I try to never visit.

I ran all the way to my hiding spot near the docks, the image of Michael’s headless corpse forever burned into my brain. I opened a door in the side of the building and darted inside, tears streaming down my face. I dropped the knife just inside the building, and collapsed into a sobbing mess.

I couldn’t bring myself to leave the warehouse for days, certain the police were just outside, waiting to pick me up. I’d just killed a man. Sure, I’d done it out of desperation, to preserve my own life. Certainly it could be justified. My shredded shirt and scored flesh were proof enough of the intent behind Michael’s murderous rage. It still didn’t sit well with me then, though. I’d killed someone. Only bad people did that. I wasn’t a bad person, was I? Was I?

I didn’t know then, and I still didn’t know now. The string of bodies I’d left in my wake was proof enough that I had a screw loose. Right? Yesterday, I’d have said yes.

Now, though? I wasn’t so sure.

I slowly brought myself under control over many long minutes, with Anna clinging to me in her death grip. I heard Bethany’s chair slide across the floor and a few moments later, an ice pack was draped across my face. I heard the subtle creaking of wood as Bethany reassumed her seat, then her chair scooted some more and I felt her cold hands take mine and place them on the ice pack.

“Take your time, Jackson. We aren’t going anywhere, and if my little Anna has anything to say about it, neither are you.”

I felt my midsection quiver as my surroundings slammed back into me, realization of what was happening finally entering my awareness. Anna, her tiny, sensitive hands gently caressing my roiling muscles still sat behind me, my anchor to the here and now.

I pressed the ice pack into my face, willing it to leech the excess warmth from me. I felt raw, weak and most of all, I felt exhausted. I sat that way, face tilted to the ceiling, until I felt that my breathing had become more regular and even, and only then did I let my neck relax, even as my breath hitched once or twice. I shifted, gently displacing Anna, and planted my elbows onto the table and rested that way, my face buried in my hands, for a few minutes more.

Anna refused to leave me be, and forced her way into my lap, where she sat, her head resting on my shoulder, as mine slowly buried its way into her neck. She was gently rubbing my back as tears silently rolled their way down my cheeks. After a few minutes, I slowly sat up straight, looking at her sad face. She reached up and carefully wiped a few stray tears from my cheeks with her thumbs.

“Hi Jack. Welcome back. Beth’s right. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. No more running. No more hiding. Okay, honey?”

I nodded, sniffling. “Yeah. Okay.”

“She’s right, Jackson. I’m… I’m sorry to have brought this up and ruined dinner.”

In response, I held out my arm, and motioned her closer. Once she was in range, I swept her into a gentle hug. “Thanks Bethany. You… You didn’t ruin dinner. My past did.” I directed my gaze to Anna. “I hope you understand better now just what you’re getting into, Anna. I’m broken. I’ve done terrible things in my past, and I’m not the most stable of people, nor am I one of the good ones.”

Anna took my cheeks in her hands and planted a soft kiss on my lips. “You’re good enough for me, Jack. Remember that, okay? Even if you don’t feel like you’re good, remember that I think you’re good enough for me.”

“Yeah. You’re not so bad, Gigantor. I see why she cares so much for you.” She gave me a gentle squeeze.

I sniffled once and took a deep breath. “Alright, alright. Enough with the sappy stuff, okay? I ain’t used to it, and it’s kinda making me feel weird.” I opened my arm and Bethany stepped back a bit, but kept a hand on my shoulder.

Anna leaned back, her hands locked behind my neck. “You mean I gotta move?”

A thousand and one ideas raced through my head, and I grinned. “Nah. You’re tiny.” I stood, cradling her butt with an arm, hearing her delighted giggle, as I moved my chair with the other. “Now which way is the TV again?”

**********

“Rise and shine, Gigantor.” Bethany gently shook me awake.

I blinked several times and stretched languidly. “Hrmm? What- what’s going on?”

Anna placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of my face. I gratefully took the bitter, black, lifegiving brew, sipping it gently. “It’s about nine in the morning, Jack. You passed out on the couch, and neither of us had the heart to wake you. Besides, you looked awful cute all curled up there.” Her impish smile brought a similar one to my own face.

I sipped more of the coffee. “So… now what?”

Anna came around and sat beside me, shrugging her shoulders. “I dunno. What do you want?”

I yawned. “Well, what I want is breakfast. I don’t know what you ladies have here, but that’s what I want.”

Bethany smirked. “Well, I’m sure Anna has some eggs you could scramble.”

“Oh my god*, Beth!*”

I choked on the coffee, feeling scalding bean water shoot from my nostrils. Anna went crimson, hiding her face in her hands as Bethany clutched her sides, laughing loudly. It took me a few minutes to recover.

“While that would be enjoyable for us, I’m afraid it doesn’t answer the need for food,” I said, once I had recovered sufficiently.

Bethany snickered a bit more. “True. How about we go out for breakfast? My treat?”

I looked over at Anna, who shrugge...

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The brothers helped me into the transport once they returned from their exploration. They’d found several gems they thought might be useful but not a single other monster. Elicec believed the big thing had been consuming everything else that came near, which explained why it immediately attacked us. They had jumped up to the mid-seventies in levels as well and were pretty happy about that. I was just glad for the comfort of the transport’s seats. I was going to need at least a day off, possibly two before we did another dungeon, but hey, at least we weren’t dead. Mel couldn’t yell at us for that one.

Sadly, playing around in the simulator likely wasn’t worth it yet. None of the dungeons had enough monsters in a way that I could abuse them, being weaker for mass amounts of experience. I needed some dungeons that gave me fights with higher base amounts of experience. Fights I could win would also be preferable.

The trip soon came to an end and we walked back into the adventurer hall, some of us better than others, ready to tell Mel of our new success. Instead, there was a very human-looking man sitting in front of Mel’s usual counter with Mel floating behind him. Mel's eyes kept darting between us, the newcomer. Something was up.

“Ah, Mr. Imogen and his teammates Cecile and Elicec, glad to see you’ve returned in one piece. Your local adventurer hall representative was kind enough to let me wait here with him for your return,” the man spoke first.

“Thanks, but it’s mostly only true on the outside. Some things are still fixing themselves internally. Is there something we can help you with?” I asked, paying close attention to Mel’s eyes. They seemed to be screaming for me to be careful.

“Mostly you, but as I understand, you are officially registered as a team, so it is perhaps best if they hear this as well. It has come to the attention of certain interested parties that the prisoner universe of Sanquar has been connected to Spiral, and you, Mr. Imogen, are from that universe. I’m here to offer you some assistance. I’ve been told that you are doing remarkably well so far despite some unsavory influences initially.” I was sure he was talking about Elody, and as much as I wanted to call him on it, Mel’s eyes continued their silent pleas.

“Thanks again, we’re trying our best,” I said. Would he notice if I upped my presence in the middle of this conversation? Probably best not to risk it.

“Yes, and I would like you to continue to do so. In a couple of months, we should have this whole Sanquar issue entirely under wraps, and when that happens, I’d like to sponsor you for the Arena. How does that sound?” Mel’s eyes quickly dart from side to side.

“Well, it sounds nice and all, I haven’t fully decided if the Arena is something I want to do. Any chance I could think on til you take care of the other problem, and we could discuss it then?” I asked, stamping my foot down, with what I was sure was much more pain for me than him, onto Cecile’s foot when he started to speak.

“We’ve been debating about possibly going down the dungeon raiding path instead of the Arena climbing,” Elicec said, helping me cover up whatever Cecile had been about to say.

“Oh, that would be a great path, too. Either way, I believe my sponsorship would be of great benefit. Thank you for understanding, and I’m glad this was such an easy conversation. I look forward to our next meeting. It’s been great seeing you again as well, Mel. Goodbye, gentlemen,” the man said, disappearing in a flash of light.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mel held up his hand to stop me. Several smaller Mel forms broke off from his main body and began floating all over the room. Each of them was emitting a small light from its eyes as it moved. I pulled out a chair and sat down as we waited, the pain in my body no longer letting me stay standing. It took nearly half an hour, but finally, all the little clouds returned to his main body.

“Alright, it’s safe to speak now; good job. I really thought we were screwed there for a minute. I had no idea you were so capable of going toe to toe with someone like him,” Mel said. I had no idea exactly what he was talking about.

“I didn’t know there was another Twinog in the greater Spiral. I thought we were the only ones. And why’d you stop me from talking anyway, Dave? I just wanted to know which village he was from,” Cecile said. So the man wasn’t a human after all, he was just appearing that way to me.

“That wasn’t a Twinog Cecile. You have to invest some points into interactions, brother. I can’t always be saving you from every charlatan that comes along,” Elicec said.

“I think there might be a second way if it helps Cecile. Extreme pain will make it harder for them to manipulate you. I have nothing invested in my interaction attributes either, and I thought he was human until your brother said something. Here’s to a broken spine. Apparently, it’s sometimes useful,” I said sarcastically. The pain was not worth the trade-off.

“He certainly ain’t human or twinog, and I couldn’t even say for sure if he was a man, but that’s what I’ve always known Korl as, so it’s the best I have for you. Good job at not giving him any definite answers. I don’t think he had any binding fields up, but still best practice to be very careful how you talk to these types. So, what are your plans now? Looks like you do have the option to stay here and ride out this whole mess. Probably a lot more likely to keep you alive, too,” Mel said. If Mel was implying I was remotely interested in Korl’s offer, he was incredibly wrong.

“Nothing has changed. I assume Pryte knew this was coming and why he gave me the warning. I also assume you had some idea as well, but can’t say anything due to how you got it. We have a few weeks remaining, then we have to go back to Earth, deal with the Orcish invasion and then figure out whatever comes next with Sanquar,” I said. The priority, as it had always been, was saving my family and the planet.

“Glad to hear it, and yeah you’re on the right track there with your assumptions. That guy and who he represents are slimy as hell, but they have far more power and resources than anything we can dream of, so right now, the only thing keeping y’all safe is carefully staying inside the bounds of the law. Remember what Elody did? Make sure you read any documents that anyone gives you in detail, and then have Elicec double-check it. That goes twice for you, Cecile, no offense intended, but it just ain’t your specialty,” Mel said.

“No, I understand. I really thought that guy was another twinog,” Cecile said despondently. 

“It’s alright, Cecile, we all make our mistakes. Nothing bad happened here, so it’s just a good learning experience now, guys. As much as I want to stay and discuss this as if nothing has really changed, I desperately need to lay down and heal,” I said, tired, hungry, and in excruciating pain.

“No, you should be good to go get some rest, Dave. Cecile and Elicec can go over the report with me. I’ll send some food up to your room; try to get as much down as you can. It’ll help keep your strength up as you heal, and you’re going to need everything you've got for the desert. There’s no avoiding that future now,” Mel said.

“Thanks. I hope it goes better than you’re worried it will,” I said as I made my escape back to my bed. 

I stepped into my room to find a strange small creature asleep on my bed, with a note next to it. The creature looked up and made a low purring sound. It looked something like a cat if you crossed it with a monkey. Where had it come from? I sat down and grabbed the note likely to contain the answer to my question.

Dave,

This is a forest pumakey, they come from one of the fringe worlds of the Spiral that are considered to have no intelligent life. I strongly disagree with this assessment, and I recently saved this little guy from a black market trade. As I have nowhere safe to send him at the moment, I thought you might like the company. You’re both strangers stuck somewhere you never wanted to be. He should be fine eating mostly the same diet you do. Just make sure he gets some extra protein. 

Elody,

Paladin of Knowledge

I reached over and scratched the little guy behind his ear, causing him to stand up and rub his head against my leg. Elody was right; I already liked the company. “Hey, little guy, I didn’t see a name anywhere in Elody’s letter. Do you have one already?” I asked, not expecting any answer and none came. “Well, I’ll have to think something up then. In the meantime, wanna join me in eating all this food?” I pointed to the dishes that covered my desk and bedside table.

He must have understood something I was saying because, within a second of my offer, he had leaped off the bed onto my desk and started devouring one of the pieces of the roast fish whole. He wasn’t nearly so cute with those razor-sharp claws in full view, but as long as he didn’t use them on me, he was welcome to stay. Would he handle an Alaskan winter okay?

*Dungeon raiding is a completely, if much lesser used these days, viable path for anyone within the Spiral. It is a trade in desperate need of more young blood as the lure of the Arena takes most newcomers to t...

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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 330: The Next Rung

Caban Oxwell didn’t fancy himself the best adventurer around.

Especially since his master didn’t. More than once, he’d suggested taking up a job behind his bar instead of waving a sword at all the things which wanted to eat him in a cave.

And maybe in another life, Caban would have accepted. 

But most masters weren’t Thomas Lainsfont. And most hadn’t made the mistake of personally patting him on the shoulder. 

That was all Caban needed. 

He didn’t actually remember what Thomas said to him that day. And Thomas definitely couldn’t remember what was said back. 

In fact, he couldn’t remember anything about Caban at all. 

Which was normal. 

He was just another boy in another village, rescued from another burning field of certain doom. 

Except that while most village boys would pick up a wooden sword and see their vows to follow in their saviour’s footsteps end with the first fruit slime which headbutted them back, Caban persevered.

… Eventually.

It wasn’t easy. Especially not for his unsuspecting master. 

Thomas had barely decided to retire before Caban showed up at his bar, worldly possessions on his back and a very unsubtle look of hope on his face. 

The disappointment that Caban wasn’t there as a customer was greater than all the grief he gave him from that moment onwards. Not because Caban was a terrible student. But rather, as fate would have it, Caban proved even better at pouring drinks. 

A Granholtz Sunrise with a Clocktower. 

That was his specialty. 

Nobody knew what the clocktower was until they ordered it, but once they saw the ice cubes towering over their drinks like a keep above its walls, all were hooked. 

Even his master, and he hardly drank at all. 

The day Caban decided to officially register with the guild was the only day he saw Thomas Lainsfont with a look of defeat. It was the rarest triumph for the village boy from Avinbelle, and he knew he had to take his victory all the way onto the next rung. 

The Oldest Ladder was there to be climbed, after all.

That’s why–

“Here you go, buddy. A Goblin Surprise. On the house.”

Sitting on his makeshift bar counter, an orange, black and white calico sniffed at the bowl of milk on offer. The cat was right to be suspicious. It was supposedly sheep’s milk. But Caban hadn’t tried. 

All he knew was that the goblins liked it more.

Recently saved by pure virtue of accidentally wandering into his neck of the woods, Pepper now only awaited his proper return to his owner. 

Sadly for him and the nice girl still anxiously waiting, the reunion had to wait. 

After all, these weren’t the great outdoors they were in. 

These were caves. And while they were both here, Pepper needed to share Caban’s hospitality with the goblins. All of them, in fact. He was very popular. And why not? 

He served the drinks.

Sticky tables. Stools which were both too tall and too short. Kegs filled with mystery liquid. Even a bubbling cauldron which would have been better if it was just the fire underneath.

Here in the cozy corner of his own cave, the young, talented prodigy of Thomas Lainsfont fulfilled the destiny which would have made his mentor nod in satisfaction. At least until it was realised this wasn’t The Singing Mule being tended to, but Caban’s very own establishment. And it was more popular.

As a result … he’d chosen the name carefully: 

‘Caban’s Prison–Send Help’.

There was even a sign. 

None of those present bothered to look.

Instead, a healthy gathering of goblins and hobgoblins sat around their tables, looking indistinguishable from their adventuring counterparts as they traded jests, elbows and taunts in no particular order. But although little thought seemed to be given to the slapping and tossing of the cards they toyed with, Caban didn’t need his adventurer’s instincts to see that not a single eye was wayward. 

Nobody liked to lose. 

Not when it came to cards. And not when it came to drinking.

The tankards were piled high. If the adventurers before him knew goblins could hold their liquor so well, the treaties never would’ve been needed. All their differences could’ve been solved with a well placed keg … over the course of maybe two minutes.

Or just a handful of seconds, given his clientele tonight.

“Ah, Bogspit,” said Caban, cheerfully painting the picture of the model barkeeper by drying a tankard with a soggy wet cloth. “How’s the young’un doing?”

Before his counter, the newly arrived goblin shook his head. 

Caban offered a nod of sympathy.

“... Still haven’t learned the concept of sleep, eh? I’ve no experience in the matter, but I hear it’s the same for all new fathers. You just need to tide it over until he’s old enough to headbutt his friends instead of your sleep schedule. Then you’ll have a different set of problems to deal with.”

The goblin snorted.

A moment later, he pointed towards the shelf behind his counter.

Despite the number of drinks optimistically arranged, the goblins only ever asked for the same thing.

“Here you are,” said Caban with a flash of his easy smile. “An Adventurer’s Grog. The worst I can make it.”

Bogspit accepted his filled tankard. He gave an approving sniff of the beverage. A concoction able to sweep seasoned buccaneers off their feet until they woke up on a different ship.

He left to rejoin his fellow company a moment later.

Bogspit was Caban’s favourite. He was the most talkative.

In fact, he found most goblins a talkative bunch once an attempt at niceties was made. 

Or so he liked to think. It was probably the grog.

Unfortunately, even with its magical effects at enhancing social skills, there were some things even illegal amounts of alcohol couldn’t manage to draw out. 

Snatches of conversation … was surprisingly one of them.

Just not when the only other adventurer arrived.

The noise was wiped clean like snow brushed from a window. Where there was chatter and an imminent brawl, there was now silence and apprehension.

Liliane Harten, either unaware or unbothered, practically skipped her way towards the bar, the door into his little cave swinging loudly to a close behind her. She hummed as she smiled, and with a click of her finger, summoned a stool as easily as she did the magical weapons hovering by her side.

The stool was still the wrong height.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Oxwell,” said Liliane, hands clasped together in earnestness. “I know I promised to provide updates, but it’s been hectic. You wouldn’t believe it. I’ve had Guildmaster Triniard, the Seamstress Guild, Lady Meryl and even the giant rats asking me about the goblins. I know, I know–that’s no excuse. And it’s not. Well, it is. But it isn’t. But they’ve all been in my ear and now I can’t tell whose voice is whose. It’s just words, words, words, words, words …”

Caban gave his usual, easy smile … all to hide his stare as he made sure it was her.

“... Is that right?” he said with a bartender’s false chuckle. “Rough days, huh?”

“Rougher than a Hobgoblin’s Bounty. Do you know what that drink is?”

“I don’t,” admitted Caban, curious despite himself. “What is it?”

The woman smiled. It sent a shiver through him. 

Liliane Harten.

Truthfully, Caban knew little of her other than her rank. 

She was an A-rank adventurer. An acclaimed member of the guild. The same as his master. And yet when it came to fame, there was a world of difference between her and Thomas Lainsfont.

It was no insult, though. 

After all, not all who climbed the Oldest Ladder did so by wrestling basilisks in a spilled pool of another basilisk’s stomach acid. The Adventurer’s Guild believed in merit. And only rarely was the importance of healers, druids and bards forgotten in the face of public displays of brawn. 

It was more unusual for a mage to be so little known, but not everyone capable of magic threw fireballs wherever they went. Because of that and more, Caban’s first impression of her was of someone closed and guarded. But he’d sensed no hostility from her.

In fact, he still didn’t.

He just didn’t know what he sensed now.

She was a completely different person. 

Her auburn hair was loose and free. And while she was by no means old, she seemed to have lost a decade in age. The bright smile she gave as she reached over to make her own drink was no different to a town girl done with both her work and the hassling of men. 

She walked with a spring in her...

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Somewhere near Jupiter, three small stars flashed into existence. Their lives were short lived, merely the indication of a trade convoy recently returned from somewhere else in the galaxy. In the distance beyond, visible as little more than a blue speck against the milky way galaxy. A planet that, until recently, had been unknown except by the most intrepid of explorer or the most lost of traveler.

wrrrrr

Sensors aboard the trade vessels indicated the presence of a picket, a tiny group of corvettes that had been banged together as fast as possible to defend the blue/green marble below. The technology to support these vessels had only recently been obtained and had yet to make it beyond the one nation that had purchased it at a rather steep cost, and four others which had promptly stolen it immediately after.

wrrrrr

Exposed to the vastness of the galaxy beyond their tiny world, some of those nations still managed to continue their squabbles. Russia and Ukraine had continued to fight openly while Isreal and Palastine were relegated to take a back seat for the time being. An election had been held in the United States that continued to divide the people there, and bets had been placed on when that war would start and who would win.

wrrrrr

In the middle of nowhere, deep in the canyon carved by a small creek, two humans had sought to enjoy the current holiday known to many as Christmas. Behind them, in a small meadow, was the ship that had transported them from Arcata California in an attempt to get away from the world. Both lounged in folding chairs and watched their fishing poles intently for any indication of a bite.

"God damn it Mike,that's the fourth one today. Either answer the phone or turn it off."

Michael Sinclair let out a sigh as he retreated his Cellphone from the armrest pocket and answered it.

"WHAAAAAT?!?!"

"We have been trying to reach you regarding your starships extended warranty." An automated voice replied.

Closing his eyes, Michael ended the call and considered chucking the accursed phone into the creek. Perhaps he could skip it across the water like a rock in such a way that it would impact the rocks on the other side? A smile cut across his face as he mentally imagined the electronic leash exploding on impact, raining chunks of plastic, metal and glass on the far side of the creek.

He knew he couldn't do that, but oh how he wanted to.

"I seem to remember a time where phone calls couldn't reach you this deep in the wilderness."

"I'll have to remember to thank the Rebb for that inconvenience." Michael replied. "Some telecom company offered them a pile of cash to put a cell tower in their embassy."

"I get that you gotta be friendly with them, but I still don't trust them."

'Niether does anyone else', Michael mused but kept his mouth shut. They had made friends with the Latter Day Saints, but their assistance with the Dotsero incident did little to bridge the gap that had began with their attempted enslavement of the human race.

Subconsciously, Michael touched the scar across his midsection. A reminder of that cold spring day when he had almost died, and the shotgun wielding alien who had denied the ferryman his due. The smile returned to his face as he thought about the insane year that was coming to a close, and the Rhodten woman who had captured his heart.

"When's Gettret due back?"

"Later tonight." Michael replied. "She'll be landing at McKinnleyville sometime past 10."

"I still don't understand why you couldn't find a nice human girl to settle down with."

"DAD!" Michael objected.

"Im not being speciest, she's a sweet girl. It's just, well, do you even know if you can have babies?" Daniel asked.

Michael didn't have a response for that. His mother had been harping on him for grandbabies since before his first deployment, but he never expected the same sentiment coming out of his fathers mouth.

"You're not getting any younger." His father chimed.

wrrrrr

Michael closed his eyes and wished he didn't have to carry that accursed phone on him.

"Do aliens even know what hollidays are?"

/////

Fog had already started to roll in as Gettret's ship touched down at the McKinnleyville Airport. Clouds had already moved in hinting at the storm that was expected some time before noon tomorrow. As cold and damp as it was, Michael endured it without complaint.

"How was your trip?"

"Who are the red flags with the yellow stars again?" Gettret asked.

"China."

"And the white, blue and red one?"

"Russia, why do you ask?"

"They don't like the other countries do they?"

Michael winced knowing that there had been another incident he would have to explain when in council some time in the near future. Ambassador wasn't that difficult of a job unless the nation you represent was stupid, and Michael represented a three ring circus run by clowns.

"I don't even want to know right now."

"How was the fishing trip?" Gettret asked, changing the subject.

"Just a few brookies and a small cut throat. Nothing to write home about."

"Did your father have a good time?"

Michael grimmaced a little, "For the most part, my phone kept ringing."

"You didn't tell them did you?" Gettret asked nervously.

"I was waiting until you got back," Michael answered, "so what did they say?"

Gettret smiled wide and leaned in to whisper the answer and the cold and wet no longer existed to Michael. Relief flooded his mind and a smile broke across his face.

"Do you even know if you can have babies," Michael repeated with a chuckle, "I do now."

"Should we tell them?"

"Did you tell your parents yet?" Michael asked in return. "Save it for tomorrow, it'll be the best Christmas present my folks ever got."